I’ve been writing diaries on and off since I was a kid. I used to have pen friends from various other countries, and I could always be relied on to churn out a pretty decent rambling letter to family or friends. With the advent of the internet, it’s hardly a surprise that I’ve progressed to blabbering away online.
Initially I thought that web based photo albums and journals would be of interest to family (not always the case) but it has been the connections I’ve made through blogging, and other online platforms, that have connected me to the world. There must be millions of bloggers out there, but I love how chance links you up with all sorts of interesting people. Ordinary people, like me.
This is my second blog. One thing I learnt from the experience of my first one was the fine line between being open and honest (and naive?) and the confidentiality and privacy issues that I owe my family. It’s a bit hard for me to tell my teenagers to be careful on the net, while at the same time blogging openly about them. So, for their sake, as I continue my blogging journey, on this blog their real names have been changed to protect their identity – from random passing weirdos anyway.
Unfortunately I suffer from a complete lack of imagination when it comes to witty fictional net names for my lot. What I feel like calling them seems to vary from day to day, depending on what my mood is with them and how creative my brain is at the time. Somedays they’ll be simply Ms 15, Ms 13 and Ms 10 (until their next birthdays of course.) Somedays they’re likely to get a Princess tag, depending on what they’ve done to deserve it. Other days they might just get called something else! You’ll figure it out.
The husband also suffers from my inability to fictionalise. Some days he’ll be the Daddy, sometimes I might be inclined to refer to him as the Dearly Beloved, and other times (when he’s annoying me) he’s likely to get the moniker ‘Himself’ or His Majesty. He’s also my Computer Tech Guy, and my very own Bike Mechanic. I’m tempted to refer to him as “M”. That’s his initial anyway, but I kind of like the (pre-1995 anyway) James Bond symmetry. He likes to think he’s in charge.
And me? I’m just me. Even in real life I tend to say “just call me Tracey”. (If you call me Mrs (Lastname) I’ll think you’re referring to my mother in law!) I’m 47 in August, and that’s scary. I don’t feel that old. I define myself, first and foremost, as ‘married with children’. Guess that’s what happens when you don’t get round to going back to work after the birth of your first kid. (And she’s 16 this year.) I suppose I could call myself a ‘career mum’ but I don’t fit the stereotype. (I hate cleaning, and I’m really over cooking). Somehow, despite that, I’ve managed to keep pretty busy all this time. I love our family holidays, and if you are inclined to keep reading you’ll discover soon enough that our main passion is cycling, particularly on our tandems. (We own three!)
Meanwhile I’m in the throes of trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my life, so I’ll probably have the angst angle covered there. If I had to summarise it in one line I’d say that I need to lose 10kg and get a career.
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