As a recent contributor to Nerve.com’s new parenting blog Stroller Derby I’ve been charged with reporting on recent events and developments with a hip and clever twist. I’m as keen on swearing as the next gal, and I find jokes about the number of drinks required to survive a snow day quite amusing.
But oh me oh my, even I am growing weary of my own cynicism.
But oh me oh my, even I am growing weary of my own cynicism. It is not Babble’s fault that I’m running out of steam. Twice daily blogging is exhausting, even if it is good for one’s Google ranking.
My initial intent, when I started writing CrankMama less than a year ago, was to give voice to what I felt was an underrepresented segment of the mothering world: the unpretty, non-knitting, domestically challenged working babes who were not always fascinated by the travails of the family bed or the joys of teaching their children Spanish before age two.
But I’m afraid I’ve merely swapped one dogma for another. Being hip and trendy is just as limited and defining as any religion, or quilting bee, or PTA meeting ever was. And maybe moreso because those of us circling around in this group are often laboring under the isolation and cynicism of our choices.
And missing the lovely beauty of our sweet elves as they grab at our legs and beg us away from our computers.