I hate guilt, whether I am guilty or not, I hate it.
This time I was guilty, sort of.
My 13 year old stopped me in the kitchen the other day and told me that he wishes that I would document his life more. I tried to consider what he meant by that comment without actually engaging him. I didn't want to feel any more guilt that was already settling in my brain. My defense mechinisms were red hot.
I assumed that he meant that because I do not own a working camera, I haven't taken many pictures. I have left the past three years of photo capturing to my mother, and she has done a fantastic job of documenting. He failed to remember that fact.
I have saved every reasonably important paper and art work piece that he has brought home from school dating back to preschool when he was only five years old. He failed to remember that fact.
I have every Tustin News article which talked about his team winning some competition and in addition, have every team photo, class picture, and report card from the past 13 years. He failed to remember that fact.
I have been blogging for the past three years, documenting his, and the other kids' victories, defeats, and injuries. He failed to remember that fact. He needs to visit the web.
I Twitter and Facebook about what I am doing, in addition to things he has done, and have even done a few videos on YouTube for which he was a part. He failed to remember that fact. He needs to friend me on Facebook and follow me on Twitter-@lvujnov.
I wrote a book called Spilt Milk-Devotions for Moms which is clearly devoted to stories about my family for which he is part. He failed to remember that fact. He needs to read my book.
I have calendars from years past which are littered with things that he has said which have made me laugh and, in addition, have his baby calender labeled with all of his "firsts." He failed to remember that fact.
I rebuke guilt. If my son wants pictures, he can buy me a camera, either that, or go visit my mom's house. She has plenty.