Mood: not sure
Topic: All in the family
This morning I commented on Heather's daughter's birthday post. (Yes, little Leta is a few days shy of 1!) While reading the comments others have left (Oh I hope someday I have that many commenters...I guess I need to get a job so I can get fired and become famous.) I learned of an article in the NY Times about blogging mommies. (Btw, you will have to register in order to read the article, but it's worth it.) I read it and became inspired all over again, even after just having posted late last night about the benefits of blogging from a stay at home mom's point of view.
When I was done with the morning's blog events, I nearly skipped into the kitchen (Note: I highly recommend wearing a bra during a skipping attempt after the age of 30.) to share with my husband my newfound wealth of knowledge about blogging about your children, your marriage and your life in general.
The man is completely perplexed by this blogging business that consumes me. He said, "What in the world do you write on there?" I laughed and said, "Well, I posted yesterday on the pathetic snowfall, I posted in the fall about the demolition derby, I posted about the first day of school and just last week shared about Ab hearing us having sex." No kidding, his face contorted into this mass of blushing, confusion, embarrassment and I think I saw a hint of downright anger. He turned from where he'd been looking out the kitchen window and said, "OH SHIT YOU DID NOT WRITE ABOUT THAT." I said, "Well, of COURSE I did! It's funny! And I got comments on it, too. And it's all about the comments and what the reader wants, dear." I said this with the faux snobbish confidence of a burnt-out author writing a mindless column in a newspaper, mind you. He didn't see the humor in it, to be honest. He was still reeling and mortified. "I cannot believe you shared that with total strangers, Kristin. Honestly! Now all these people know that we. have. sex." Ummm...I can't speak for all of you out there, but I'm thinking that y'all pretty much knew we had sex before that post.
I just smiled and patted his arm and said, "Come on, honey. Let's go out to the computer right now and I'll let you read the actual post so you'll know that I didn't talk about too many particulars -only about your enourmous pecker." His eyes...oh how they widened. "Just kidding. There's only so much creative license I can use." The eyes ceased being wide. He was losing patience with me and grumpily said, "I don't want to read it. Just tell me what you wrote." So I related to him my version of it all. The more I talked, the more he grinned. He had his arms crossed over his chest, was leaning against the kitchen counter and was nodding his head, remembering the entire thing. "It was pretty funny, wasn't it?" Bingo!
I was feeling like I'd won a small battle. I had given him insight as to why I write on here. I share because I care, people. I was on my way out of the kitchen when he said, "Ya know, I think I could blog, too."
Oh my gosh! Don't you know that his blog would be the most redneck blog EVER?? If you think I'm redneck...wait'll you meet him. I said, "Well, if you really want to, then by all means, let's get you signed up." Of course, then he says he'll write a blog if I write it for him. Huh? I write my own, from my point of view. I don't think I could write his point of view even if I tried. That's his to relate, not mine. Upon my repeated refusal, he asked if maybe I'd at least consider typing it if he actually came up with the words.
You know, the family that blogs together might just end up in a big fight, ultimately ending with one sleeping on the couch. At least, I'm thinking that's how it'd go at my house. The man and I can't hang up a picture together without someone getting yelled at. What makes us think we can blog together?
I suggested that we call his blog "Mr. Diva". He didn't like that one in the least. He'll probably want to call it something like "Rural stud" or "Redneck - hung and proud" or something awful like that. If this blog thing comes to fruition, I right now, at this moment, reserve the right to deny all association with that man, cut ties at any given moment and quite possibly permanently move my sleeping quarters to the living room.