A Love Letter to Blogging

ONE MOTHERFUCKING THOUSAND blog posts.

On this blog.

Well, not exactly. This blog used to be a blog called Dirty Little Secret. Because it was 2007, okay?

I didn't know any better.

Which is also why I called myself "Jerseygirl89".

This was taken right around when I started "Dirty Little Secret". 

This was taken a few months after I started blogging. 

I was on this group writing site, and it was dying, and everyone moved to Blogger so I did too. I had no idea what the hell I was doing. I just knew that suddenly I was home with a toddler and an infant and that all my friends were at work during the day. I was lonely, dammit.

Also, anything to avoid vacuuming.

To further establish my clueless bona fides, I did not prepare a ginormous giveaway in honor of my ONE THOUSANDTH* post. Mainly because I didn't notice until about 5 days ago and it's not like brands are dying to have me host awesome giveaways. Unfortunately.

I guess my swearing, ranting, randomness, lack of editing and inability to choose a niche don't scream, "Brand Ambassador."

Oh fucking well.

• I started blogging because I love writing. 
• I started blogging because the idea of people reading anything I wrote used to scare the fuck out of me. 
• I started blogging because I didn't know how to make mom friends. 
• I started blogging because I didn't know what else to do. 

And I am so glad I did. This blog is like my fourth kid, if I had a kid who never threw up on me or talked back.

• Because of blogging, I have no fear of letting people read what I have written. 
• Because of blogging, I have "met" so many people I consider friends. 
• Because of blogging, I have been able to take my kids places we otherwise couldn't have afforded to go. 
• Because of blogging, I have (occasionally) earned money that we really needed. 
• Because of blogging, I have gotten so much love, support and advice when I really needed it. 
• Because of blogging, I didn't lose my mind when I became a full-time stay-at-home mom to two toddlers.

I feel honored that you are reading this post. I appreciate everyone who has stumbled here, even those people from Russia who stayed for .5 seconds. Thank you. Thank you all for letting me call myself a blogger.

I know it's not much, but I've got an Amazon Gift Card for one of my readers. It's only $25, but it's just to let you know that I really do appreciate you guys. Hopefully after my next thousand posts I'll be able to give away a car or something. :) 

Entry-Form

*Look, I don't accomplish much anymore, other than folding laundry and keeping tiny smallish humans alive. So 1000 posts means a lot to me, even though it's not a cure for cancer or the development of comfortable Spanx. My point is, I'm gonna spend the day bragging. Please excuse. 

When Only A Haiku Will Do

A photo of my mom, probably taken by my dad in the 70's. 

We love her so much

It is operation day

Please send her good thoughts

Happy Veteran's Day

A quick pause in our regularly scheduled blogging: It's Veteran's Day.

Ways you can help veterans this year:

• Donate to, adopt a dog from or buy holidays cards from Puppies Behind Bars. Prison inmates train service dogs for veterans and explosion-detection canines for law enforcement. 
• Similar to Habitat for Humanity, Homes for Our Troops builds homes for severely disabled veterans. 
• Donate to Protect Our Defenders, a group that helps servicemen and women who are survivors of sexual assault. 
• Send a care package or handwritten letter to a veteran or to someone currently deployed through Operation Gratitude. 

Thank you for your service! 

Thank You

Would you like to know why I'm not a famous blogger?

It is not because I didn't start doing it in 2004.

It is not because I have not survived great personal tragedy.

It is not because I'm too broke to go to networking conferences.

It is not because I don't have a dog.

It is not because I'm a horrible writer.

It's because I'm a slacker.

I mean, it's not like I'm sitting around eating bonbons when I'm not on the internet. Or ever. I actually don't like bonbons. But I don't mean that I'm a slacker in general (except about housekeeping, which totally doesn't count), it's just that I'm an internet slacker. I'm not on my smart phone at the park. If I'm up late, it's probably because I'm reading a terrific book or watching a Real Housewives marathon. Sometimes I forget to reply to comments. Or forget to blog. Or, and this is the worst crime yet, to say thank you.

A while back,  Canaan gave me an award. Canaan rocks. And I kept meaning to email her back to say thank you, to mention her in a post. Because I'm honored by the award and I appreciate the thought, even though I don't really do the award thing anymore. But instead I forgot until I was sorting my email.

