Fueled by this morning's third cup of tea, my brain cells are synapsing furiously, and I've come up with an insight I'd like to share with you.
If your children are too old to call you "Mommy,"1 they've reached a point in life where their focus is increasingly not on you. And yours, no doubt, has broadened a bit beyond them.
This means that if I blog--and I don't know whether you've noticed, but I do--I am a mother, and a blogger, but not a Mommy Blogger.
I am far beyond the stage of Braxton-Hicks contractions, centimeters dilated, nursing bras, play groups, potty-training, naps, Elmo, Dora, Disney Princesses, super hero pajamas, Junie B. Jones, and A Series of Unfortunate Events.2
This frees a lot of time and energy to pay attention to other issues, like high school, college, and whether I'm going to get any grandchildren out of all this.
So I am not a Mommy Blogger. I am a Housewife Blogger who is trying to become a Grandmommy Blogger. I do this by teaching my children to say "please," "thank you," and reminding them to put on their antiperspirant.
Because everyone knows that to attract the opposite sex long enough to produce offspring, you need to avoid stinking to high heaven. It's true. Case in point: Charles Darwin, father of modern biology, author of The Origin of the Species, and father of 10 children, was supposed3 to have smelled fabulous.
1 In this household it was spelled MAMY, and I have the poster paint signs to prove it.
2 Which? Those books? Were.
3 By me.