Periodically I spend a few minutes going through my blog archives here because I did a massive “move to draft mode” a few years ago of all of my posts that were in the “parenting” category because – for the first time – I have a kid who is very easily embarrassed by things I do/say and I started worrying that cute stories about them pooping on themselves would be discovered and their lives would be ruined…or something silly like that.
(For the record, this same trait also means my instagram is policed. I found out recently that even mentioning the app TikTok is a huge no-no because it’s cringe-y to have a parent who uses TikTok even if my feed is all artists and dogs.)
So I’m going back through and re-reading entries, formatting them to fit this blog, and then deciding if they’re “okay” to be out of draft mode or not. And y’all? When I used to freely talk about my kids? I used to be funny.
Since I don’t talk about my kids as much on here anymore, it means I’m left to only talk about myself and it turns out…I AM NOT A HUGE WELL OF HUMOROUS ANECODOTES.
I’m ESPECIALLY boring if you take away my ability to discuss things that can be embarrassing. Because here’s the thing…I actually DO have funny stories to tell that don’t involve my kids but the thing is – most of them involve me humiliating myself (let’s be honest, that’s always been part of my brand). And in the same way I had to put all of my parenting stories in draft mode, I also can’t tell my own embarrassing stories because what if my kid decides THAT DAY to read my blog? Or what if their friends do? (I don’t hide this blog, they just find it boring.) And what if it’s the day I tell the hilarious story about accidentally mooning a large group of people? THEY WOULD DIE OF EMBARRASSMENT.
So I’m stuck talking about myself in NON-embarrassing ways and that is just SUPES BORING and not even remotely funny.
One day one of my kid’s came home and said something about how they saw my instagram photo where I referenced boob sweat and how that’s embarrassing and I had to put my foot down. “Listen. There’s probably 5,000 examples of me talking about boob sweat on the internet. It is a problem that not enough people talk about and it is my brand so you have to just accept I’m going to keep talking about that, okay? YOU CAN NOT TAKE AWAY BOOB SWEAT FROM MY PERMISSIBLE TOPICS.”
However! Today I will tell you a short story about my oldest because he’s not easily embarrassed and this story is not too embarrassing anyway.
Eliah called me yesterday and mentioned maybe trading cars for the night so he could get a rug he bought on Facebook Marketplace. He was taking his BFF so he wouldn’t be able to put down the front seat, but he wasn’t sure if that mattered in terms of how much space he had and he wasn’t sure if my car/hatch would even have more space. So he came by to pick up some bungees and to use my tape measure. After some measuring he decided the bungees and his car would be sufficient even with someone in the front seat.
“How far will you be driving, possibly with your trunk open?”
“About an hour.”
“You all are driving to a stranger’s house who lives an hour away? Please call me and let me know it went okay so I don’t worry you’ve been kidnapped and/or murdered.”
He called me last night around 7pm and said, “We got the rug. It folded up fine and I was able to close the trunk so we didn’t even need the bungees. And we didn’t get murdered.”
“Thanks for calling and letting me know.”
“That’s okay. Lauren’s Mom made us call her too.”
It’s just always nice to be reassured you’re not the only one still worrying about your kid well into adulthood.
(Sidenote: The featured image for this post is a picture of me taken from 2004. It’s a photo I had to re-upload for an archived post and it cracks me up because I totally forgot I had that shirt.)