I am not sure why this is supposed to be a position of shame within the blogging community.
I am also sure that it's probably not "Where it's AT" in the blogging community either.
I am not sure that I am PART of a blogging community.
See, I don't read blogs that are uberhip or about stuff that doesn't interest me. Such as, I don't read blogs about knitting. I'm not anti-knitting. But, I can't knit. I'm a bit jealous of the knitting, actually. BUST magazine had this issue once on the lost domestic arts, which was really cool and it had a whole section on knitting that made me want to learn how to knit. But I got a book on knitting from the library and frankly, it totally fucking intimidated me. And I never went any further than that.
I don't presume that my kids interest you. I don't presume that anything interests you. But the two dozen people who hit my blog a day and know me, they are a little interested.
My blog isn't a news journal. Hell I can barely compose a sentence, I certainly don't correct my typos - which if you've read this far you know. I didn't take any journalism classes in school and I don't fancy myself a writer. Although, when I was growing up, I did want to be a writer. I don't believe I am one now.
So what is my blog?
It's a journal. It's about the things I love, and seldom about the things I hate, because I don't like shaking negativity out into the world. I have it, hell I can be one evil mutherfucker if provoked, but mostly I don't see the point. These are just my words, it's something to do, and it's sometimes a way to say things that I don't say in person.
So why do I take the time to point this out?
I guess mostly because I get taken back by the derision with which non-parents toss out the term MOMMYBLOGGER. Like, we're blogging racist-edicts for Tom Metzger's crew. (If you have to look that one up, you're not nearly as plugged into the world as you think you are). Like what we do is virulent, and hateful, and.......evil.
I am not better than anyone in the blogosphere. We just have different things that are important to us. I'm not sure why I'm supposed to be ashamed of that, in your eyes. I'm not sure why that makes me worthless, and without merit.
It's too bad it does.
Because I could probably learn a lot from you and vice versa. But I'll never know. Nor will you.