Several weeks ago a large advertising firm called for submissions from bloggers interested in doing some work. I didn’t hear anything and was formulating all manner of funny open letter style posts last week until I got back from Craft Camp to discover the force that is Not Drowning, Mothering had not only done so but done so with such skill McCann emailed everyone to let them know where they were at.
I tried to write a witty little reply but instead believe I either came across totally manic (tick), desperate (tick) or baying for public adulation (guilty as charged). Awesome work Kim, jog.it.in.
The initial call-out had something in it about looking for people who might tell a story but are able to draw a conclusion for it, are capable of offering advice from their experience or something in that realm.
And that’s where I kind of come undone.
I basically constantly fret that people drop in here for the rubber-necker in all of us. You know, the ‘oooh, a I wonder what fresh hell has befallen allconsuming’s lot this week’ and yes yes, I know I have voiced this before and those of you that do comment left lovely comments saying that was certainly not the case. Bless your cotton socks.
Then I read a blog who got quite.the.press.junket trip from a major food and beverage company and when she quizzed them as to why her, was told it was because her blog was so positive and upbeat.
Well fuck me.
I don’t do radiance and light. I do life. I do kids, I do me and the many public humiliation situations I fall into, I do getting older, I do special needs, I do raising boys, I do food, I do learning how to sew and quilt and crochet (although granted I haven’t talked about my crafting antics for a while because hello, see all the rest).
But the reality is there’s seven people in this house so it is fairly likely some shit is going to be hitting a fan somewhere virtually every day.
I don’t try to make it read funny, just how I see it.
I just had the most awesome weekend away where there was so much talk about dicks, pelvic floors (or lack thereof), body fat and the threat of explosive diarrhoea my undies were basically permanently damp from the wee leaks from laughing so hard so long.
But I’ve come back to a household with a mother who was meant to be going overseas for six weeks (cue un-muted bedroom shenanigans and Chef possibly having his bed shark fed a little more often than the never it’s currently living on) now going into hospital for major major surgery.
So maybe I should say my blog is about the Japanese proverb: fall seven times, stand up eight.