So I was recently introduced to the "Goddess of Mommy Blogging," Heather B. Armstrong. Maybe I'm late to jump on the bandwagon, but I finally checked her out. She's hilarious. Rather crude at times and certainly anti-Mormon, but I think I'm mature enough to realize that comedy and apostates are not mutually exclusive. I laughed out loud more than once. And I'll most likely go back. Tomorrow.
But what sent me into at least ten minutes of semi-deep reflection was this term 'mommy blogging' in the first place. This Heather woman has made a career of it - she and her husband have both quit their jobs to manage her site full-time. (Actually, if I understand correctly, she was fired BECAUSE of her blog.) She's been on Good Morning American and several other national circuits, talking about, well, blogs.
So what is a Mommy Blogger? Apparently Heather doesn't actually consider herself one, although she's been scientifically classed as such. My unprofessional definition of a Mommy Blogger is a woman, most likely stay-at-home (but not always) who really has nothing to say, but talks a lot anyway ... usually about her kids. I am, unequivocally, a Mommy Blogger. I almost always talk about my kids and I almost never have anything to say. If you don't know me personally, you'd be bored. (And sometimes even then, I'm sure.) I doubt strangers ever visit my site, and advertisors would certainly never clamor for my attention.
So eight of the ten minutes of my mental pondering was in answer to the question, WHY DO I BLOG?
Heather earns money from her blog. She writes because she has an audience. And a wicked sense of humor. And I had to ask myself: would I write if I knew no one read it? Probably not. I write to be read. To get a laugh. To stay in touch. To get ideas, too. (Lunch, anyone?) To be sympathized with - to share my experiences and hear yours. To not feel like I'm the only one going through mommyhood.
But it goes even farther than that. I write because it's a release. When I'm tired and frustrated and feel like I'm about to throw a kid against the wall if I hear the three syllable "Mo-o-om" one more time, it somehow relieves me to know that I can complain about it on the net. I probably compose three blogs a day in my head, though I never actually publish them all. (Mostly cuz I forget them almost immediately.) But it's practically therapy. And yesterday. When Isaac helped me to have the Worst Afternoon Possible, I locked myself in the den and lurked blogs for twenty minutes. (With him screaming outside the door.) But hey - I felt better just reading that other moms - moms I've never even met - have bad days too.
Essentially, we're all on this big rock together, all of us concerned about basically the same things. And though we might not have that much in common, we're all human.
And inherently, morbidly, obsessively curious about people's private lives, of course.