So, I took the summer off from blogging. There are a few reasons for that.
First of all, it was SUMMER. Living in a frozen arctic tundra such as mine, I feel obligated to spend the lousy three months of warm weather we get a year outside and NOT in front of a screen (unless it's to watch the new season of Big Brother, but even then I usually just record it to watch when it's raining out. This was kind of a boring season, don’t you think? I hated all those fucking people). Plus, I’m a lot happier in the summer. We’ve been hanging out at the lake, barbequing some steaks, drinking some beers, having a few parties on the deck...you know….FUN stuff.
As it turns out, carefree happiness doesn’t breed good writing material. I have had no motivation whatsoever to blog about a goddamn thing.
This morning I woke up and it was so cold in my house I had to turn my furnace on.
And it really pissed me off.
Showing posts with label blogging. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blogging. Show all posts
Friday, September 17, 2010
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
You can take down all those 'Wanted' posters now
I’m sure there are at least five or six of you that have noticed I’ve been a little MIA of late. Sorry about that. I was going to throw up a ‘Gone Fishing’ sign and a quick note of explanation, but….well, I just didn’t.
I am having a crisis of blog. I’m not really blocked per se, but I am feeling a little creatively stifled. Long story short – I was outted. My new workplace found my blog (stupid google) and all of a sudden I am surrounded by people who know the real me and FoN. Aside from a handful of close friends, up until recently people either new me, or FoN. Not both. It’s fascinating (inside work joke – hi guys).
I have since poured through the internet to make sure no one else can tie the real me to FoN, but that’s a little like getting out of the pool when it starts raining. I really like FoN – she gets to say stuff (she would have said ‘shit’ right there) that I can’t say. I have to be appropriate pretty much everywhere. I am a professional, a mom, a wife, a volunteer, etc. I wouldn’t really show up at the PTA meeting with an umbrella cocktail and tell the uppity suburbanites to bite me. FoN would though, and I loved the indulgence the ‘anonymous’ blog gave me.
When I first discovered I was outted I totally freaked out. I started reading through past posts and was more and more horrified as I went. I said I liked Jesus because he rocks out with his cock out. I was pissed off when I got demoted at the last job and talked about how I gave the finger to everyone at work as they walk by. I suggested the best way to relax is to have a bath and smoke a fatty. Yeah....not that cool in the workplace.
I thought about starting all over with a new alias, but that’s too much work and I’m super busy (read: lazy). I have seriously considered quitting blogging all together, but I would miss FoN and the creative outlet blogging gives me. So…..I have decided to press on. They haven’t fired me yet, so that’s a good sign, right? I might say ‘fuck’ a little less (oops) and blogging about work clearly isn’t going to happen anymore (which is too bad because there is some seriously funny shit going on around that place), but FoN will live on. I still have to tell you the Keely/bar fight story, after all.
I am having a crisis of blog. I’m not really blocked per se, but I am feeling a little creatively stifled. Long story short – I was outted. My new workplace found my blog (stupid google) and all of a sudden I am surrounded by people who know the real me and FoN. Aside from a handful of close friends, up until recently people either new me, or FoN. Not both. It’s fascinating (inside work joke – hi guys).
I have since poured through the internet to make sure no one else can tie the real me to FoN, but that’s a little like getting out of the pool when it starts raining. I really like FoN – she gets to say stuff (she would have said ‘shit’ right there) that I can’t say. I have to be appropriate pretty much everywhere. I am a professional, a mom, a wife, a volunteer, etc. I wouldn’t really show up at the PTA meeting with an umbrella cocktail and tell the uppity suburbanites to bite me. FoN would though, and I loved the indulgence the ‘anonymous’ blog gave me.
When I first discovered I was outted I totally freaked out. I started reading through past posts and was more and more horrified as I went. I said I liked Jesus because he rocks out with his cock out. I was pissed off when I got demoted at the last job and talked about how I gave the finger to everyone at work as they walk by. I suggested the best way to relax is to have a bath and smoke a fatty. Yeah....not that cool in the workplace.
