Monthly Archives: December 2012

Why Blog?

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The very lovely and clever DillyTante posed this question for us over on Mumsnet, and has started a bloghop about it.

It’s a fascinating question, and I’ve really enjoyed reading the other blogs in the hop. People either ‘get it’ or they don’t, I’ve found. For me, blogging is completely narcissistic and fills a need I have to commit my every waking thought to paper. Or in this case screen.

I first found Mumsnet in 2007, read a thread talking about the shaggability (or otherwise) of Mr Tumble and realised I’d found my spiritual home.

I literally posted about everything back in those days. For a while I was a stay at home mum when both children were at school, so I had lots and lots of time to avoid the housework  think of things to post about. I had the bug. Badly.

Then, about a year and a half ago, I followed a link to the MN Bloggers network, and my new obsession was born. I have less time to devote to this blogging lark than I did in the heights of my MN posting, but I try to blog whenever I have something to say (or, often, nothing to say. Then I just waffle on). Or when I have a few minutes or hours spare.

Dilly has suggested some questions, so I’ll answer those here.

Why do you blog?

I blog because I like to write. It’s that simple. I find it relaxing, often cathartic, sometimes amusing and always enjoyable. I like writing publically because I like the validation of people reading and commenting. I get a real thrill from checking my stats and seeing that 100, or 200, or one memorable day, 1,378 (!) people have read the blog.

What do you get from it?

I get a great deal of pleasure from the act of writing and from knowing people are reading it. I also love to read back over my posts like a diary, Wills’ birth story for example. If I hadn’t written that then I would have forgotten most of the detail, committing it to the internet means it’s there for me to look back on whenever I want. Or often it’s just me venting my spleen.

Is it trivial and is that ok sometimes?

It usually is! And that’s fine, for me. I do occasionally venture into more weighty subjects but generally I like to keep it about fripperies and trivia.

Why should people be interested in what you write?

I have absolutely no idea. I think I’m interesting (clearly, that’s the narcissism creeping in again), and plenty of you seem to appreciate my posts (which I think is WONDERFUL), but I don’t think I’m writing the Great British Novel anytime soon, it’s just a bit of fun.

Do you care if they are not?

Of course not! If people aren’t interested then they don’t have to read it. So long as no one leaves me nasty feedback, because then I’ll cry.

If you blog just for you why do it publically?

Because I am a MASSIVE attention seeker and love to a) air my laudry (dirty or otherwise) in public and b) talk about myself at extreme length to anyone who will listen.

What value do you think you are adding to the world by blogging?

I think I’m making the world a more awesome place. I have no idea, really. I don’t really think about it like that.

Do you feel defensive about blogging?

No, not at all. I feel more defensive about my MN use, because people who don’t DO the internet don’t seem to understand that it’s where some of my best friends live.

So that’s my thoughts on it, for now. Thanks again to Dilly for the prompt, and to you guys for reading.

Love to you all as ever xx

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The lessons we learn.

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There is a pig in our toybox, with SAM written on it in biro.

I was contemplating it yesterday, following a conversation with my Pie. At eight, she has a boyfriend. He dumped her for her friend and then started calling her a pig, shouting ”bacon’ at her across the playground. She is considering taking him back because he’s promised not to call her names anymore.

I am so sad about this. I am trying to get through to her, even at this tender and innocent age, that this is not what she should be settling for at all. To set her sights higher.

The pig in the toybox was graffitied by my ex husband. I was playing with my babies and the farm and it was his idea of a joke (what’s the matter, can’t you take a joke? Mummy’s got no sense of humour, has she? Silly pig Mummy, oink oink’).

I have no idea why we still have the bloody thing, I have never got round to throwing it out, the farm still gets played with and I don’t often remember it’s there.

I am married now to a man who has never called me a pig, or lazy, or fat, or a cunt. Who compliments me several times a day, who puts my needs ahead of his, who is respectful. And that’s how it should be, for everybody. We work hard to make the other happy, instead of doing things that are upsetting or hurtful or selfish or spiteful.

I thought I was doing enough to model good relationships for my children, but I’m starting to realise the damage may have been done. I don’t want her to make the mistakes I did, to seek out the ‘bad boys’, to not value herself, to tolerate abuse.

I tell her every day that she is so beautiful, and clever, and funny and special and loved. I don’t know now if it’s enough. It took me until I was twenty six to claw my way out of the fog of insecurity, to realise that it was possible to be happy on my own, to know that drama does not equal passion. 

I want her to have the kind of real, solid, safe love that I have now, without having to go through the teenage heartbreak and then the abusive cycle of relationships that so many of us experience. I want to protect her from being called names, from the shifting sands of living with a liar, from the physical and emotional hurt.  Every relationship I ever had until I met Rob was damaging in its own way, and each one left its own scars.

I am terrified for her. How can I protect her from the world and all its dangers when the biggest threat is her own self esteem?