I’m downstairs in the office finishing off an article and polishing some other work things. Ian is upstairs playing video games. Then I have to finish off the laundry, so we can pack for a trip tomorrow to North Carolina. And Ian will still play video games. I have to answer about ten e-mail messages and write another ten. Ian will play more video games. Then I have to make a dinner that ingeniously uses up all the leftovers in the fridge without resulting any new food items in the fridge. More video games for Ian.
Yes, Ian will have a full day of mind-blowing video game action, and I feel like shit. He’s twelve now. I should beyond the parental guilt stage of life. I’m not. I should be taking him on trips to the museum or working on math review worksheets or arranging social activities for him. Bad mother. Bad mother.
I signed him for six weeks of camp this summer, and we’ll be away for two weeks. So, he’s mostly occupied this summer, except for weeks like this one thrown in the mix.
By the way, those six weeks of camp? $6,000. I hate everyone who can send their children to cheap summer programs. Those cheap summer programs don’t accept kids with disabilities.
Yesterday, I kept him busy by dragging him around to a long list of errands with me. I’m going to have to sneak in some trips to Barnes and Noble and the mall to break up Ian’s video game marathon.