Remember when Chicky Baby had a blog?

No really, do you?




Those were the days, weren't they?

(Assist)

I could write a clever title or I could watch my cat stalk a chipmunk. Guess which one I picked?

Hiya.

Yep, I'm still here. Not writing but still... Here.

If I don't write, does that still make me a blogger? Probably not, huh? I'm going to a blogging conference in a couple of weeks, does that make me a blogger? Not exactly, right?

I love what blogging did for me in the past - the free therapy, the friendships, the support, I am much in debt to this space and to all who drop by. But being a blogger sometimes means sharing pieces of ourselves with friends and strangers we might not otherwise share and let's face it - I am not usually a sharer. As much as I hate the word, but use it I must even at the risk of sounding cryptic, there are issues I need to work out that most days take center stage in this rattled brain of mine and are making it impossible to write something breezy or silly, or even heartfelt and memory capturing.

It's like a big old yellow road block complete with flashing lights and sirens. Annoying sirens. Really annoying sirens that sound like a Ke$ha song on constant repeat. Yes, that bad.

When faced with that it's nearly impossible to write something coherent and coherent writing is kind of the name of the game in blog land. Otherwise, it would all be "Lollipops molecule sod halitosis Squirrel!" It's already kind of like that around here.

I could also go on about the ways blogging and bloggers, specifically Mommy Bloggers, have changed since I started writing in 2005. Five years may not seem like a lot of time but it is light years away from where we started. But I'm not going to go on about it. It's been done, let's move on.

Maybe I need to quit or maybe I need to change my blog name or maybe I need a new scene. Maybe I need Prozac or Xanax or Wellbutrin or Red Bull or whatever else all the kids today are taking. Maybe I need a writing class to get the juices flowing... Okay clearly I need a writing class because, Juices Flowing? Ew.

Maybe I need to grow a set, stop being afraid, admit how I feel. Maybe I need to find my voice again.

Yeah, that's it. I need to find my voice again. It was here a minute ago. I'll go check the dryer lint trap and see if it's in there.

I'm too sleep deprived to come up with an interesting title. So: Post-BlogHer '09 recap post. Yawn.

Raise your hand if you've never said or done something you really wished you could take back.

The three of you who raised your hand, the ones who are either sainted, mute, or have lived alone in a cave all your life, you can put them down. Your prize is waiting for you over there - a lifetime supply of Turtle Wax and a map of the road to Righteousness. Sorry it's 2009, the GPS to the road to Righteousness.

As for the rest of us, we're human. We say dumb things. We DO dumb things. We have a finite amount of time on this earth to try and get things right but in the meantime we're stumbling around in the darkness, feeling our way along the path to being perfect, until St. Peter comes calling and we have to defend our lives in front of God and a choir of sparklingly clean angels with golden ringlets, floating on downy clouds. Or some shit like that. Feel free to insert your own dogma here.

This does not excuse us, however. It doesn't give us a free pass. When one has foot in mouth disease (as I do, and I was called on it this weekend and didn't do nearly enough bowing and scrapping) you learn to live with the nasty aftertaste. When we do something we dearly regret later, as we all have, we need to live with that memory forever.

Where it gets sticky is in the year 2009 we have this thing called The Internet. And The Internet never forgets.

As internet users and internet writers, we have the responsibility to use our words correctly, and in the presence of others we need to check ourselves because chances are there are people watching who aren't afraid to use their words. Words are mighty. Words are powerful. Things written or said - I'm not talking about specifics here - in jest or seriously can be judged and analyzed, blown out of proportion or taken in correct context. And those words that are said out loud or written will come back and hit you where [choose your deity] split you.

So whether your words are being directed toward a corporation or an individual person, keep in mind that you're not living in a bubble.

I don't judge. Like I said, I have occasional diarrhea-of-the-mouth attacks as well as someone-stop-me-from-being-a-dumbass syndrome. You did what you did because for the .02 seconds it took you to decide it seemed like a really good idea. We've all been there. You'll know better next time.

I guess what I'm trying to say, again without getting into specifics because chances are you know the specifics, is that from now on maybe we can start to remember that what we say, write or do is being watched by the world. And the world? It has access to The Internet and it's not afraid to use it.

------------

This was not the post-BlogHer recap that I set out to write.

