Whose Blog is it, Anyway?

I like blogging. I like it because it's relaxing, and because it's something that is all mine. There is very little in my life that is just mine. I have recently considered installing a padlock on our bedroom door, because I've realized that all the stuff that is in our bedroom and is therefore, theoretically, at least half mine, is being taken over by the little people who live in my home. They use my lipstick--sometimes as lipstick, sometimes as a crayon. They use my hairbrush, my deodorant, and my toothbrush. No, they don't use my deodorant as deodorant. They use it as finger paint. And I don't want to know what they use my toothbrush for, but I'm fairly certain it is not to brush their teeth. Really, if you have an idea, don't even tell me. They sometimes sleep in my bed, which is ok in theory, until you figure that five people (and a dog) in a queen size bed usually means that someone is left clinging to the the edge--that would, of course, be me. I guess it's only fitting that I spend my nights clinging to edge of the bed, since I spend my days clinging to the edge of my sanity. 

They go through my jewelry box full of single earrings, knotted chains, and nothing that costs more than fifty bucks, all of which I am excessively attached to  extremely valuable family heirlooms. Occasionally, I will notice something out of place and I will go ballistic and tell them for the twenty-seventh time  gently remind them not to go through my things, but it never lasts long. Of course, they are sweet, kind, generous children, so they don't just take. They give back, too. On a typical night, I find three toy cars, two fairies, a Spiderman, and at least one dinosaur somewhere in my bed. Jimmy usually finds them first, but he is so kind that he just pushes them over to my side. (Yes, I am totally  mostly passing on the opportunity to make an inaccurate but incredibly funny joke about Jimmy being the dinosaur in my bed. NBO do get some of their kindness, sweetness, and generosity from me, after all).

My body used to be mine, but then three people took it over, one by one, each of them adding their own personalized touches. Someday I will have them each initial their respective stretch marks, which they currently find so fascinating. And yes, the fact that they find them fascinating means that they look at them. Occasionally, I have delusional episodes where I think I am actually alone. By myself. With no one there. At these times, I will attempt to do ridiculously self indulgent things like take a shower, get dressed, or go to the bathroom. And, as I am doing one of these things, someone will, almost without fail, slam open the door, or pop out of some corner of the room I didn't know they were in, and will often make their presence known with a comment or question about well, whatever part of me they happen to be staring at. "Mom, why do you have THOSE? Why don't I have THOSE? What are THOSE?" Sometimes the question implies that my body is missing something. "Mom? Where's your mickey? Did it fall off in the shower? Is mine going to fall off in the bathtub?" I will spare you further examples. I know you are incredibly grateful for this.

Suffice it to say, nothing about my life is my own. Lately, I have even started suspecting that someone has been investigating my underwear drawer. Trust me when I tell you, there is nothing interesting in there. I think maybe they want to see if the stretch marks come with the undies, since my version--that those things were not there until YOU, sweet child, were in my belly--just doesn't seem plausible.

What I am leading up to with all of this is that I am kind of protective of my blog as one of the few things left that is mine. So, when my sweet daughter asked tonight if she could write something in my blog, my initial reaction, as her loving, kind, generous mother, was to tell her to get her own damn blog wait til she was a little older. This was not only my reaction because I want to keep my blog as my own, but because when I read her a previous entry, she started telling me how I could improve it. Have high self esteem? Have a child. They will take care of that for you. When I suggested that N may want to get her own damn blog  wait a while, she looked disappointed and kind of sad, and I decided that her happiness was more important than me having something that was all mine. I told her to write what she wanted people to know about her or our family. Yes, I was incredibly fearful of what the results of this might be. As it turns out, it wasn't anything we didn't already know:

Hi!I am N! I am six years old.My mom says I eat with out my spoon,only sometimes.I have two little brothers B and O. B is three, O is one.They are craaaaaaaaaazy!Bye for now.

How sweet. She was concerned that I told people, in a previous blog entry, that she ate with her fingers. She asked me to read that part to her, so I did. She laughed hysterically. Then she cried hysterically. Then she said "DELETE THAT RIGHT NOW!". I didn't make the connection when she asked me a few minutes later if she could write an entry in my blog that she just wanted to make a rebuttal. Smart girl, that daughter of mine. Cute, too. She even made the text pink. She also changed the font, which I'm not sure I'll ever be able to get back to what I like. Oh well. Isn't it more important that N feels included in this? That she gets to share something with me, her mom? Isn't it more important that I encourage her means of self expression, and allow her to tell whoever she thinks is reading this that she only eats with her fingers some of the time? I think so.

There's just one thing that concerns me about what she wrote. Do you see it? "Bye for now".  FOR NOW? Clearly, she thinks this is the beginning of a long, distinguished partnership. We will have to talk about this. Maybe even put it in writing. This is NOT a partnership. This blog is totally, completely, 100% all mine, and I am not sharing.

I hope she'll understand. I'll still let her drool on my pillow, and steal my covers, and leave me clinging to the edge of my own bed. She can still look through my old jewelry, though if she wants to see some really old stuff, she should stick to looking in my underwear drawer. I'll still let her use my lipstick, and my hairbrush, and my deodorant--though I think it might be her brothers who have a preference for that. She can even keep using my toothbrush. In fact, because I love her so much, I don't even want that back.