I'm sad about Lindsay Lohan.
You see, I was just watching Parent Trap on the ABC Family Channel and she was so fresh and young and new and, you know, not a druggie. At least, I very much assume that at twelve-ish she was not yet using cocaine. My friend, Kristin, was visiting me on Monday and we had a conversation about Lindsay's Parent Trap days and so, when flipping through the channels, I decided to catch a little of it. To remind myself of how cute she once was. To have an innocent image of Ms. Lohan in my head, instead of that over-baked-half-dead-sprawled-in-the-back-of-a-car-looking-like-something-that-comes-out-of-a-blender image that was thrown on the cover of every magazine by every check-out stand in every grocery store in every town in the United States. You know the one I'm talking about. So I was watching and thinking about how, on the one hand, we really can't control our children but how, on the other hand, we can try. Right?
Because I just kind of feel like if my kid was a coke addict (and by coke, in this post, I mean the actual illegal substance...not a carbonated beverage) I'd...I don't know...do something to make it stop.
But then, I know people who raise their children the exact same way and one turns out mostly pure and mostly good and walking with the Lord and the other is, I don't know, in jail or in need of rehab. Or both.
So my kid is twelve months old and darn it but what if someone offers him marijuana or beer or a cigarette when he's thirteen or fourteen or twenty and he decides it's a good idea. I'm going to try my hardest to raise him not to. But what if...
What if one day I have to pop in an old home video. The one from today. The one where he took six steps in a row on several occasions!!! The one where he's new and young and pure. Just to remember. What if? I know my emotions and I'll feel like a complete failure whether it had anything to do with me or not. I mean, there's almost a part of me that feels like it's my fault that Lindsay Lohan is addicted to cocaine. I mean somewhere, in some parallel universe, isn't there something I could have done?
It will break my heart if I ever have to deal with my child looking like a blended smoothie gone terribly wrong. And it begs the question: How much do my "little" sins, my "white lies" break my Father's heart?
You're talented and beautiful. How about you kick the habit. And also, I have something to tell you about Jesus.
A Paranoid Mom Who Desperately Needs You To Get Clean For Her Own Peace of Mind