Last year Jenny Lawson, aka The Bloggess , made the comment, “If I didn’t push you out of my Lady Garden, do not call me mommy.”, during an interview about ‘Mommy Bloggers’.
For some reason, it really resonated with me. I did not even have a blog, but I must admit I constantly had to fight the urge to roll my eyes anytime someone who was not my child called me any form of ‘mommy’. Even when they made the comment to try and show me support, or to make me feel like a part of their club, or the sisterhood of the wrecked vaginas. I know they mean well, but it leaves me feeling icky. I mean, yeah, I am a mom. But I am not your mom. And I am a whole bunch of other things as well. Like a decent cook. And a collector of hat boxes and vintage luggage. And a lover of night cheese and cheap booze. I am a multi- talented lady.
So I was not surprised when people, upon hearing I had started tinkering with a blog, started asking me for a link, and saying, “Oh, I can not wait to read all the cute stories about Wild Heathen and Evil Genius!”, assuming I would be using the blog as a catalog of the cute stories my children create.
Well, this post is to let those people know, they are going to be very, very disappointed. I will not be writing about my children for several reasons. The first one being, I am not personally a fan of blogs centered around the child. I just can’t get interested. One of the reasons I started this blog was in hopes of fine tuning my writing style, and recapture the fun in my OWN life. I want to recapture the joy I used to have in abundance, that I know have a hard time remembering. And the Second reason is simply, my children’s stories are not mine to tell. I am constantly saying I am so thankful that the internet was not a ‘thing’ when I was growing up, because I would hate for their to be that much evidence of what a mess I was. So, in saying that, I think it would be wrong for me to share stories about the kids, that they may grow up to be embarrassed about? I remember one time, in seventh grade, my mother told my boyfriend at the time this horrible story about how I had been attacked and pooped on by a seagull. I was mortified. So naturally, when we broke up, his asshole little friends (whose names I never forgot, and who if I ever become the supreme leader of the Earth, will be made pets. For sharks.), encouraged him to tell everyone. Until the day I transferred to a new district, I was known as “the Seagurl”. It was awful and horrible, and I am still a bit annoyed with my mother for telling that story, knowing how embarrassed I was by it. So in that spirit, I don’t feel comfortable sharing the trials, and silliness that belong to Wild Heathen and Evil Genius.
All that being said, I do plan on posting more often. And my husband, who has given me permission to write about him, has promised to encourage me to step out of my comfort zone, and work on bettering myself, and sharing the insanely goofy stories I will surely collect, because that is just how my world works. I mean, the kids might be mentioned, for example, how EG was the ice breaker for the guy who thanked me for not aborting babies, or about the time WH inspired a very rousing rant from some woman about the evils of feminism. I can’t leave them out in that respect, because they are the cause of the truly fucked up, and odd effect. but stories that are all and only about them, will not be here.
I am not a mommy blogger. I am just a girl, who enjoys writing. I am not very good at it, but I enjoy it, and I make my husband laugh, so hopefully I can make others feel something positive with my stories. I also promise to sprinkle obscenities liberally through out my writing. And advance warning, I will totally say offense shit like, all the time. Yeah. Titty Sprinkles.