I wrote this post over the weekend. I can tell by yesterday’s comments that this post isn’t really necessary—you know me really well. The comments were wonderful Since I’m sick I’m going to use it anyway—my head is too congested to think of something different to write.
I am ashamed to say that I’ve just recognized “The Bachelor” on “Dancing with the Stars.” I totally blame Social Butterfly. Left to my own devices I would watch nothing bug PBS.
After the whole “Jenn is a pathological narcissist” comment, I started thinking about my motivation in starting this blog.
First, every single person that blogs has a certain, and not necessarily unhealthy, dose of “look at me” in them. If we didn’t, we could all write in private journals. We don’t—we want to share our lives with others and interact with them. I certainly do.
Secondly, when I was thinking about starting a blog, I noticed that many of the blogs out there, while well-written and entertaining, often focused on the downsides of motherhood and marriage. While I consider those bloggers experiences valid for them, I thought there was room in the big, wide internet for a different perspective—that of a happy person who enjoyed and was satisfied with a life built around motherhood and homemaking.
My life is not perfect. I am not perfect. My kids are not perfect. My husband is not perfect. Even my dogs aren’t perfect.
That said, I really love my life and all the aforementioned aspects of it. I’ve worked hard and had some luck. I’ve suffered losses and had setbacks, but it has all worked out okay. I am an upbeat person.
I am frankly peeved that I am being attacked for being well-adjusted, hard-working and happy.
If you really are a reader of my blog you know that I struggle with my weight, that my younger son was once suspended for fighting in the 10th grade, that I have epic battles with my youngest daughter about her clothes, that my husband uses the elliptical as a clothes rack (this drives me nuts) and that I’m having to train my family to help out more around the house now that I’m working full-time. You know that I had very difficult relationships with my sister and mother and that I miss my mother very much.
In short, I really don’t believe I’m trying to portray my life as better than anyone else’s or myself as perfect.
I do portray my life accurately—though with the blogger’s penchant for exaggerating the elements that make it funnier.
I am very organized. Why should I apologize for or deny this? I treasure my ability (both cultivated and natural) to be organized. It allows me lead a very full life and get a good night’s sleep.
My house is pretty much always clean—why is it somehow more “real” to have a messy house? You do it your way and I’ll do it mine.
I got a kick out of my kids when they were little and I get a kick out of them now. Do I get a kick out of them every minute of every day? No, but I’m very happy to have had these kids and I’m not going to pretend that they’re sucking the life out of me in order to make someone else feel better.
I love my husband and he’s a really great guy. Sorry if that offends someone. We are not a lovey-dovey in public couple, but I met the man 30 years ago and I woke up Saturday morning to the newspaper and a vase of fresh daffodils on my nightstand. I had a wicked cold and he thought he’d brighten up the room for me so I could spend the day in bed reading and nursing my cold. I think that makes him pretty damn swell. Plus, today her brought me Lemon-Chicken soup from Daphne’s.
I am a helluva teacher. Again, this is both innate and cultivated. Kids that HATE school love my class. Kids that routinely refuse to turn in school work are writing essays for me. Woohoo! I am sure not going to downplay that.
I do write about my family, friends, neighbors and students. I change names when I need to and anybody that is at all close to me (including in-laws, friends and neighbors) knows about my blog. I don’t say anything negative about anyone that I haven’t or wouldn’t say to the person’s face.
I do not believe that hiding your light under a bushel makes you more moral than I am. It’s a style thing and it’s not my style.
If you don’t like the style in which I write about my life, don’t read my blog. I take no offense. But don’t tell me that my being a competent, happy, person who holds and voices strong opinions means that I have a serious psychiatric disorder.