What I set out to write was all about the positive aspects of this conference from my perspective because for me there were more positive than negative. But after three different revisions and too many rewrites to count, this is what you got. So if you came here for links to the more unpleasant happenings, sorry. You're not getting them here.

But I'll be happy to tell you about what was good about BlogHer '09, as seen by little ol' moi:

I decided to stay away from the panels this year, not because I wasn't interested in what was being said there - to the contrary, I was very interested and wish there was more time - but because I was set on attending the Room of Their Own breakout sessions. And for the most part I was very happy with my choice. Most were very informative and the ones that weren't, well, at least they were entertaining.

The best party had nothing to do with swag, it had to do with friends getting together and dancing like damned fools. To the ladies at MamaPop: Best. Party. EVER. To quote your honorary gay boyfriend, it was legen - wait for it - dary.

My bags made it to Chicago and back and didn't get lost once. Wheeee!

I had a gracious roommate who tolerated my late night tiptoeing (so as not to wake her delectable baby) and genuinely enjoyed her company, if for no other reason than because she's damn funny and she made me laugh and I'd like to think I did the same for her.

I had great non-conference-sponsored meal conversations with wonderful women that both set the tone for my positive weekend experience and nicely wrapped it up (and please let me know if I didn't link to you because I really want to! I just can't deal with sorting through these business cards yet.), and shared cheesy bacon fries and mutual admiration with someone I expected to like, just not as much as I did. I'm now planning on abducting her and moving her into my home.

I approached a writer, who has long been a favorite of mine, after his moving keynote reading and at the risk of being a fan girl told him how much his writing touched me. I may have freaked him out but he didn't run away immediately, so there's that.

I spent quality time with someone who is becoming a cherished friend and met another who, though tiny enough to fit in my pocket, is a powerful force to be reckoned with and as genuine a person as you'll ever meet. Just don't try to get past her at a party.

I met my twin (okay, not in an outwardly physical way but trust me, twins.) and though we didn't spend enough time talking, we finally were able to speak face to face. And discussed the skunking of her dog. If I could I would take the train to her, rescue her from the stench and bring her to live at my house. I'm thinking of starting a commune.

I introduced myself to others I knew only by blog or Twitter name or avatar; in elevators, in bathrooms, in the hallways, just because. Shook hands and shared hugs, just because. Danced wildly, even though it's not my nature, and laughed hysterically, which is in my nature, just because. Was even coerced into going out to a nightclub at 2am (fer chrissake) against my better judgement and I'm glad I did, just because. But most important I made personal connections, just because I wanted to.

I talked with old friends and made new ones. Yes, the people in the computer are my friends. The gin was only a partial help because a majority of this was done during daylight hours.

All in all, swag or no swag, an experience I'm happy to remember over and over.

And now I need a nap.

Sometimes I don't know if I should wind my a*s or scratch my blog.

Two things -

First of all, thank you to everyone who left a comment on my last post. General consensus seems to be "Hey, dumbass. Call the cops already. [exaggerated eye roll]" But you didn't actually use the word "dumbass" and I appreciate that. A slight nudge feels a lot better than the proverbial boot to the butt. Less foot treads to wipe away, too.

I've been talking this over with Mr. C - who thinks I'm being paranoid - and a couple of neighbors we recently met - who seem to think I'm only being slightly paranoid - and we're going to call the authorities and have them check things out. I'll let you know how things work out.

And since you were all so generous with your opinions...

(I know what you're thinking, "Gimme a break, she's going to ask for more advice. The woman can't scratch her own ass without the help of the internets." And for the record, I can hear you.)

A looong time ago, my fabulously smart and insightful readers (and did I mention, you look fantastic today? Have you been working out?) came up with a list of names for my now-defunct dog training blog. Sooo.... *looking around coyly* I was hoping you could help me out again.

You see, I'm trying to get my own private dog training business up and running but the problem is this, I can't for the LIFE of me think of a decent name. I can train your dog to fetch you a beer from the fridge but coming up with a business name? Not too good in that department.

I've got one kicking around that sounds fine, I suppose. Want to hear it? You know you do.

The Family Dog.

How does that grab you? Yeah, I feel the same. Not bad but I don't know if I'm sold on it, not 100% anyway. And I needed to see it through your eyes before I settled on it so thoughts on that name are very much appreciated. BUT if you have one better - and I know you do because you're intelligent and creative and you look great in those jeans - I would really love to hear it.

