One of the biggest debates in the blogosphere is how much of your private life you should keep private. Moms who blog tend to get a lot of heat for exploiting their kids. One blogger who made me cringe admitted that she loved her son more than her daughter. It set off a domino effect of outcry and was reposted many times over to the internet world. Makes me look like Carol Brady.
(Damn, I wish I had an Alice. Every mom should have a wife.)
As you have figured out by now, I obviously do not have any pride or filter about my experiences. My stories are about personal short-comings and slacker parent moments. I try to chronicle the never-ending struggle to choose laughter over tears when life throws you a kidney stone or fossilized turd.
It took me years to realize that the only way I could enjoy motherhood was by surrounding myself with other moms who aren’t trying to one up or judge me. I simply could not keep up with perfectly coiffed, skinny, smug moms. You know the type:
My kids only eat organic food harvested out of my backyard and fertilized with my own rose-smelling feces.
They do not watch TV, were potty-trained at six months, breastfed for two years, speak three languages, are in the gifted program and play on 12 traveling sports teams. I bake from scratch, my home is immaculate and you will never risk leaving my minivan with a gummy bear stuck to your bottom.
Yeah, that’s awesome. My 8-year old son just belted out the words to Rihanna’s song: “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but chains and whips excite me.” How do you like them S&M apples?
There is a big difference between being proud of your accomplishments and trying to make others feel like crap. That is what this blog is about: I am okay. You’re okay. We are just trying our best and will make mistakes along the way. Instead of beating ourselves up, we will grab a beer, commiserate, laugh, learn and move on.
I walk a very delicate line about sharing stories about my kids and have been called out on it.
They do know about the blog and I have shared some of the stories with them. As you may recall, my son had a meltdown about a story I wrote insinuating that the monkey house smell coming from his room might have been from peed-on sheets.
“Now people are going to think that I wet my bed just so you can make a living on Google!” he screamed. I was dumbfounded and deleted that part of the story.
This past week, my daughter walked by my computer and saw on my screen a picture of the American Girl “The Care and Keeping of You” book on her bed. I was linking old posts to a Greatest Hits page, and completely forgot to log off. “Mom, can I please talk to you about your blog?”
“There are some things that I want to talk to you privately that I want to stay private,” she explains. Her maturity amazes me. After all, I am the ass who giggled during our school’s parent meeting about puberty whenever the instructor said “wet dream” and “spontaneous erection.”
I completely agreed and explained that the story was mainly about how I botched our talk about “changes in your body.” I also went back and edited the story so it would not haunt her.
The final straw was the other day when my son reported an unusual poop that not only resembled a green shade of soft serve ice cream, but it also contained full pieces of broccoli. After hearing the fascinating fecal details, I asked if it happens again, that he call me in to see it before he flushed.
“Why mom? So you can put a picture of it on your blog?”
It was at this point that I decided to protect their identity to alleviate some paranoia and constipation. I can’t let this site literally scare the shit into my son.
From this day forward, my son will be named Junior and my daughter will be Missy. I will still post pictures of them. Not of their turds.
Now I have the fun task of going through all my past posts and changing their names.
Just another excuse to not fold laundry.
Can I refrain from swearing or embarrassing myself for 45 minutes straight? Find out on BrandsBloggerRadio airing tonight at 9 p.m. CT. I am the one with the loud, annoying Minnie Mouse voice. It will be archived here.