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Don’t Call Me Mommy, Dammit

July 31st, 2006

And I mean it. Unless you are my daughter or my son, don’t call me mommy.

ie — the pediatrician, “So, Mom, how have things been?”

ie — people mimicking my kids, “Mommy! Can I have…”

ie — anyone who calls me a Mommy Blogger. My bad: Yeah, it says “Mommy” right there after “Wacky,” sure ‘nuf. That is me, Being Ironic. Sense the irony? No? Yes you do. Because I said so.

Now comes Miss Zoot, fresh off a plane from BlogHer. They had no Diet Coke in the hotel for Miss Zoot. Do they not read her blog out there in San Jose? Maybe next year, Zoot.

From Zoot:

SO! Without further ado – we are holding our own panel. Are you ready? I’m going to ask the questions and you’re going to respond. Either on your blog (if it inspires you to write about it) and you can leave a link. Or, just respond in the comments. I’ll post my responses and links to your entries about it later this week. Are you ready? Where’s the mic? tap, tap Is this thing on? Here we go…

1. Do your kids know about your blog? If they’re too young to know, do you plan to keep it open to them as they get older?

Yeah, my kids resent the hell out of my blog, unless I’m writing specifically about them. The slug quote (what he said, what I said) was dictated to me by Wacky Boy as he watched over my shoulder. Funny, that, cuz he can’t read yet. Wacky Girl proofed it for him.

My gripe: I hate the whole “Mommy Blogger” label because who likes to be stuck in a box? Not me, for sure. I am a woman. A writer. A gardener. A political person, community activist, movie-lover, mother, wife, lover, daughter, friend, sister… On and on. Mommy is a small part of who I am and what my writing is about. I think if it’s women, rising up and writing, being pissed, being political, being funny, writing about ourselves, our families, our worlds — well, people don’t know what to do with that.

So you slap a label on it: “Mommy Blogger” and all of a sudden it’s not so threatening, see? All these little ladies with their little funny stories and their little concerns. I read some stupid wire story awhile back about dad bloggers. Now, this was in our daily paper, The Oregonian, where I have never fucking ever seen one article about women bloggers, yet they run a stupidass wire story about dad bloggers, and fwaaaaaaaaa fwaaaaaaaaaa fwaaaaaaaaaaaaa assholes, okay?

And the reporter (I think it was a he. Almost positive it was) said he appreciated dad bloggers because they were “more irreverent and profane” than the mom bloggers and I thought, “Where the hell have you been? You want irreverent? Profane? Come over here… Step a little closer… Closer…”

2a. If so – do you worry they may get embarrassed later? What would you do if they asked you to stop writing about them? What would you do if they wanted you to take it down all together?

Geez I know they’ll get embarrassed by it later, now that you ask! I’m anon. though, so people we know don’t know about it unless we tell them.

If you’re wondering why I keep it anon., and don’t run pix of the kids, or my husband and myself… I had a bad time, for a long time, with my now ex. He hurt me and I almost didn’t make it. But I did, and here I am. Phoenix from the ashes, as it were. And I don’t want him Googling me and finding all this personal, intimate stuff. Although I’ll share it with you, Internet, cuz we have that kind of relationship. I keep it quiet, for the most part, although all the moms in my neighborhood know who I am, which is cool cuz we all look out for each other. I mean, I don’t have a Wacky Mommy bumpersticker on the back of my car. (Speaking of — I need to get Cafe Press back up and running. I think we all need Wacky Mommy/Because I Said So T-shirts and baseball caps.)

If they wanted me to stop writing about them, I would. I’d turn ’em into fiction and change their sexes and identities. (In my novel-in-progress, fourth draft, no agent yet, thanks for asking though, I changed my sister into a brother. Who commits suicide. Nice, huh? She wasn’t that amused. But our fights are not so interesting, so it was easier for me to dream up a male counterpart for my heroine.)

2b. If not, what are you doing to make sure they never find it? What if they do find it?

I am a little freaked now, cuz of the sexy stuff. They are going to get older and they are probably going to read a lot of my writing. No more sexy stuff! Ha. You know I can’t follow that command. I can destroy my old journals and love letters though. After I pull what I need from them. You think this sounds like a disservice to humanity? It is not. My journals are even more rambling and dither-dither then this blog can be at times. Believe it or not. Ten pages of crap, one or two good paragraphs to lift. Sad, really. But that’s the art of the craft.

3. Do you think our kids will appreciate the archive of their childhood? Do you wish your parents had done the same?

I hope so. I hope they like it. Yes, I would love to have even one little letter or scrap of paper from my Dad. I have nothing of his except a few old textbooks, a softball, some photos — and his eyes. My Mom wrote a huge long love letter to my sister — a project her eighth-grade teacher had her do: “Please have your mother describe her pregnancy and birth experience when she was expecting you.” I was so jealous, especially because all I ever heard about her birth experience with me was that I was not wanted, they had to get married, the labor was horrible, they knocked her out and voila! Ten-pound me. Nice, huh? Feeling sorry for me yet? Jesus, I’m sorry to be so sad tonight. I’ve been quite bummed out lately. Is it showing much?

4. Do you go back and re-read your past parenting milestones? Do you realize you forgot a lot?

Yes, yes, yes and yes. I especially love reading the funny stories, funny things they said. I keep handwritten journals and baby books for both of them, too. Two of my favorites: Wacky Boy saying, “I’m a pistol!” when he was about two and barely talking, and my theme song:

“Put your toothbrush
on your mouth
put your toothbrush
on your mouth
Ask yourself
‘Why is my Mommy so wacky?
Why is my Mommy so wacky?’…”

“Wacky Mommy,” the first song my daughter ever wrote (age 2)

5. What about your children’s friends/teachers/moms-of-friends? What if they found your blog? Do you tell your child not to tell anyone about it or are they free to talk about it? Do you worry their teachers or other parents will think it’s weird?

Dear Lord, please don’t let anyone I don’t want to read this blog. Dear Lord, Fuck ’em. Dear Lord, Do you mind if I say “Fuck ’em?” Sorry, if you do mind. It’s not weird, it’s wacky.

Love, hugs and Bobby Sherman,



  1. MamaSutra says

    This is a great post. I totally agree with your “mommy” comment at the beginning. I’ve started forcing myself to say I’m going out of the house for “me time” and not “mommy time” just to remind myself that I have an identity. I enjoyed reading your perspective on privacy and blogging.

    July 31st, 2006 | #

  2. edj says

    I HATE it when people call me Mom unless I actually gave birth to them!! Go WACKYMOMMY! And sign me up for t-shirt and cap. Please oh please!!

    August 1st, 2006 | #

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