Stories

Sometimes I worry about how the boys will feel about the blog. How will they feel about embarrassing stories of their toddlerhood. How will they feel about the private becoming public. How will they feel about The Penis Rules section.

We were sitting down for dinner when Tornado A asked for a baby story about Tornado E. I told one, and they all laughed. Then he asked for one about Tornado S. I told one, and they all laugh. Then he asked for one about him. I told one, and they all laughed.

Then Tornado S asked for one about him. And I told one, and they laughed. So Tornado E asked me a story about him, and I told one. They laughed. Then Tornado A asked for a story about him. I told one, and they all laugh.

I must have told a dozen or more stories with promises of more. So, my little tornadoes, your memories are saved online for you and all the world to read when they want.

 

Good luck with that.

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A Little Nostalgia

Do you know what happened last week? 

I was so excited about it two weeks ago.  Then it came and went like a shadow.  It was days later that I realized the date I had been anticipating was gone.

Last week I had my first blog anniversary!

While I love Gibby’s, at LOST in Suburban Bliss, idea of reposting a first post, I couldn’t repost my first post.  Because it sucked.  I even made fun of how much it sucked.  I decided to do what every other blogger does on an anniversary, look back and marvel.

I read an article about Heather Armstrong from Dooce.com and how she and husband can be at home because her blog brought in that much money.  I was curious.  I started reading Ms. Armstrong’s blog, and I was hooked.  She was funny, insightful and brilliant.  Not only was I hooked, but I knew I could do this.  I could write a blog.  I thought, heck, my kid id just as funny, and I have two.  After a few days of researching, I settled on WordPress.com.  I made this blog my birthday present to myself.

I missed writing.  I missed sitting down and working out a tangle dream, hunting the right words, forcing language to do my will, paint a character, a scene, a story.  With the boys, I never had enough time to sweat out a piece of work.  I hardly had time to follow a muse.  I felt something shriveling up in my soul.

But then I started writing.  I became alive.  Relying on age-old writing advice, I read more than I wrote, trolling WordPress for inspiration.  I remember falling in love for the first time with a blog.  Bad Mommy Momments had me at Pervy Mc. Perv.  And I  loved her. 

Since then I have fallen in love with so many blogs.  Slowly I had only time for the blogs I loved, mainly other mommy bloggers.  I relish the little details of those lives, hungry for those scenes, those people, always looking for another person.  I realized we were making our own web.  I came to feel like I knew these women, wanting to actually meet them one day.  I talked about them the way I talked about my friends and family, just I had to give crazier nicknames to make people understand who NDM or Ink or insider53 or Court or any of the other dozen women were. 

Often my mom would say, “Is that the mom with the two adorable girls the boys age or is she the mom with three boys?”  or “Now she has the twin girls, right?” or “This is the one in the Bay area?”  Yeah, Mom, she’s the one and . . . .

I’m amazed at what I have found.  I have found my voice, and I find myself using my Thesaurus more and more like a real writer.  I have found heroes, teachers, and friends.  I have found wisdom and laughter.  I have found a place where I know that no matter how much I doubt, no matter how stupid I act, no matter how nerdy I am, there are other people that understand.

So Thank You for reading.

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