Friday, December 30, 2011

Reading around

I read a lot of blogs. Some are linked over to the right in my sidebar. Many are not. I read them for a wide variety of reasons-- they're interesting, or entertaining, or infuriating, or eye-opening, or or or. There are lots of reasons to read blogs.

I've mentioned one of them before. There's the blog with the mother who's a fabulous and gifted photographer, but she goes far over the top with what she does for her kids. She doesn't do anything simple; everything's beribboned to the point of (my) exhaustion.

I should say here that it's absolutely her right to do whatever the hell she wants for her children. If she wants to make homemade labels for the bottles of root beer at her daughter's birthday party, more power to her. They were adorable. But I'll be the one throwing cans of pop in a giant garbage can full of ice, thanks.

She's been blogging lately about how she is admittedly obsessed with making amazing holiday memories for her kids. She's done this in a variety of ways, most up at the level of the homemade root beer labels above. Some of the ideas are charming. Others I just don't get. It's her family, so she's choosing how she wants to create the holidays for them; it brings her joy, and that's fantastic.

Someday, though, I hope her kids don't feel like they're failing if they can't achieve that level of heavily-ornamented, highly engineered holiday shenananigans for their own families. (And I bet you a dollar that most of the moms in her 'hood want to bop her over the head with one of her crafty gifts.)

I have wonderful memories of holidays in my own family. Thinking about them, my memories primarily revolve around being with family and friends, and having a sparkly Christmas tree. That's pretty basic. Those are things I can do for Elle-- I've been doing them already, for both of her first two Christmases.

What does it boil down to? We all parent in our own way, and we parent in the way that is right for us. Elle doesn't need glitter on her driveway to know that Christmas is special, and that she is loved.

Whatever works for that mom, great. Whatever works for me, great. I just have to remember not to judge myself against someone else's standard.

And-- maybe even more importantly-- I have to remember not to judge her for the choices she makes, either.

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