Mommy Off the Record and IzzyMom have started an exciting new blogiday: the ROFL awards. The great thing about this particular award is the objective criteria used to determine the nominees: you simply measure the volume of tears dripping off your chin (rounding off to the nearest millilitre) and cast your vote accordingly.
My nomination (coming in at 3.46 litres) is Kristen’s post, Dreamland, from Home on the Fringe. One of the drawbacks to a funny-award (and to comedy clubs) is that things are often funnier when you don’t know ahead of time that they’re going to be funny. So I’ve tested this post with multiple re-reads, and every time I go back, I can feel that weightless sensation as the laughter shaves years from my age (and based on the prevalence of pooping, barfing, farting, and nose-picking among this month’s winners, all the laughter has reduced most of us bloggers to a four-year-old’s mentality already).
For this month’s winners, go here and here. And whatever you do, make sure you click on Slacker-Mom’s link to this German guide to the birds and the bees. My college German is a bit rusty, but the text is still hilarious (and anyone who can translate the terms "Scheide," "Glied" and "Hodensack" for me will earn my deepest gratitude). Enjoy!
At Emmie’s suggestion, I’m putting out not so much a "call" as a tentative query. Does anyone have a post about rage simmering on the back burner? I don’t know that I personally would want to write a rage post just out of intellectual interest – for me, the act of writing yesterday’s post was deeply cathartic. I spent the morning keeping track of all the absurd little things that made my chest tighten and my breath go shallow with the effort of keeping the cyclone contained – and then I realized that I had entered "compose" mode. The relief was immediate: I stepped into that tiny space of distance from myself, selecting words and images and rehearsing them in my head as I scrubbed the kitchen floor with more than my usual degree of elbow grease. As therapy, writing out my rage is invaluable.
Aside from such venting, is there value in talking/blogging about our rage? Like Cinnamon Gurl, I’ve seen those startled looks of blank disbelief, like the woman at my moms’ group who gaped openly when I mentioned my collection of cardboard paper towel rolls (suitable for banging the wall, or the husband who steps between me and the wall for fear that I’ll damage the paint). And that reaction is so much less helpful, really, than that of my friend who showed me the dent in her wall, and the bandaid on the fist that put it there.
It was not without a twinge of misgiving that I hit "publish" on that post. I was braced for sympathy, and what I found instead was recognition: far more recognition than I had ever expected. So those of you who have met that woman, the angry one, the tight-lipped one, the fist-through-a-doorway one: Where does that rage come from? What are the safe ways you’ve found to express it? How do we incorporate that experience into our sense of ourselves as mothers? If you’ve got something to say, and it will help you to say it, write a post about your rage and let me know about it. I’ll decide what to do with the links when I see how many takers I get – somehow a link-fest love-a-thon doesn’t seem like quite the right approach. Maybe I’ll write a haiku and link them up that way: Yesterday’s jeans are / on the floor, sprawled. How can I / vacuum you bastard?