I thought yesterday was Wednesday. It sure felt like a Wednesday, hence the premature posting of my lovely grandmother in all her pre-tequila glory.
I also thought I had taken down something I had written as part of the Wordless Wednesday post before anyone saw it, but there was a comment from DysFUNctional Mom that said, “that just sucks” and she wasn’t referring to Granny (really, how could anyone find a 92-year-old about to slam back a shot sucky?).
Nope, DysFUNctional Mom was referring to my now-erased mention of Chuck and the dreaded pink slip.
See, when Chuck told me the news last night—that he may very well get the slip by the end of the month—I decided to mention it here. But the whole time we were lying on the couch afterward, watching The Omen (what better way to quell those financial fears than with a horror movie?), I had that ick feeling. Then I started to hear the dreaded voice (which sounds an awful lot like Winona Ryder in Heathers): “Nice job, Debbie Downer” and “You lewser, people want funny, not funereal.”
What’s more, I worried that Chuck would feel I had violated his privacy. Sharing stories about his unmentionables is one thing; telling the world he’s about to become Mr. Mom is another.
So off I went to un-blog about it. Which you can’t really do, now can you?
I know the pink slip news isn’t earth shattering. And it’s not as personal as, say, confessing that I’m having an affair with my transgendered hairdresser who is also the uncle of my illegitimate half-sister who happens to be my ex-girlfriend (don’t lie, you’d read that blog, wouldn’t you?). But having a blog has raised all these questions I wasn’t prepared for. Mainly, what is the point of this blog? To be humorous? To provide a front row glimpse into our hicky lives? To post pictures of my pets in the hopes that someone—anyone—will mail us a Furminator?
I really don’t know.
I thought being a funny mom blogger would be easy. What’s campier than a bumbling new mom and her baby? Well, a lot of things. And you know what? The way we parent isn’t always slapstick. It reveals a lot about who we are, in very intimate ways. Ways that often make me cringe. Ways that often make Chuck cringe.
So yah, if someone could send along that Furminator…