My Mom Reads My Blog

No, my Mom doesn’t read my blog.  When I asked my Mom for her email address she said she didn’t want a bunch of jokes -and didn’t give it to me.  When I asked my Mom for her cell phone number she said it was only for emergency -and didn’t give it to me. So no, my Mom doesn’t read my blog.  And that bothers me, of course, but more important than that is that I choose to write anyway.

I’m envious of my friend, Dana.

via My Mom Reads My Blog


2 thoughts on “My Mom Reads My Blog

  1. raymasson says:

    I hope you’re not too envious of Dana because her mom reads her blog or too disappointed that your mom doesn’t read yours. Mom’s like hers always gush… like when she carved random crayon letters on a piece of paper at the kitchen table… some of them backwards… and she continues to award the standing “O” for every blog she posts… even the “meh” ones. That’s great. Some moms are professional cheerleaders. Yay. 😁😁😁 Good for them, I guess. And maybe good for their kids. Confidence inspired by mom support is good, I guess… though I’ve seen that too often turn into a perception that the world is all rainbows and unicorns with no idea that it also contains Nigerian princes and internet lovers who just need to borrow some money to get out of a jam. Some moms go off on their own when the kids move away and don’t want to be interrupted in the pursuit of their new life without kids. That’s okay, too, I guess. But WE read your blog…. religiously. This reminds me of one of my favourite concepts… that “members of the same family seldom grow up under the same roof.” So when you need family… remember us. BTW… I like your blog better than Dana’s. Yours is down-to-earth-cup-of-tea-at-the-kitchen-table-and-pet-the-dog kind of warmth. Not to judge a blogger by one cotton candy post… but, without even reading the whole thing word by word, I kinda slotted her as lost flower child/amateur self help guru. LOL… there’s a concept that makes me laugh! Reading OTHER people’s advice for SELF help! And there’s a whole industry built around that!!! 🤨 I felt my self sliding into the feeling of derision until the words depression and anxiety popped up… then I backed away slowly and quietly. I try remember that, even though I don’t understand it, those can be real things, that some people’s brains aren’t wired properly and they actually need help to cope with anxiety and depression. They were probably absent the day the class learned about “perspective”. Thank goodness there’s a whole industry built around that. I have to fight to keep from sliding too easily into that crotchety, cranky old man persona and spout out: “What? I don’t understand people today! Why… back in MY day, we didn’t have TIME for anxiety or depression! We were too busy gittin’ on with our lives! No time for analysis, self-analysis and comparisons… or does my mommy love me?” My mom NEVER said “I love you”. But she provided us kids with top grade home cooking, made DAMN sure we were dressed and groomed properly before leaving the house… and she and my dad paid for me to play hockey. THAT I will never forget and never cease to be thankful for! But… maybe Dana does have a point. I can empathize. Anxiety and depression can be real for me… every time I fish a puck out of the net behind me! And then I start thinking … why did my older brother and his buddies shun me and refuse to let me tag along? Okay… maybe I am funny looking and wallflower shy. Maybe I have no talent or worth as a human being. After all… what have I really accomplished in my life? I’ve never been to the top of Everest… not even Kilimanjaro! I haven’t discovered a miracle drug. I haven’t walked in the moon. I haven’t created peace in the Middle East. Hell… I can’t even cook! What is there to live for?😐 Okay, now I feel guilty about making light of those who have to deal with the reality of anxiety and depression caused by chemical imbalance or trauma. I actually do feel for them… and if blogging is therapeutic for them… that’s a good thing. And YOU blog on, too, momma-Sue!

    Sent from my iPhone



    • Ah my friend, I can always count on you for a good dose of reality -what matters and shakin’ off the rest. I miss having parents. My Dad who taught me I could do anything from play the flute with beauty and grace and wire in a dishwasher with sweat and swear words, who taught me I didn’t need to be six feet tall to be seen and make a difference. My Mom, my real Mom as I called her who I really didn’t have in my life and missed her always and my Step-Mom who taught me to sit like a lady and use the right fork. Interesting that concept of family -the ones who matter. The ones that happen. I fell into a family like that. It consisted of three bearded young guys and a geriatric guy – and if I could bottle the dynamics of that little family group it would cure anxiety and depression. Lucky me, to have found those guys.


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