I thought about starting all over with a new alias, but that’s too much work and I’m super busy (read: lazy). I have seriously considered quitting blogging all together, but I would miss FoN and the creative outlet blogging gives me. So…..I have decided to press on. They haven’t fired me yet, so that’s a good sign, right? I might say ‘fuck’ a little less (oops) and blogging about work clearly isn’t going to happen anymore (which is too bad because there is some seriously funny shit going on around that place), but FoN will live on. I still have to tell you the Keely/bar fight story, after all.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Kicking it Old School
It's been about six months since I started this blog, and in honour of my mini milestone I have decided to totally cop out and re-post my first real blog entry. Since the early beginnings I have managed to find a few other kindred souls in the Blogosphere with some older kids, but for the most part it's still pretty much mommies and their ankle bitters. Oohhhhh, are YOU guys in for a treat!
I know I am new to the whole mommy blogger phenomenon, but as far as I can tell I am the only one on here who has older children. All the rest of you are up to your eyeballs in dirty diapers, suffering sleep deprivation, running after toddlers just learning to walk and trying to teach your kids that shoving tic-tac's up their nose doesn’t end well. I speak from experience – I once raced frantically to an emergency room with my toddler who had managed to shove at least one and possibly more tic-tac's up his nose. He shoved one so far up there, in fact, that you could actually see the visible lump in perfect tic-tac formation poking out just slightly below the bridge of his nose and just over from his left eye. Yeah, I don’t know how he managed that either.
After waiting in the emergency room for decades to see whatever twelve year-old and/or foreign exchange student intern they had working at the time the tic-tac had melted sufficiently and they sent me home with a stern warning to not let my two-year old have tic-tac’s anymore. Nothing like not only feeling like a horrible parent for not appropriately supervising the toddler/breath mint combo, but I also had the privilege of spending FOUR HOURS in a hospital with a crying/tired/minty-fresh toddler and was then subsequently judged by a doctor who was probably in charge of organizing the pub crawl for later that weekend.
I do remember the stress of being a first time parent and the parent of young children. They’re messy, demanding, totally clingy and do not respond whatsoever to compromise or logic. When it comes right down to it, toddlers are pretty much like the worst boyfriend you ever had. Except for the fact that you inexplicably love them more than anything on earth (even though a large percentage of the time they make you want to grab the nearest sharp and pointy object and jab it as hard as possible into your ear just to get some relief).
I remember all of this, and to a certain degree I’m still right in there with you. However, in addition to my darling almost three-year old Lena and hysterically odd seven-year old Jake (tic-tac incident) I have another one, and that one is FIFTEEN YEARS OLD. Oh yes, the stories I could tell about this fascinating daughter of mine does indeed warrant the use of the dreaded ‘ALL CAPS’.
So, this presents an interesting factor that none of the rest of you need to deal with. My oldest spawn can actually read this, right NOW whenever she wants. I know, most of you have little ‘dear So and So’ pages you will faithfully update with the intent of having So and So read all about their first years, gain some insight as to who their mother really is, etc., etc. Yeah, that’s all fine and good when they’re TWO. In fact, this will not be any real concern of yours for a good decade or so. That gives you a whole lot of time to reconsider if posting the picture of your cute little man wearing his sister’s dress while shoving his nose in the dog's ass is really something that will ultimately advance your goal of forging an unbreakable bond between mother and child.
See, here’s the thing - you poor souls have no idea what you’re in for. You are all typing away imagining little So and So all growed up and having a good chuckle at mom’s wit all while feeling so very loved because you went through the trouble documenting their every fart. You’re thinking So and So will be all “I used to poop in the bathtub??! Awwww, Mom that’s funny, and by the way, thanks so much for cleaning it up all those times. Do you want to go for a walk and hold hands?” Well folks, I hate to burst your blogger bubble, but in reality, it will likely go down a little more like this -
(boy version) – “MOM! Get that shit off the internet right NOW. Take down your stupid website, you’re so GAY. And MOVE ‘cause I want to play World of Warcraft with Blaze (it will be around 2018 by this point so your kids will likely have friends named Blaze or Titan since we have had a rash of very unfortunate baby names of late. For some reason there is a growing group of parents who, in an effort to prove their own uniqueness, name their kids something completely ridiculous. Really, this trend needs to stop now or we’re going to end up with a Prime Minister named Spirtall. Yes, believe it or not I actually know a kid with that name).
or
(girl version) – “OH!! MY!! GOD!! I can’t believe you would tell the WHOLE WORLD about me and say such totally embarrassing things. Take it off right now or no one will ever talk to me again and you totally SUCK!!” (stomp–stomp–stomp–stomp–stomp-stomp- SLAM).
