Common Sense, Dancing

I had an interesting conversation with a friend the other day as she began to explore in more depth the World of Blogging. We met for coffee, because T was interested in picking my brain about my recent blogging exploits and learning how what I knew could be expanded and applied to her photography business — as she takes it out into the Great – Big – World Wide Web. (T is an amazing photographer. Visit her site here.)

[At this point I cautioned her that everything I know about blogging could be fit into the coffee cup in front of me, that I was self taught, and that I really had not a substantial clue about what I was actually doing out in the ether of the Web, but that I was certainly willing to sit on the porch of the coffee shop, enjoy a fabulously enormous latte and shoot the breeze. And so we did.]

I will spare you the talk about widgets and domains and banners and buttons (the talk was quite technical, wherein I expounded on the importance of “that code stuff” and “whatever it’s called, that stuff on the side and bottom of the site.” Wouldn’t want to overwhelm any of you!). At one point, the conversation moved in a more philosophical direction when I described how I started blogging for my own entertainment and only shared my site with readers who *knew* me — you know, college roommates, a sister-in-law, the best friend from childhood. I wondered aloud to T, “Because really, who would want to read what I think about anything?” She laughed and agreed that she wondered the same thing about what *she* wanted to put on her blog — who would seek it out? Who would read this stuff?

The thing is, neither of us were being modest. We were perplexed by this — and even having 24+ hours to think it over, I remain perplexed. It reminded me of a lesson that I taught when I was worked as a Parenting Instructor for a course called Redirecting Children’s Behavior (based on the book by Kathryn Kvols). During that lesson we talked about the self-esteem of children, and how when they are younger, kids have such a perfect and pure sense of themselves that they will share all kinds of mundane (and not-so-) details with strangers: “I lost a tooth!” “I can tie my shoe!” “I went to Grandma’s house yesterday!” And when our children are younger, we stand by and watch this, smiling and nodding along. But somewhere along the way, the children get older and many of us find ourselves saying things like, “”Oh, sweetie, the produce man doesn’t care about your tooth today. He’s very busy,” effectively shutting them down and giving them the message that it’s not really okay to talk about yourself.  Why does that happen?

Which leads me back to the blog. My friend T theorized that this “insecurity” arises from a subconscious realization that we’re all moving so fast, acquiring information so quickly from so many different sources, that our blog offerings can only have a finite — and miniscule — amount of time to “get the message out.” And, since everyone is so busy and time is so short, there is a sense that what we have to share must be “value-added” and worth the time. Makes sense, I suppose, but I don’t know that this explains my shyness – nervousness – anxiety – bewilderment.

I started blogging to amuse myself — pure and simple — and to find an outlet for the thoughts and observations that were, up to that point, only reviewed in my own head in the quiet of 2 am. I subscribe to my mother’s theory of humor and witticism: if you can’t make yourself laugh (or cry, or go, “A-ha!”), then I don’t know how you’d get that reaction from anyone else.

Update: There’s another new voice in the Blogosphere…visit my cousin’s site here. She’s brand-new, just started yesterday. And she’s at turns hilarious, insightful, profound, irreverent. Just like all of us.

Saturdays in our house start out wonderfully. When Child #1 was born, Husband inadvertently created The Breakfast Club. (Not to be confused with the movie of the same name. No illegal substances that I know of, although I’d imagine there has been some eye rolling and attitude across the table over the years.) If you are old enough to walk, you are old enough to participate in Breakfast Club. So for the past 13 years, Husband and Offspring have headed out on Saturday mornings for their weekly meeting. Used to be, when we lived in Hoboken, that they walked around the corner to a coffee shop (hence the “you need to be able to walk” rule), but now they head out to a local diner where the waitresses make a big deal over them, ask them about their week, and generally talk with them like they were regulars a la Norm and Cliff from Cheers (again, without any substances stronger than orange juice and hash browns).

You’ll notice that nowhere in that paragraph am I mentioned. Sometimes I join the Club as a Special Guest, but more often than not I use the time to head to the gym or, less likely, sleep in. The times that I do go to Breakfast Club, the waitresses say things like, “I always wondered who their mother was,” or “So nice to SEE you!” I feel a bit like an interloper. The family has their ordering routine — one child always gets grilled cheese and fries (!) for example, and one orders decaf coffee. I have learned, in my limited appearances, to keep my mouth shut and go with the flow. (But really, fries?)

Way back a hundred years ago, I taught a parenting program called Redirecting Children’s Behavior. One of the lessons of the course was adapted from Stephen Covey’s 7 Habits work: crediting and debiting emotional bank accounts. In a nutshell, we’ve all got these emotional bank accounts, and the people in our lives make credits and debits to the account. For parents, when we continually debit our children’s accounts, through impatience, nagging, yelling, and otherwise less-than-perfect parenting behavior, but fail to make any credits (together time, respectful conversations, allowing independence, etc), then we run the risk of “overdraft” and the resulting behavior from our children reflects this.

Why do I bring this up? Because Saturday’s Breakfast Clubs have been happening for more than a decade, and it is truly time well spent among the children and Husband. He makes major credits to their accounts during this hour at the diner, and they reciprocate for his account. The Offspring know to count on the weekly meeting (it is rarely canceled), and it sets the tone for their time together on the weekends. Are some meetings of the Club better than others? Of course. At times, the car ride to the diner is a cause of great conflict and unpleasantness (turns out one still can’t sit next to another without making the other crazy) and the Club comes home grumpier and testier than is optimal. But the net-net from all these Club meetings is that they have a relationship with their father — and he with them — that is their own:  pretty happy, and independent from me. Win win win!