I worry that people won't 'get it' and will think I'm sad and shallow (and perhaps a bit weird) and should watch News at Ten more.
You see, my blog largely consists of wittering on about life's trivia such as litter, the trials and tribulations of bringing up kids, dodgy Groupon deals, smelly fencing helmets and boiled eggs.
I'm not sure everyone will see beyond that.
But what I AM sure about is that people would a. stop reading; b. give me a hug; or c.punch me in the face; or d. all three, if I wrote about my thoughts on terrorist atrocities, famine, greed, unequal distribution of wealth, the overpopulation of the world, tolerance (and its evil archenemy 'intolerance'), religion, immigration, crime and punishment, excessive smoking, drinking and eating and their resultant toll on the healthcare services etc.
So, I'll stick to writing about the little stuff (or 'grass roots' if you will), which may seem like random banter about annoying children, litter and bad parking, and just hope that people see that what I'm actually writing about is common sense, respect for our planet, the value of friendship, the indescribable joys of parenthood, decent standards, peaceful and healthy living and good old fashioned 'love thy neighbour' morals.
Phew, I need a lie down now.
Well, the footie season is now over and I have my weekends back. However, the long summer evenings are now spent watching my son play cricket. It's OK (#yawn) but I miss the shouting (apparently not much to shout about at cricket, and I got told off for telling my son to 'just whack it!').
The footie season ended with the annual presentation and my son was made Manager's Player of the Year and his BFF was Player's Player of the Year (#proudmumsallowed).
I'm loving the # thing on twitter but still not a full FB convert, #mustyoushare/dowecare. A friend said yesterday, 'blimey, never thought we'd see you on FaceBook!' and I stress that I'm still not a fan and use it purely as part of my cunning plot to take over the world with my blog and, of course, share the obligatory photographs of my beautiful children.
Parental shouting from the sidelines is a must, if only to embarrass the aforementioned beautiful children when they're not near enough to come and dig me in the ribs.
This season there has been a few classics, with mums and dads being heard to shout......
"Leave your bloody hair alone" (you know who you are, son)
"Stop pulling your sleeves down"
"Stop marking grass" (my personal favourite)
"Get up and shake it off" (turned out to be a broken leg)
"Carry on, you can have Calpol at half time" (just a mild case of concussion)
I'll leave you with a quick Women's Weekly reader's page-style observation. It's something that I keep noticing whenever I'm entering my personal details into an online form. You know you're getting old when you have to scroll, and scroll, and scroll down the drop-down menu to reach your birth year!
#was1971reallythatlongago
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| Winning smiles |