The slant to my business is general dog training with basic behavior modification if necessary, but my main focus will be on families. I want to get the entire family involved and interested in caring for the family dog (hence the name I came up with) including the kids. I want my business to be very family friendly. And have I said "family" enough already? Family.

So, here's my criteria for the name:

- Must sound good said aloud - For example, on the phone "Hello, [business name]" It has to be snappy and not too cutesy because I hate cutesy.

- Must be searchable. So "dog" or "dog training" or the like should be in the title.

- Must look good on a business card.

I don't really have much to offer in return except my undying love and free dog advice, but that's something right?

Right?

Besides, you helped name my baby so a business name should be gravy.

(Please don't make me beg. It's not pretty.)

(Also, gravy. Mmmm, gravy.)

Blogger in a box (Alternate title: Miming sucks)

A few weeks ago I lost my voice. Really, an almost 100% loss of the use of my vocal chords and it sucked about as much as you can imagine. Daily activities become extremely complicated when one has to pantomime what they want, since pointing and grunting and the occasional obscene finger gesture can only get you so far.

Take, for instance, parenting. It's degrading to yell at a three year old and have her point and laugh at you because all you can muster is a squeak. Or should I say, it's more degrading than usual to yell at a three year old and in response she points and laughs at you, squeak or no squeak.

My voice is still not back to normal but it's better. But as difficult as it was trying to get my point across when I didn't have a voice, this writer's block I'm experiencing is one thousand times worse. It took me 30 minutes to write these three paragraphs. I wish I was kidding.

Quick, someone meme me or something.

Who would have thought it?

I was going to write a follow up rant to my last post containing stories of mothers being led away in handcuffs and threatened with legal action, and some who had the authorities called on them because they dared be sarcastic on the internet [*bangs head on keyboard*], because some people couldn't keep their big, fat noses out of other people's business.

I was going to complain about laws created to keep us safe from ourselves and words like "bubble wrap" and "Ohmyf*ckinggawdIcan'tbelievethissh*t" were going to be thrown about like the spit off my lips when telling my husband about all the aforementioned stories.

I was going to complain about how we as a society could not be trusted to do what was right for our children, to know when to do something and when not to do something, to be able to go out in public and not be fearful that someone would judge how we parented and would then call the police on us and have our children taken away.

I was going to say, will say, that I have left my children in the car and gone no more than 15 feet away from them. I could count those times on a couple of fingers. They were in plain view, with the doors locked. My oldest could see me, did see me, and waved and made faces at me. Could that have gotten me arrested? In some states it could have. I have also left my sleeping children in the safety of their rooms and gone down the driveway to my mailbox. I have had short conversations with my neighbors while the kids were sleeping too. Does this make me a bad mother? Do we now have to be touching our children at all times for fear of persecution? It's like a bad game of Tag. I've got gools, you can't hurt me./Look, I'm touching my children. I'm a good parent!

(whoops, may have ranted a little there.)

I respect each of the comments that were made on that last post. I respect that, for many of you, leaving your kids in the car for any reason is not an option. I would also hope that many would respect the other commenters who thought things through before leaving their children to return a shopping cart and decided that in that situation their children were safe and there would be no harm in leaving them for five seconds.

And you did, at least on this blog.

Maybe you read the words left here by others and shook your head and disagreed, but you kept it to yourself. There were no arguments, no name calling or finger pointing. Most of the comments were very respectful. I thank you for that.

And that is the point of this post.

I thank you for the civility. I was not asking for advice in that post - even though I put myself into the hypothetical situation, it could have been anyone I just happened to use myself as the example - and most gave their opinions and didn't try to force assvice down my throat. You proved that people can have differing opinions and it doesn't have to devolve into name calling.

You've proved thoughtful debate could be had on the internet.

Give yourself a pat on the back.

Meta blogging through real life. Now with more blasphemy!

Even though I sounded like a whiny shit on my last post (come on, admit it. I was pretty whiny even if life was kicking my ass) you all left the most wonderful comments anyway, so I thank you from the bottom of my cold, dead heart.

I always told myself that if I was going to post something on this blog it was going to be 100% truthful. I may not include everything that is going on in my life but what I do share I am open and honest about. Warts, whine and all. I am not this open in my real life but here, as strange as it sounds, I feel safe to let it all hang out. Figuratively speaking of course. I'll leave the boob flashing to my more uninhibited friends.

