Possible Blog Names:
-Notes from the Heartland; The Remix
-Womb for Rent
-GingerTales (a play on gingerale because i fucking love gingerale)
-Ok that’ll do, pig, that’ll do
I started a blog. I have some ground rules for myself that I am going to publicly say in hopes that it will hold me accountable and also because I crave structure in my adult life because my childhood sucked:
1. Be true (to my stories, to myself, to you)
2. Be committed (for at least one year)
3. Allow no space for negative self talk
I think that covers it.
I decided to do this after much persuasion from some peers and friends. As I sit here and sip on my can of ginger ale while watching episode 24 of season 3 of Grey’s Anatomy with my 13 year old (I had to just do the math to figure out how old she is because that is not something I remember regularly, more on this later) daughter sitting next to me, I thought if not now than when?! Burke is about to leave Christina at the alter and it is going to ROCK GWEN’S WORLD when she watches it unfold in the next episode so my time is fleeting here. Does this make me a bad or a good parent? Regardless, the time felt right to strike.
I guess some background to those of you who are not my friends whom I’ve emailed 30 seconds after publishing this post to let them know they need to read this or I will be v mad at them for the rest of their lives: I am 30 years old soon to be 31. I have a daughter named Gwen who I gave birth to at the ripe old age of 17. She is smarter than me and I often defer to her when trying to solve the world’s mysteries and also when I need to figure out how much 30% off of a $34.99 top at Target is. I work for a large company in a middle management position. Am I allowed to post details of that on here? Oh shit are there like blog laws I need to research and follow? Any advice on this would be appreciated. Regardless, I have enough seniority and power in my career that I can make my own schedule, but not so much power that I can just turn off my phone for the evening. I am up for a promotion which would mean a pretty life altering raise in salary, but it may be years before that happens because I am not relocatable and positions in my little Middle America town are few and far between. Yes, I live in Trump Country. Yes, I hate it. I do not have a college education and this fact shames me pretty regularly. I could easily go back to school and pay zero tuition because my company would cover the costs, but I just can’t seem to find the time between binge watching The Sopranos and heavily drinking every weekend (kidding, only every other weekend). Oh God is this too self serving yet?! A few more things of note… I was one of those lucky teenage moms in that baby daddy has always been a presence. Him and his now wife are caring, loving parents to Gwen. I have a terrible relationship with both of my own parents, though. My mother means well and loves my daughter very much, but ultimately my sister’s mental illness has put a deep divide in our relationship (more on this later I am oh so certain), and my father is absent. The last time I saw him was summer 2015. But he mailed me $100 for Christmas, so no complaints here.
I live in two worlds. As I sit and think what kind of “spin” do I want on this whole thing, I keep coming back to this truth- that I exist in two worlds. I have a lovely group of intelligent, beautiful. independent, free thinking friends. But they live about an hour away from me in the city. These are the relationships in my life where I get the most fulfillment from. I travel, for pleasure and for enrichment, alone and with others. I crave knowing new things and learning about new cultures. I am a feminist and I was rocked to my core on November 8th. I spend most of my time since that day being ashamed that I am white and privileged and I am constantly trying to understand what the fuck is happening. My entire extended family is convinced that I am a lesbian because I am an advocate for the LGBTQ community and because I am only one of two cousins of my generation who is not yet married and the other cousin who is not me is a drug addict but yet he also has managed to maintain a long term relationship.
The second world that I live in is mommyland. I have been a mother since before I could legally vote. I never had the opportunity to become who I was supposed to be. I was a child and then I had a child and now I am here. I have a mortgage in a school district where all of the kids get ipads and all of the stay at home moms get off on posting facebook pictures of their lularoe leggings. God I wish I was joking about that last sentence. Two of my neighbors still have Trump signs in their yards. I make pancakes on Sunday mornings and I cut a monthly check to the orthodontist. I have another group of lovely friends. These women have been my best friends since high school. They are also young parents, and most still together with their high school boyfriends, living, as I am, in the same county in which they were raised. To most, this would constitute living the dream. I have a healthy, intelligent child. I am living the American Middle Class Dream. But I am only half in this world.
So where to from here? Forward, I suppose. I kind of like not having a clear plan yet. I will write when the inspiration strikes, and when I have already called all of my friends to tell them about the hilarious thing that just happened to me at the grocery store but I still need to share it just one more time. Yes, this is mildly narcissistic (isn’t that much the point of blogs?), but I also hope to be putting into the universe something positive and my twitter following has just not grown like I expected it would over the years. My current ambitions are to write twice weekly. Is this a lot? Again, I am very ill-versed on the blog laws. But a short essay twice per week seems sufficient enough to me to keep relevant. I am waiting to hear back this week from a lovely couple in Holland to see if I will be pregnant with their child come the fall. So I don’t think a lack of topics will be a problem for me.
Until next time..