It's a funny old place, planet parent-blogging. Only yesterday I learnt - once again - that someone had been banned from one group or another, battle lines were being drawn and barricades manned. Or rather, women-ed. Or 'mum-ed'. Or even 'mum-bloggered'. The spats and fall-outs seem to come as regularly as the lunar cycles and - had I the time - I'd do some research into whether they are linked in some way. In the absence of empirical data I give you part one of a brief short-story I wrote some time ago, about the time of another major fall-out in the parent blogosphere. It's nothing directly to do with all the fighting. In fact, it's nothing to do directly with anything. It was originally called 'Cybermummy' before I saw that name had been taken as a trademark. So it's called 'Online Mum of One' instead, and the whole thing can be read in the anthology, Tiny Acorns. and you never know - if you like it, I might post the rest of it tomorrow...
‘So, world – here I am!’
No, don’t be silly; I can’t possibly say that. I can’t possibly begin my first blog-post in such a corny way. So how do I begin? What can I say that will get people reading? How do make myself stand out from the blogging crowd? Hmmm. Not as easy as you think, this blogging lark. I know; I’ve got it! I’ll start by writing something funny. Yes – I’ll tell a funny story. Ok, then. Funny. Here we go.
Monday 3rd July – Supermarket Sweep
You know how it is, you’re in the supermarket and you’re steering the trolley carefully, narrowly avoiding all the grannies chatting to each other right across the aisle; you steer a precise course down the centre, equidistant from each shelf, because if you didn’t your little one would be stretching out his arms and reaching out for all those tempting-looking jars and cans. And you’ll be half-way down the aisle before you realise the shelves are being emptied and that trail of devastation - those smashing bottles and those tins of baked-beans bouncing – is all your doing. Well, not strictly speaking yours – his: that cute, blue-eyed, blond-haired little cherub who is even now beaming like the very sun at all the people running round with mops and brushes and melting the hearts of all the pensioners tut-tutting at his mum. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? No? Well in that case this is probably not the blog for you.
Is it just me, or do all parents go through such public traumas when they try to go about their daily business? I need to know; that’s why I’m sharing this with you. If you’re a mum like me and you’re as harassed as I am, let’s commiserate. If you’re not, if you’re a super-mum and things like this don’t happen, then I want to know your secret.
And if you’re not a mum at all, go find yourself another blog to read (lol! Back soon! Love, Gina x
Yes, that’s perfect. I like that, I like that lots. It sets up just the right light-hearted tone whilst at the same time making it clear what I’m about, and why I’m here. Of course, they don’t know the real reason do they? Why should they? Let’s just leave it there for now, shall we? Hit ‘Publish Post’ and see what happens. Ok then? Here goes!
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Well I suppose I’d better have a look at it, hadn't I?
Just to make sure?