No, my little blogging friends, what you are writing right now will not please your little ones at ALL. You know when they will like it? When they are in their thirties and have started their own blogs staring YOU. Who’s going to have the last laugh then?
Don't Say I Never Warned You
I know I am new to the whole mommy blogger phenomenon, but as far as I can tell I am the only one on here who has older children. All the rest of you are up to your eyeballs in dirty diapers, suffering sleep deprivation, running after toddlers just learning to walk and trying to teach your kids that shoving tic-tac's up their nose doesn’t end well. I speak from experience – I once raced frantically to an emergency room with my toddler who had managed to shove at least one and possibly more tic-tac's up his nose. He shoved one so far up there, in fact, that you could actually see the visible lump in perfect tic-tac formation poking out just slightly below the bridge of his nose and just over from his left eye. Yeah, I don’t know how he managed that either.
After waiting in the emergency room for decades to see whatever twelve year-old and/or foreign exchange student intern they had working at the time the tic-tac had melted sufficiently and they sent me home with a stern warning to not let my two-year old have tic-tac’s anymore. Nothing like not only feeling like a horrible parent for not appropriately supervising the toddler/breath mint combo, but I also had the privilege of spending FOUR HOURS in a hospital with a crying/tired/minty-fresh toddler and was then subsequently judged by a doctor who was probably in charge of organizing the pub crawl for later that weekend.
I do remember the stress of being a first time parent and the parent of young children. They’re messy, demanding, totally clingy and do not respond whatsoever to compromise or logic. When it comes right down to it, toddlers are pretty much like the worst boyfriend you ever had. Except for the fact that you inexplicably love them more than anything on earth (even though a large percentage of the time they make you want to grab the nearest sharp and pointy object and jab it as hard as possible into your ear just to get some relief).
I remember all of this, and to a certain degree I’m still right in there with you. However, in addition to my darling almost three-year old Lena and hysterically odd seven-year old Jake (tic-tac incident) I have another one, and that one is FIFTEEN YEARS OLD. Oh yes, the stories I could tell about this fascinating daughter of mine does indeed warrant the use of the dreaded ‘ALL CAPS’.
So, this presents an interesting factor that none of the rest of you need to deal with. My oldest spawn can actually read this, right NOW whenever she wants. I know, most of you have little ‘dear So and So’ pages you will faithfully update with the intent of having So and So read all about their first years, gain some insight as to who their mother really is, etc., etc. Yeah, that’s all fine and good when they’re TWO. In fact, this will not be any real concern of yours for a good decade or so. That gives you a whole lot of time to reconsider if posting the picture of your cute little man wearing his sister’s dress while shoving his nose in the dog's ass is really something that will ultimately advance your goal of forging an unbreakable bond between mother and child.
See, here’s the thing - you poor souls have no idea what you’re in for. You are all typing away imagining little So and So all growed up and having a good chuckle at mom’s wit all while feeling so very loved because you went through the trouble documenting their every fart. You’re thinking So and So will be all “I used to poop in the bathtub??! Awwww, Mom that’s funny, and by the way, thanks so much for cleaning it up all those times. Do you want to go for a walk and hold hands?” Well folks, I hate to burst your blogger bubble, but in reality, it will likely go down a little more like this -
(boy version) – “MOM! Get that shit off the internet right NOW. Take down your stupid website, you’re so GAY. And MOVE ‘cause I want to play World of Warcraft with Blaze (it will be around 2018 by this point so your kids will likely have friends named Blaze or Titan since we have had a rash of very unfortunate baby names of late. For some reason there is a growing group of parents who, in an effort to prove their own uniqueness, name their kids something completely ridiculous. Really, this trend needs to stop now or we’re going to end up with a Prime Minister named Spirtall. Yes, believe it or not I actually know a kid with that name).
or
(girl version) – “OH!! MY!! GOD!! I can’t believe you would tell the WHOLE WORLD about me and say such totally embarrassing things. Take it off right now or no one will ever talk to me again and you totally SUCK!!” (stomp–stomp–stomp–stomp–stomp-stomp- SLAM).
No, my little blogging friends, what you are writing right now will not please your little ones at ALL. You know when they will like it? When they are in their thirties and have started their own blogs staring YOU. Who’s going to have the last laugh then?
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