And then I remembered that Diapers in the Desert  (have you read her yet?) had also given me an award. For which I also forgot to say thank you.

So, thank you so much, ladies. And thank you to everyone who reads and comments. I truly do appreciate it. And I'm sorry if I haven't read your blog lately, or left a comment or otherwise been a dedicated blogger. As the kids get older, life seems to get more hectic and I get more slacker-ish. Or more I-just-want-to-chill-out-alone - ish. Or possibly I feel like winter has in me in a choke-hold. Anyway, thank you.

I'm BA-ACK!!!!!!!!!!

We have returned. From Kansas. Which I will discuss momentarily.

First of all, thank you to my wonderful mother, who kept my blog going so that I could come home to wonderful comments and a decent sitemeter report.

Secondly, thank you to all of you who commented while I was gone. I would LOVE to go back and respond to each of your comments (especially you fantastic people who delurked for the first time!) but I don't know if I will since I have a few other things to do (satisfy my itchy blog fingers, read 8,000 blogs, unpack and put stuff away, put my Christmas stuff away, find places for the 8 million new toys the kids got, convince children to make thank you pictures, upload holiday photos, copyread some stuff, grocery shop, do laundry, answer emails. . . oh my god, just writing that list is enough to drive me to the couch).

Third, thank you to my dad for taking us to and picking us up from the airport. Hell is probably EXACTLY like driving to Newark Airport.

And now, let's talk about our trip.

(A quick preface: I love my in-laws. I really do. They love me and accept my city-girl attitude very well. They are wonderful people.)

On Sunday the 23rd, we flew from Newark Airport to Kansas City. It is a three hour flight. But we were delayed in the airport for six hours first. With a three year old and a 21 month old. Actually, though, they were AWESOME. Lovebug had one crying fit, which was solved when we put him in the stroller and rocked him to sleep. Tons of people came up to us and told us what great kids we had and what wonderful parents we were (not that I'm trying to brag or anything, of course). But I would like to thank all of those people, as well as the family whose elementary school aged boys played catch with my little ones and all of the kind people who smiled and talked to and entertained my kiddos. You all helped us survive that trip.

After landing at KCI (it was around 11 LOCAL time at this point), we were met by my sweet parents- and brother-in-law. Who drove us back to "the farm". (The farm is not actually a farm, as my in-laws don't farm or even keep animals. But they could if they wanted to. They live on a gravel road about twenty-five minutes from the nearest town.) An hour and a half away.

For Christmas Eve, we gathered at Hubby's aunt's house. My mother-in-law's side of the family is VAST. She has five siblings, all of whom had at least two children, most of whom also had at least two children. After a while, Lovebug and Ironflower grew overwhelmed so I took them to the guest room to play. And that was the party for us.

On Christmas Day, after the children doubled their toy haul, we went to the home of another of Hubby's aunts. This is my father-in-law's side, which is smaller and way more manageable. I actually know all of them. Anyway, Aunt Frankie was there and she was totally sweet to my kids. Maybe I should stop listening to family gossip. Ironflower and Lovebug had the best time playing with her grandsons.

Early the next morning, my brother-in-law went back to Chicago. And we were trapped.

Because we flew there, we had no car. Because of some tickets Hubby got as a teenager, he is still blocked from his parents' insurance policy (my mother-in-law can hold a grudge) so Hubby couldn't drive his parents' car. . Because I did not want to learn how to drive on icy gravel roads in someone else's car, I couldn't drive his parent's car. Because my mother-in-law had to go to work, some days there wasn't even a car for my father-in-law to drive us in. So there we were, carless in the country.

And with no internet. And barely any cell-phone reception. And hardly any water, because they haul their water and I was afraid of them running out. Which they did on Sunday, so Hubby and his dad had to take care of all that. And it was so cold that we only could play outside once. And even then it was only for half an hour.

We didn't leave the farm for four days. On Saturday we went into town with my father-in-law, which was fun. Even though all we did was go to the super-market and out to lunch.

Sunday was my night to see a few of my friends.

To be continued. . . .