The other night I shared this blog with a friend of mine (Hi K.!). I had recently begun to open up about this site with my friends - when in the past I had kept it secret from all except my husband and sister, even going so far as to use a nickname instead of my real name (Have you noticed yet? Look to the right. Higher. Higher. Yeah, that's it. That's me. Hi! *waving*) - so I felt comfortable doing so. Especially since she answered an email of mine practically begging for a playdate with a plea of her own. She's also a new mom of two and going through the same crap that I am and it seemed like she felt a little alone in her woe. So off I sent my site address.

Alone? Ha! I'll show you how NOT alone you are, friend. There's a whole community of people out there who know exactly what you're going through. Let me share the love with you.

I don't feel as comfortable doing this in real life. Sharing, I mean. I don't think I'm going out on a limb here when I say that in my every day travels to preschool, playdates, and visits to our local fight club other parents seem to have their shit together when I feel like I'm falling apart. I know this isn't true, but damn if the mothers especially seem to have both feet firmly in reality when I'm floating in the ether. It makes me want to shake them. What is your secret?! Why are you handling this so well?! And who does your hair?? Because it looks fabulous.

It felt like there was a short period after C.C. was born that whenever someone asked me how I was doing I felt compelled to tell them exactly how I was doing. They would ask innocently and out would come this vile spew of words before I could shut my big yap to stop them. And their faces, oh lawdy, the look on their faces when they realized their innocent question was getting them covered in my emotional vomit... After that I figured it was better just to keep my feelings to myself. Everyone was left decidedly less gooey.

And that's the beauty of this medium. When I need to purge, I purge. You can choose to read now, save it for later when you feel ready to deal, or move on quietly. Rarely, but sometimes, someone will tell me to suck it up, and sometimes I need to hear that, but for the most part you offer kind words and virtual hugs and reassurance that things will get better. Here, have a glass of wine and a Xanax, you say to me. This too will pass.

Okay, you've never offered me a Xanax. Ahem.

This is not to say I don't love my real life friends and know they'd be there for me. There are just some barriers to break down before I can feel comfortable enough to pick up the phone to any one of them and scream "GAAAAAAAAH!" and hang up and know that they'll know and understand and empathize. The women I consider my friends today (Hi guys! Please don't look at me too funny when we next meet, 'kay? This will all make sense. Promise.) were not made in the same way I had made friends in the past. We have come together because our common thread is our children. We also came together because there was something about the other that we liked, yes, but our kids were the ice breaker. Strange relationships these are. Strange and wonderful but odd and sometimes uncomfortable during the feeling out process.

Which is why I finally came out of the blog closet and shared.

(Yes, that was the point of this post. I knew I'd get to it eventually. What? Like you've never had a brain dump before?)

Now if they choose to read, my friends will know exactly how I am feeling. No pretenses, no pretending, just me and my baggage. Maybe I can convince a couple of them to start their own blogs. It's very therapeutic. Kind of like confession.

Forgive me mothers for I have sinned, it's been 9 days since I've bathed my baby.

Say five Goddammits, ten Jesus Christs, and have two bloody marys. Go in peace, my sister.

If they chuckled at all at that last bit, we'll all get along just fine.

Ask me a question and I'll tell you no lies. Unless you want me to.

Oh hey, lookie here. I've got a blog. I should probably write something, eh?

Um...

This is the first time in my blogging career (and I use that term VERY loosely) that I've been at a total loss for words. Maybe it's because I missed Blogher this year. Or it might have something to do with that new baby of mine. Or maybe it's all the energy that is required of me to keep watch over my two children. Because you never know when Chicky will try to love C.C. so much that her little head pops right off.

I know this is lame, and I know I've done it before, but I need a small push to keep writing. So ask me anything and I'll be as honest as I possibly can. Any questions you've ever had about me just ask away. I'm an open book. Want to know about me in high school? Anything about my childhood? Musical preferences? Embarrassing stories (be specific please)? Favorite sexual position?

Okay, scratch that last one. I don't want to bore you all to death.

I need ideas or this blog will slip away from me while I'm busy trying not to duct tape Chicky to the wall.

So, what do you want to know about me? Anyone? Bueller?

Ooh, ooh! I've got a question. Can you come over here and wipe my butt?

