I skipped my Thursday blog post this week, and I don’t really have an excuse. Actually, that’s not true. I do have one excuse, which is that my dictation software is such a pain in the ass that everything I’ve written so far is wrong and I have to go back and correct it. I should just leave it the way that it is so that you can see how little my computer understands my very clear speech patterns, but I wouldn’t do that to you because it would be like reading the inside of my dog’s brain. Literally none of these words make sense together.

Ah. Now they are corrected and I feel much better. But my hands are tired.

The other reason I didn’t blog yesterday is that I spent the morning at scoreless (Scarlett’s!) school instead of writing. The writer and educator Jessica Lahey was there to talk about her new book, the New York Times bestseller The Gift of Failure. The book focuses on how to foster resilience in kids through intrinsic motivation. I found her presentation illuminating for a lot of reasons, mainly because at the moment I feel like I am exclusively focused on parenting through extrinsic motivation. As in punishment and reward. As in get dressed for school or you cannot use my iPad. As in stop abusing the dog or there will not be a play date tomorrow. As in dear god please acknowledge my existence and the fact that I’m talking to you and I will probably give you a popsicle.

sojourn… The best way to do things.

Uh. Let’s try that again.

So it turns out that’s not the best way to do things.

I love parenting books. Sure, a lot of them make you feel guilty for everything you’re doing wrong, and many leave you more confused at the end than you were at the beginning, and sometimes you read two that absolutely negate each other and your head explodes. But other than that, they’re good.

And this one is probably really good based on the talk that I attended. I’m planning to read it, but at the end of the event, I didn’t wait in line to get a signed copy. I can’t read real, physical books, at least not ones that are adult-sized. They’re too heavy. Instead I’ll order the e-book and learn all the ways to encourage Scarlett to screw up in life so that she doesn’t develop a fear of screwing up, which translates to not being afraid to try, which translates to eventually getting some things right, which leads to happiness and success and nice hair. I think. I mean, I haven’t read it yet.

So far I’ve been unsuccessful in getting Rob to read parenting books. He’s sort of interested in hearing the things that I learn, but not interested enough to sit down and cruise (no, dictation! PERUSE) the books himself. And that probably wouldn’t bother me except for the fact that ALS Jeff (okay, I’ve tried to put the word “suggests” here three times and it just keeps writing Jeff. See what I’m dealing with?)

ALS suggests (eureka!) that Rob will be doing most of the future parenting in Scarlett’s life. I know this isn’t a given, and I’d be very happy if things did not pan out that way and we all lived happily ever after, etc etc. That’s why I used the word Jeff. Jeff. Jeff. Dammit!

But here’s the thing. We’re both going to keep doing our best, whatever that is and however we learn it. And my gut tells me that everything is going to be okay, whether it’s Rob as primary parent, me as primary parent, or some combination of the two of us, our oversized television, and bacon. The King is going to be up all night. The kitchen is gunning for a light.

Ahem!

The kid is gonna be all right.

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