It’s my blogaversary, bitches!*

I first found out about blogs way back in 2004 or 2005, freshly graduated and working as an ‘office assistant’ at the career services office of the university that had just given me my diploma.  That label, by the way, was a fancy way of saying ‘you answer the phones and we will treat you like you’re still a student and kind of an idiot, even though you’re better at your job than some of us are.’  I’m paraphrasing, of course.  But there was a lot of down time, and in that time I noticed a certain lax attitude over what we did when we weren’t answering the telephone, which hardly rang, or filing papers.  That was probably because the boss, the big, main boss, was super close to retirement and so would have ‘meetings’ where she left the office to go somewhere else and read the newspaper.  Also she played a lot of solitaire on her computer.

So I used the internet to pass the time.  I first was introduced to blogs when looking for knitting help.  (exciting, no?) My first daily read was needles on fire, which hasn’t been updated in years and looks a little sad now.  But that one led me to another one, which led me to amalah, (still one of my very favorites) which opened up a whole other world of things with which to pass the time at work when no students came into the office, which was basically all the time because they all get disappointed when they realized we didn’t actually just hand jobs over to them. 

And I’ve never looked back.  Reading about the lives of others, in their own words, be it funny or sad or disgusting or thought-provoking, was fascinating.  And it was a bit eye-opening, as I had in my last semester of school taken the best writing class of my entire life, with the best professor anyone could hope to have. But when Dr. Hagaman complimented me on one of my personal essays, I said I was always better at writing about myself.  He said that that was fine and all, but I also needed to be able to write well at other things.

Sucker.

I had just spent years, YEARS, writing ‘literary criticism’ essays on things that I was honestly not mature enough to grasp at the time.  But with blogs, here was a way to be creative, irreverent, and FUN, all while talking about myself, which just so happened to be my favorite subject.

But I was afraid.  I was afraid no one would want to read what I’d written, or that people would read my words and judge them harshly.  And so I started with myspace.  Oh, don’t you laugh.  You know you were on there, too.  I’d write short little blogs that my friends would read.  At one point I asked people for a list of subjects, or 'writing prompts' if you will, and had a blast putting my own spin on their topics even when I screwed up and wrote about foot ottomans instead of the Ottoman Empire, like my friend had requested.  But really, we can all say that feet ottomans are much more interesting, right?

But time passed and I got married, moved, bought a house and had a baby, then had another baby and quit my job.  I still read a lot, but wasn’t contributing much to the internets, be it ever so small.

One day we had some friends over and one of my husband’s friends (and I guess mine, too) suggested that I start a blog.  He said that he thought it would be something I would be interested in, or that I would be good at.  I don’t remember the exact words, because it was a long time ago and I was probably drunk, but it was encouraging.

And that was just the push I needed.  I’d been thinking about it a little more since I’d been home alone with two children and no one to talk to.  And that settled it in my mind.  I didn’t care if no one read (okay, I cared a little bit) (a lot).  I didn’t care what someone thought.  This was something I wanted to do.  (Here’s the link to my very first post that all of eight people have read so far.  I’ll wait here while you go read it.)

And so I started it for the connections I would find, of which I’ve found a few.  But I also started it because maybe when my children look back on their childhoods and think negatively about how I didn’t play with them enough, or didn’t create enough glitter and puff-pin flash cards, or didn’t manage to have daily educational activities like all those moms on pinterest seem to, maybe they will read what I’ve written and see that I did my best with what I had.

Also, I was tired.  So very, very tired.

(But kids, you do know all the words to ‘Don’t Stop’ by the Chili Peppers, so I must be doing something right.  Or, excuse me, ‘The Tunnel Tent Song’ as it’s known in our house.  Don’t judge.  It’s the only thing that will get Adele to sit still.)

And while my readership has grown tremendously to almost 50 on days when I post something, and sometimes even 20 on days when I don’t, I still only want for people to enjoy what I’ve written.  I want them to laugh at the fact that I’ve spent hours perusing my childhood journals to bring my shame to you; to cry when I talk about how hard it is to be a mother; or how difficult it is when there are issues with the person you’ve entrusted your child to while you work; to maybe be just a little bit disgusted, but also amused, when I talk about my son shitting outside in our driveway; or maybe to take a different approach to judging celebrities who chew up their babies’ food before spitting it into their mouths.

I want you to read.   

Thank you for reading.

(But if anyone could help me make some money off this mofo that would be awesome.  Mama wants a new dress.)

So as a thank you, I offer you a series of dimly lit, blurry photos.  I call them: Jaime and Adele and dirty bathroom mirrors.

Your welcome.

(Adele kept us up from 2:30 until 5 this morning, so this is the best I can do on account of the absolute exhaustion. Also - please excuse the muffin top.)

*I’m not very fond of that word for the anniversary of when you started blogging, but I didn’t know what other word to use.  Also, I don’t regularly call people bitches just for sport.  Unless they try to steal my wine.