A comment on comments

(If you have a problem with meta blogging then nows the time to click that little X in the upper corner of your browser, because I feel it's time to talk about that most taboo subject in blogland - comments. And if talking about comments isn't your cup of tea, well, buh-bye.)

Let me preface this blather with this statement: I love my readers. I do. Every single one of you, and if you comment then so much the better. Why? Because I heart the comments you leave. I have lovely people who come to my blog and comment on my posts on a regular basis. They write sun dappled words of support and love, words with rainbows and winged ponies shooting out of them, leaving me with that feeling you only get if you wrap yourself in a large, fluffy towel that came straight from the dryer. So many kind, thoughtful, wonderful words that I want to sprinkle on my chocolate ice cream and eat for dessert. Delicious comments.

(I'm completely done with the italics now.)

Coming off an extreme high like Blogher and being thrust into the world of death and grief you were all there for me, tucked away in the comments on my blog. You were there, regardless of the fact that I am the reigning Queen of Drunkenness in the kingdom of Blogher; the artist currently known as Wow, I Didn't Know She Could Drink Like That.

Though I would much rather be known as Man of La Mancha, or even the Demon Barber of Seville, than carry the Mrs. Chicky: Drunk Blogger moniker. But we are who we are.

And, hellooo tangent. How I love me some tangents. Almost as much as I like sparkley things and... Ooh, shiny.

Reality used to be a friend of mine, cause complete control I don't take too kind.

(Hey, you come here for a peak into my brain. Don't shake your head when stuff like this happens. It's like going to a Stones concert but having to sit through Rick Astley's opening set. The two don't go together but someone along the way thought the pair made sense. Okay?)

So, where were we? Comments, right. Things were mentioned at Blogher in various sessions...

(and, yes, I know you're sick of hearing about that Conference that Shall Not Be Named Anymore. But this is not about that. Pinky swear.)

... about comments and commenting. Bottom line: If you want people to come to your blog, you have to comment on other people's blogs. And not only that, but you have to be funny, or thought provoking, or write in the third person. Anything that will make you stand out to the other people perusing the comments section of another bloggers blog (A.B.B. - yo. I'm down wit it.) and make them want to click over to yours. It really is that simple.

For you mathematical-types: Commenting + witticisms + funny + that certain je ne sais quack = buttloads of people flocking to your blog (get it? Like ducks.) all clamoring for your attention.

But it's not that easy, is it? You run all over the blogosphere leaving your stamp on O.B.B.s (Other Bloggers Blogs. Lots of acronyms here. Please try to keep up.) and only a few people follow you home, regardless of all the tasty crumbs you're leaving them.

Enter: Blogger Depression, or, the Nobody Likes Me/Everybody Hates Me/Guess I'll Go Eat Worms syndrome.

It happens. Don't sweat it. It's the ebb and flow of the blog world. Keep commenting and people will eventually come... if you have something relevant to say. And, A-ha! Therein lies the rub. You must be interesting to read because why should someone waste their precious time on your brain dumps? Be interesting and people will be interested, capice? No one cares what you had for lunch.

If you have a strong voice people just like you will come a-calling. You'll find your own group of blog friends. You'll have blog slumber parties and blog pillow fights and someone will wait until you fall asleep and then put your blog bra in the blog freezer. Except maybe you men out there. Probably no pillow fights or frozen bras for you, eh? Although, in blogland you could be male and have a thing for frozen bras. There's plenty of room here for all the freaky deakys.

If people don't come in the thousands to your blog, don't give up (cos you have friends, as a matter of fact just keep that playing that song while you finish reading this.) and for chrissake! Don't blog about how nobody likes you and why, oh why with much hand wringing doesn't anyone like me. I hate that. Turns me off faster than the idea of Tony Soprano in a Speedo.

Now, who the hell am I to be telling you this? Nobody, that's who. I'm just a woman who writes a blog and uses a lot of parenthetical references and poor punctuation in her posts. And that's an important point that you have to remember. We're all just people, just like you. Even Dooce, I've never met her but she seems like a regular gal to me. A regular gal with thousands upon thousands of readers, but still just a gal. A gal that probably hates to be referred to as a gal, but a regular gal nonetheless. I bet she even uses spell check from time to time.

