The Evolution of the Mommy Blogger

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.

The 10 Commandments of Newtopia

I am Newtopia, premiere suburb of Chicago's North Shore. Thou hast arrived, thou lucky woman! Abide by my commandments:

1. Thou shalt be grateful unto smugness for thy Newtopian abode; thou shalt have no other residences before it. (Thou mayest own property elsewhere, but thy heart and thy dollars belong to me.)

2. Thou shalt be fecund, and if not naturally so, thou shalt spend the price of a BMW to produce thy biological children. Or thou mayest adopt.

3. Thou shalt move to town when thy eldest child is two or three.

4. Thou shalt own at least two cars. They shall not be domestically-made, for American cars art anathema to Newtopia (with the exception of a GMC or Ford SUV, a Jeep, a Town and Country mini-van, or a PT Cruiser.)

5. Thou shalt be blonde. And thin. (But thou knewest that.)

6. Thou shalt keep thy figure, and, it is hoped, thy husband--even if it does mean letting him buy the ragtop Mercedes to tool around in in good weather.

7. Thou shalt keep thy house in on-the-market condition at all times.

8. Thou shalt keep thy yard landscaped, weeded, mown, mulched, pruned and trimmed to within an inch of its life. (But thou needest not do this work thyself, as it would ruin thy French manicure.)

9. Thou shalt decorate thy house lavishly for all secular and Christian holidays, removing thy decorations promptly when the holiday is over.

10. Thou shalt move out when thy youngest child graduates from high school (or maybe college) heaving a sigh of relief as thou watchest the Coldwall Banker agent place the "For Sale" sign on thy beautifully-kept front yard.