My teen is tired. He's at camp for 7 hours a day, playing rugby, climbing towers, canoeing, and I suspect only sits at lunch, and then does some catching up with friends in early evening, sometimes at the pool. All this means Crash is a seriously pooped pup, and sometimes a bit grouchy. Just in case I missed the subtler signs of his mood, he raided the basement tool box for something a bit more direct. I took the hint.
After dinner, he was up in my study on the computer. I was putting towels away in the hall when he popped out and inquired about Pandora's box - did I really think the box in the garage was left by a goddess, or was I just using the title? Huh? He's reading the blog - all of it. We had an interesting talk about it all cleaning up the kitchen later. I asked him how much he read. "All of it, except what I'd already read and what was really boring." "What did you think of the writing?" "Some was really good, and some so-so. You average out OK."
Since I started the blog, I've collected the posts about the kids and bound them into a book for them each year, and I'll often tell them if I've posted about their antics, and occasionally they will ask to see them. This blog is not particularly anonymous, either. So why did I feel a bit self-conscious when Crash started rummaging through the blog tonight?