But I'm not done. We still have to tackle the phenomenon of "He/She used to comment all the time and now they don't so I'm not going to visit their blog anymore so there." [stomps foot]

Is there anything more ridiculous than that? Ooh, so and so used to be your blog friend but now they never comment. Boo freaking hoo. I'm very sorry to be so harsh, but this is real life and blogs? Not so much. Unless you've made friends with someone off-blog, through email or through a face to face meetup, I think it's safe to say that they're not really your friend. You may be friendly, you may really like what they have to say and feel a connection with them, but they are not, I repeat ARE NOT, your friend. If you have no desire to meet this person or even talk with this person outside of the comment section of a blog but still consider them to be your BFF then it's time to reconsider life in your parents basement. So if they stop commenting I wouldn't pull the blog equivalent of the oh so very seventh grade act "I caught you holding hands with my crush, you're dead to me" and cut them out of your life. Grow up and gain some perspective.

I'm sure there's more but, frankly, I'm tired. And I have a life. Blogs are important tools for reaching out to others like yourself, but if your comments are running your life it's time to take a second look at what you consider to be the very definition of "life".

This post may not win me any friends but at least I've had my say.


This is your brain:

(Actually, it's Einstein's brain.)

This is your brain on blogs:

(Actually, it's a picture of my kid. It's cute though, don't you think?)

Any questions?

** Inspired by a post that SueBob wrote. In one of those A-ha! moments, I saw a topic that had been kicking around in my head for some time was touched upon by another blogger. If you'd like to know what I and other bloggers said in response to her post go read it for yourself.

Also, something I meant to mention above was the fact that I try very hard to reciprocate comments, especially those thoughtful words of condolence that you left after my grandmother's death. I owe you all a visit and if I haven't been to your site yet know that I'm trying. It's a bit like thank you cards (something I'm not very good at, btw), I owe you all some kind words in return and I'll get there. Some time.

More than me(me)

(I will warn you now - this post is long. Sorry but it's about my feeeelings and I tend to ramble when it comes to my feeeelings.

If you've already read this post then you know that that last sentence is totally laughable.

If you haven't you'll just have to read to find out why.)



I've been composing this post in my mind for days, mentally writing and then discarding each draft. Not one word actually made it on to the computer screen in front of me until now - such as they are.

Julie tagged me for the "Evolution of Blogging" meme, or more specifically the "Evolution of your blogging" meme. At first I was thrilled by the idea - finally, a meme that had nothing to do with how I fell asleep every night (rubbing my ankles together like a cricket, just so you know) or what was in my bag (diapers and cracker crumbs mostly) - but the more I thought about it, the more I realized what this particular meme meant to me (and, yes, I was over thinking - again), the more terrified I became of the question how has my blogging changed and evolved.

I don't know if it's evolved. To the contrary, I think it may be going the other way. Because, you see, if you think about it I don't really talk about me on this blog.

(Go ahead, mull that one over for a minute. I'll wait. But first read the next paragraph.)

One of the things that fascinates me about blogging is the perception we have of those we read on a regular basis gathered from the nuggets of information that can be gleaned from one's blog. I've never met many of you but I have a mental picture in my head of who you are: what you sound like, how tall you are, how you walk, hell even how you laugh. It's all crap, I'm sure, and when I finally meet some of you this summer in some cases my mental image will be shattered. Yes, I have drawn assumptions. Will I be disappointed? I don't know, but that could certainly happen, and you, in turn, could be disappointed when you meet me.

(It's okay. Just keep it to yourself and I won't be hurt.)

(I wound very easily. Have I ever told you that? Probably not.)

From reading this blog, having never met me, you know that I like a good joke. You know that I love wine. You know that I work with dogs and I have two of my own that drive me crazy, that I have one (devastatingly adorable) toddler whom I love, and that I have a husband who occasionally does stupid things but whom I also love. You know that I lost my mother to cancer and I miss her very much. You know that I can overreact to things and then overreact about overreacting. And you may know that women, as a group, usually freak me out. But is that it? Is that all of me?

I'll answer my own question: No.

The reason why you, as a reader, don't know more about me from this blog is because by nature I am an incredibly guarded person. I really do not share that much of myself with others. I keep my cards close to my vest, I rarely wear my heart on my sleeve... Blahdee blahdee blahdee.

Which leads me to the evolution - or the de-evolution of this blog.

(And for the record I know the opposite of "evolution" is "regression" or "deterioration" but that seems a bit extreme, don't you think?)

