So obviously blogs are pretty personal, and to write a blog you are putting yourself out there, giving up some level of privacy, and opening yourself to vulnerability with each post you share. So I felt it was only right that I would ask my hubby and my son what level of involvement they wanted in this new adventure of mine.
I started by asking the hubby, figuring this would be fine with him since he has been involved in me doing this all along.
Goddess: “So are you okay with me talking about you in the blog?”
Hubby: “Why would you talk about me?”
G: “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because it’s about my life?? And you’re kind of a big part of my life???”
H: “I don’t know. Are you gonna make me sound like an idiot?”
G: “I will only speak the truth.” (said with really big, overly-innocent smile)
H: “I don’t know. I don’t care.”
G: “I won’t call you by name. I’ll call you ‘my hubby’ or ‘my knight’. ”
Okay, permission granted.
Then I asked my fourteen-year-old son. I thought this may be a bit tougher since he is at that age where sometimes being associated with me is akin to contracting the plague.
Goddess: “I am going to be writing about family stuff on the blog, but I feel like you need to have a say-so in how much you want me to involve you. So you have three options. I can: a) never mention you in the blog, or b) I can talk about you, but allow you to read and approve anything before I post it, or c) I can give you a shout out daily, mention you in every post and make you a rock star. What do you want?”
Son: “Well, I think I will go with option B, because I am pretty freakin’ awesome, so just mentioning me will probably increase your subscriptions! But I definitely want to be able to approve them. Otherwise you may say (he goes into a whiny, high-pitched, syrupy voice that sounds NOTHING like me) ‘Ooh, I walked in his room today, and he was playing his piano keyboard in his little underwear, and it was sooooo cute!’ and then everyone would be laughing at me.”
G: “Okaaaay. Do you want me to use a nickname instead of your real name?”
S: “Ooooooh. A nickname! Let me think about this . . . (long thoughtful pause)…I would like to be called Dr. Smooth.”
G: “Dr. Smooth? Really?!?”
S: “Yeah. My biology teacher asked us to write down our first name and last name on the front of a tongue depressor, and then what we preferred to be called on the back. I wrote that I wanted to be called Dr. Smooth, but I don’t know if she’s going to call me that.”
G: “Okay. I’ll call you Dr. Smooth.”
So ladies and gentlemen, the role of my freakin’ awesome son will heretofore be referred to as Dr. Smooth.
(This post has been approved by Dr. Smooth. He wanted it titled: “Random Banana Chewing on a Nocturnal Rubber Chicken”. But I figured that would really confuse the hell out of the people who typed that topic into Google and ended up here wondering why there is nothing about random banana chewing on a nocturnal rubber chicken on this page. So no go on the suggested title, Dr. S!)
There are reasons I am not completely sane, folks!