iBlog

When I first began blogging, I did it for the fun of it. It was my "dear diary" online. I did do some minor editing because not everything I think or feel should be available to everyone... but on the whole... a diary. 

I considered blogging to make an empire of myself and have a massive following but I'm not that type of person. I'm more of a "behind the scenes" gal. 

Now I realize that the real reason I blog/read blogs is to know that I'm not alone; it's cathartic. 

And when I feel really, really stressed and lonely, I think of women in far worse situations:

The pioneer women who I hold in such high esteem for eschewing all things culture bravely left family, friends and support in favor of...well... I'm not exactly sure. Personally I think they needed their heads checked. They probably followed their hunky stud of a man (think "Marl*boro man") into a situation that he described as the "Wilderness of Love" and found themselves promptly pregnant, bored and without many means of changing their situation. The most excitement they could hope for was a coyote cookout or a good, strong Dust Bowl. And there's only SO many ways to serve prairie dog and ketchup. Blogging would do them a heap of good, says me.

It might take a while for the Eskimo wife to begin blogging anything of worth... (Day 1: Boy it's cold here. Day 2: Still cold. Day 3: Today it was chilly. Day 4: I like ice.) But in the end I think she would start to find friends in far out places who could bring a little joy to her frozen tukkus. She might, for example, share recipes with a Caribbean friend she'd find online, put out a line of fish sticks that would put Long John Sil*ver outta business and start her own cottage, er, igloo industry. It could happen.

I fantasize on behalf of these women, but the truth is that most stay-at-home folk probably feel a little unmoored from people or from reality. I'll just throw this one out there: There are so many days where I find myself in a strange, strange situation that doesn't fall neatly in any categories or goals for my life that I feel exactly like the lonely Pioneer Woman. 

Just the other day I went grocery shopping with my father in law. (I know... isn't he great?) He suggested that we needed some more Pedia*lyte for the little one. They were plum out of what we needed on the shelf. I was content to leave the store, but the provider instinct in my FIL kicked in high gear. "Stay here, Em... I'll find someone who works here." 

He came back a few minutes later with the following information: 

"Okay... there is a red phone in the next aisle. Pick it up and tell them what you want." 

A red phone. 

Okay, I'm game. I found the brightly colored phone and picked it up. 

It rang about 10 ten times before a disgruntled gentleman answered. 

Him: "Hello?" He sounded confused.

Me: "Hi. I was told to call on this phone to ask if you have any more Orange Pedia*lyte."

Him: "Who gave you this number?"

Me: "Um. Well, I was just told to pick up this phone. No number."

Him: "What do you want?"

Me: "Pedia*lyte. Orange flavor please."

Him: "I'll send someone over to the aisle."

Me: "I know where it is. The shelf is empty of it. Do you have more in the back?" 

Him: "What's there is there. (Thanks, Socrates...) We don't have any more."

As I'm talking to Mr. Backroom, my father-in-law is staring at me with great hope and wide, twinkly eyes. I want for all the world to tell him that his kind gesture offered us several bottles of the stuff. More than that, I wanted to leave the store and forget this whole thing happened. Me. 

Picking up an actual old-fashioned, non-wireless phone. 

In red.

The whole situation had a back-in-time sort of feel to it. To be honest, it somewhat creeped me out; there's five minutes of my life I'd like to have back. 

And then I wonder: Are there other mothers out there who are totally strapped for time... have to choose between shower and breakfast every morning and find themselves sacrificially giving a slice of their sanity or a trickle of time to ... I dunno... a red phone scenario? Am I the only mother out there who forgets that 6 o'clock comes every night and, by jove, that's my cue to serve dinner? ("Maybe they'll forget about dinner," I reason.) 

Or am I the last lass on earth who find herself in a really hearty conversation about... brace yourself... shrubbery... and wishes she could swap this dribble for reading a book or enjoying a Margarita with her husband? I mean... how do I end up here? 

So, I blog. I blog to know I'm not alone. 

I blog to know that other people love food and friends and funny moments as much as I do. 

And then, after I've said my peace in Bizarro World, I'm happy.