(And and... Don't you think it's about time I got to the reason for this post? I mean c'mon... get to the point already.)

When I began Chicky Chicky Baby I had hoped that the (perceived) anonymity of the internet would help me open up about certain pieces of my life - and it has, a bit, but it has also made me more aware of what I talk about and, in turn, even more guarded. For one reason - I let my husband read this blog. And then I shared it with my sister. The two people, besides Chicky, who mean the most to me in this world now have access to my inner-most feelings. And speaking of Chicky, she could read these posts one day. Do I really want them to learn certain things about myself - things I might not feel comfortable bringing up to them in person - through a blog? Where complete strangers can read it first? Uh uh, don't think so. That's not fair.

And I will not even think about other parts of my family or friends who may stumble upon this one day. I've said a more than a few embarrassing things but so far nothing too damning that I couldn't recover from.

But I have to admit, I sometimes long for total anonymity. I do wish that no one I knew had learned about this blog. Not that I would share stories of elicit affairs or second lives (if you knew what my life was really like right now you'd laugh at preposterousness of that last statement. Affairs? Who has time or energy for affairs??) but because I really have no trouble with people knowing that my life is messy. To what level of messy is what I have trouble with, but I would like to learn how to open up more. Therapy without the co-pay.

And lest I forget, for some reason there are people out there who seem to like this blog. People (you?) who read what I write on a regular basis. How bizarre is that? I'd be lying if I said that my stat counter has not affected my way of writing one bit.

I'd like to open up more. I'd like my voice, my true voice, to be heard through the din. But not now. At least not today.

The bottom line is I have to remain true to myself, on this blog and in real life. If I'm not going to sit on a playground picnic table and share my innermost thoughts and feeeelings with you then why would I on an internet page?

However...

(I said bottom line, but I didn't really mean it. Do I ever?)

I know that being guarded is not necessarily healthy. I've made things very difficult and unpleasant for myself these past few years in the name of privacy and I need to fix that. So you may just find yourself on my site one day learning about any manner of juicy details about me.

Especially if I'm drinking and blogging. I've been known to do some silly things when I've got the drink in me.

Just don't tell my husband or my sister that.

Shit, I guess I just did. Hey! Maybe I'm evolving!

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Now I have to tag people for this meme. This is the part that I hate the most, even more than talking about my feeeelings (whoa whoa whoa Feeeelings). Let's see, who can I piss off with a tag... How about Redneck Mommy, Motherbumper, and Jen. Have at it, betches.

The meta and the frog

One of the things that I've always found so fascinating about blogging is the feeling of intimacy that comes with sharing your words with thousands of strangers. Stories and feelings you might never share with people who are standing in front of you, bloggers willingly share with the nameless, faceless mass of readers that come to their blog through happenstance or regular following. I'm not quite sure what it is that makes us bloggers - especially parenting bloggers - feel secure in sharing these raw feelings but I do hope that many of you that I read continue doing so.

Your words have become an important part of my support team. If I question myself over this or that I very often turn to blogs to see what others have encountered in their lives with children. And sometimes, when I'm fence sitting on a particular subject, it's nice to read a real person's first hand account of what they went through and how they came out the other side.

One subject that I'm fascinated with is the two-child family. In the past I've have made no secret of my desire to stop at one child, but I will admit that lately I've been waffling. Could I do it? Could I make a two-child family work? Would I lose my mind in the process?

I have come to no hard and fast conclusions, but I have to say that after reading this post by Julie of MotherGooseMouse the answer to those questions are all yes. And because she was so candid with her words I'd also have to say that even though it would be really difficult at times, it's okay to admit that sometimes having two kids is no picnic.

No, I haven't yet decided to have another baby but Julie's post about her feelings on having two children is the most persuasive argument yet that I've seen and I thank her for sharing her experience. That's why I nominated her for a Perfect Post Award.

Julie, if I do have another baby you'll be the first person I call while in labor. I'll be the one shouting expletives into your ear. Probably something about how you got me into that situation.

Thanks to MommaK and Suburban Turmoil for hosting these awards. Go to their sites to see the full list of nominees.

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Now for something completely different. What's the most disturbing thing you've seen? Well, forget that. This is now the most disturbing thing you've ever seen.

It's almost blasphemous. If you can get past the part where Kermit shoots heroine, believe me, it gets worse.