Here goes nothing, Bronagh

So. Here I sit, on a Friday night, trying to figure out how the hell to become a blogger. Thanks Bronagh. For those of you who don't know (but for some reason, still care) Bronagh is the driving force behind me getting the stories of this thing called life somewhere in print. Loosely related as some type of in-law, she has become an integral part of my life over the last 2 years (most notably, since my fourth child, Andrew was born in October 2008).

Ah, the children. That's where most of the color is. That, and the bubble of suburbia I have found myself calling home for the last 10 years. If my stories make you laugh, good. If they piss you off, too bad. Please don't whine to me about it. My kids have filled up my Quota for Whining for this lifetime and well into the next, and the oldest is only 8. If you find yourself going "holy shit, somebody else who seems to be (relatively) normal is going through this too" then I can say, "mission accomplished".

Motherhood is a thankless job. There are no performance evaluations, merit based pay, promotions, raises, bonuses, fancy titles or abbreviations to follow your name. It's up to your elbows in puke, piss, and poop, occasionally all three at once. If you work outside the home (isn't that the P.C. way of saying it these days?) or are an at-home Mom like me, it doesn't matter. We're all in the same boat, trying to make like McGuyver, sustaining ourselves on handfuls of Goldfish while rigging together lifejackets for our little ones out of ziploc baggies, pipecleaners, and whatever other junk has accumulated in the bottoms of our purses and diaperbags since joining Club Mom.

For those of you who aspired to become something great in college, and have somehow found yourself not in the role of the Secretary of State, but rather the Secretary of What-the-heck-did-I-do-with-my-Kindergartener's Homework, this blog is for you. I am beginning to think that raising four kids to be normal, decent, hard working, and self-reliant human beings is an accomplishment a hell of a lot greater (not to mention harder) than becoming the Secretary of State. I'll take negotiating with Kim Jong-Il any day over trying to get a four year old to understand that 'No, we cannot keep your pet spider (which was really a tick) as a pet." That story is for another blog though...

Anyway, I still haven't ruled out the whole Secretary of State thing...there's still plenty of time for that... I'm only just beginning.