Archive | January, 2014

What makes you a blogger?

22 Jan

I’d really like to write more.  But what is the point?  There are probably about (and this is just a ballpark) one billion bloggers.  And, out of those, approximately 990 million of those bloggers are moms of some kind and that’s what they write about.  And within that figure are a bunch of subgenres to the Mommy Blog:  crunchy, angry, funny, draw-y, feminist-y, Christian-y, Atheist-y, yoga-y.

But what am I?  What is my niche?  I’m a mom, but I don’t have any parenting advice.  I would never use the word “crunchy” without being ironic.  I’m pretty angry, but that doesn’t seem like something to write about all the time.  (Why did I make angry a subcategory to begin with?  Who in the heck is an Angry Mommy Blogger?)  I’m funny, but I don’t know that I find much funny about my life all the time.  And so forth and so on…

So, I guess what it comes down to is this:  I don’t feel like my voice has much to offer in hurricane of blogs already swirling around on the web.  (Also, web?  Who says that anymore?  Me, apparently.)  And my usual plan when I start feeling like my worth in an area is negligible, is to just quit and not even try.  But I want to figure myself out.  I want to embrace my Myers-Briggs type (ISFP, you know, if you’re into that kind of thing) and integrate that information into my understanding of myself.  I want to learn to play my ukulele, and work on the art project in my mind, and exercise, and read so many books.

And part of learning about myself is writing.  And so I guess I’ll just keep doing it.  Why not?  There’re a billion others doing the same thing, so I guess one more won’t hurt.



Snowed In

7 Jan

There’s nothing like adult snow days.  You almost never get them after high school, and they’re even rarer as an adult out of college.  They’re like the snowflakes that make them up:  magical, unique, and fragile.

But you don’t get snow days when you have kids.  I’m trying to imagine what that would be like to have a snow day with kids…  I think it would basically go like this:

You wake up, everything in the whole state is cancelled due to mountains of snow and subarctic temps, and you’re kids just go, “Oh, okay, well, we’ll just take care of ourselves today.  I mean, crying is cancelled today, too, right?”  And you’re all like, “yes, yes it is.”  So, the kids make their meals, and put themselves down for naps, and don’t make messes they can’t clean up on their own, and– most important of all– change their own/each other’s diapers.  This is the magic of the Snow Day.  It should even make your kids forget to be kids.

Yeah.  I’m maybe a little delirious.  Maybe even snow blinded.  I might even have damaged ear drums from the copious amounts of screaming that have happened in the last 48 hours.  So. Much. Screams.


Hoping everyone is safe, warm, and has ear plugs and beer (or whatever you need in your particular situation). 

But, seriously, we wouldn’t have left the house in all probability even if we could have.  

This is the New Year.

1 Jan

I always think the New Year will feel like something magical.  Like I’m an etch-a-sketch with lines all over me from the previous year; and then the New Year comes and shakes me clean.  That’s what I want.  I want everything to be gone and for the “new” in New Year to be transformative.

But you have to make it meaningful if you want it to hold any power.  Especially when you stay home with your kids all the time (or always do the same thing nearly every, single day of the year with very few exceptions); the days all run into each other and slide into weeks and then months and suddenly a year has passed and what even happened?  This is my experience, anyway.  So the beginning of another year is just another day.  Unless I make myself see it as anything else.

What does a new year mean?  Usually people take it as a chance to start over, get a fresh start, yadda yadda.  Basically, it’s meaningless.  Right?  I mean, I start over every day.  I have to.  Because, unless I just had a (EXTREMELY RARE) stellar day, the next day’s always my chance to start over.  I’m always starting over.  And over.  And over, and over, and over.  Until the day all my kids move out and I sleep for 1 million days straight and wake up to grandkids who I spoil rotten and feed ice cream every chance I get (I’m looking at you, Mimi).  And then I start over again, there, too.

So, maybe I’ll come up with some “goals” to “achieve” this year.  They’d be pretty boring.  I’m pretty boring right now in life.  I’m such a Debbie Downer; my goals are like, “get out of bed at least most days, probably; but if you don’t, that’s okay, too.”  No, I have some things I want to work on this year.  My biggest hope is to grow as a parent and person.

Is that too vague?  I mostly want to stop screaming at my kids.  I want to work on controlling myself when I lose my temper.  I want to continue to find out what I’m interested in and pursue those things.  I want to find quiet times to reflect and pray and just be silent with my thoughts.  I want to be alive and happy about it.  I want to keep trying.

So, here’s to the New Year; even if it isn’t any different.