Blogs Are Stupid

Doesn't anyone believe in Dear Diary anymore? What happened to the joy of putting actual pen to paper? And why does every ordinary Jane and John think they can write well enough to burden the world with their scribblings? It’s a mystery that badly needs solving. My first entry contains my thoughts about blogging and will set your expectations. The rest will probably be stream of consciousness garbage, much like you’ll find on any other blog. Perhaps we will both come away enlightened.

Friday, February 17, 2006


I have nothing blog related to opine about today, so I thought I would share a glimpse of Martyrdom, er...I mean, Motherhood, here in the BA household. I have boys. All boys. I had no brothers, so I am not privvy to the inner workings of the male mind, nor am I yet accostomed to the many ways in which they differ markedly from females, especially when it comes to the C word. Not that one. The other one. "Communication".

I remember being completely crushed on the pre-pubescent one's first day of kindergarten, when he declined to share the minutiae of his momentous day with me. I couldn't wait until he got home so I could hear everything; if he made new friends, if he liked his teacher; if the other kids brought their lunches in paper bags or super hero lunchboxes...I asked him question after question, until he simply withdrew and refused to speak at all. Mr. BA had gently chastised me, saying "He’s a boy honey, he’ll tell you when he’s ready. If you hound him, he’ll just tune you out." Mr. BA was right, and I have been forced to perfect the art of waiting for those little pearls of information that would spill exuberantly from female lips. Years later, I am still honing that skill.

But I'm learning. And I'm learning that since I have very little patience for female histrionics and melodrama, mothering boys suits me just fine. However, on occasion, they do manage to render me speechless, which, as you might have gathered, is no small feat. Recently, the pre-pubescent one and I had a conversation that underscored the fact that although he is not yet a man, his genetic legacy cannot be disputed.

BA Mom: Son, do you need to do Valentines for tomorrow?

PPO: Yeah. Are you coming the party?

BA Mom: What party?

: I think there's a party.

BA Mom: Why didn't I get a memo about it?

PPO: I don't know if there's a party. There might be.

BA Mom: Is there a handout I was supposed to have gotten? (ongoing source of conflict for us)

PPO: I don't know.

BA Mom: What made you think there was a party? Somebody must have mentioned something about it.

PPO: I don't remember.

BA Mom: Did Mrs. X (teacher) say there would be one?

PPO: No.

Me: Did Mrs Y. (room mom) say there would be one?


BA Mom Stares blankly at the pre-pubescent one.

PPO: What???

BA Mom: (Sighing) Nothing.

PPO: So...are you coming to the party?

Am I suggesting that men don't listen? Ummmm. No. That would be sexist and wrong. But since this child is in the gifted program, I'm not concerned with his critical thinking skills. Make of that what you will.


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