Writing Prompt: How did you get your name?
This is a question posed the other day by my blogbuddy Eli over at Coach Daddy, (He’s great! If you aren’t following him, why not, I ask you? Sports, parenting, humour and heart all in one place!)
It occurrred to me then that many of you new followers may be wondering the same thing. I mean, it is kind of a goofy name… But there are quite a number of you out there who have not yet seen pctures of my chickens or had the privilege of being personally mothered by me. My desire to mother any and everyone is both a blessing and a curse… don’t worry, my friends. Your day will come… 🙂
The genesis of my blog is, like a lot of things about me, kind of weird. And random. Also, a bit awkward.
It all started when I decided after a long boycott of social media, to get hooked up on facebook. Well, no ACTUAL hooking up occurred, but that is just a term I can’t seem to stop using in spite of its rather unsavoury connotations. Bear with me. I’m old, ok? Anyway, when we relocated back to England after a 4 year break back in the States, I decided that facebook was becoming something of a necessity to keep in touch with my family and friends back there. Honestly, without facebook, my family does not communicate. LIke, at all.
Phone calls? De passe. Email? Yesterday’s news. Actual conversation does take place occasionally, but only when everybody is in the same place at the same time, and in a family of 6 plus my half brothers and 5 step siblings, that is pretty much never.
But I digress.
So I entered the dark waters of the facebook world out of necessity, and quickly fell in love with this whizzy new gadget for keeping tabs on everyone. In spite of my clear mandate to “friend” only family and close friends, the lines quickly got blurred and before I knew it, I had a couple hundred people looking at my stuff and commenting, etc. I was a proper liking and commenting machine for about 3 months, until I decided I hated facebook and shut it down.
Yep, you guessed it. Never.
So I reopened my account (like most people do), then shut it down a month later, reopened it again I don’t know how many times. Like it or not, facebook was here to stay.
And then the writing began. My posts, generally 3 or 4 lines tops, began to get longer… and longer… and longer. I was embarrassingly verbose, like a kid set loose in a dictionary store. Have a look at my facebook masterpiece regarding the wonders of British plumbing in Ode de Toilet, reproduced here as a post in May. I’m sure you will understand why my children were mortified… hahaha! Poor things – fancy having a mother like me!
My comments were not much better. If something lent itself to a humorous writing op, I would just go for it, no holds barred. I wrote hilarious essays on everything from cheesecake recipes to the history of the Jewish nation in facebook comments. Naturally, they were wholly unappreciated. I would get snarky comments from people like, “Ugh… longest. answer. ever.” I soon realized that, unlike me, facebookers do not read actual paragraphs. They like 2 types of post:: Cat memes, and videos. Any text longer than 2 lines is lost on them.
At some point, I began writing a series of “Diary” entries about life here among the chickens, and life in England in general and signing them Mother Hen. It didn’t take long to figure out I was going to need to get a blog going just so I didn’t lose all 200 of my facebook friends… because, well, facebook. If you’re not friended there, you have no friends… (Ha!) No, seriously. I was driving everyone crazy apart from my mom and about 20 loyal readers who kept encouraging me to write, write, write… (you know who you are!)
In honour of my 9-month blogversary, I thought I would regale you with a little blast from the past, and proof positive that I NEEDED to get a blog. If only to keep from annoying my meme-loving facebook family!
So, without further ado, here is my very first facebook Diary entry:
Dear Diary #1, Let me preface this rant with a disclaimer: I love living here in England. I really do. But there are days, and this is one, when cottage life can become somewhat claustrophobic. My living room is about 10 x 11 and contains the most massive American sofa (don’t ask – long story), plus an exercise bike, 2 chairs and a large coffee table, a bookcase, a fireplace, 2 coal hods, a wood basket, 2 quilts, 2 cats and a partridge in a pear tree. Do the math. We have a narrow, hoarder-sized path about 12 inches wide in which to navigate, and trust me, people, I do NOT hoard. I am seriously unsentimental. I AM, however, clumsy on occasion, and between the feet of the exercise bike and the legs of the coffee table, no toe on my foot is safe, and I have a fairly permanent bruise on each shin.
Every doorway has an actual door on it, including the hallway, which may in itself not sound like a problem; but between furniture and few places to store things, it gets tight. Hoovering today was a proper chore with a 6 foot cord (WHY??? WHY SO SHORT?????) that I had to unplug and replug 50 times, in between maneuvering around furniture and – well, STUFF.
Now, factor into this equation my age. I’m 48 and married to a man whose core body temperature is about 10 degrees too low. He likes it warm in here. No, not warm; he likes it HOT. He’s like a rattlesnake basking on a doorstep, the hotter the better. I, on the other hand, run to the warm side, as most women my age do. I can’t tolerate sleeves of any kind in this house, so I live in string vests, much to the dismay of my postman. My husband, on the other hand, sleeps in a hoodie and track bottoms under a 6-inch feather duvet, (??????) but that is another story.
So now that my carpets are cleaned, I am set to tackle the ironing pile in a HOT living room that I have had to reconfigure in order to set up my ironing board… *sigh*
Your Seriously Ruffled,
facebook meme: memeblender.com
Photos taken with my chicken diva, Dusty Dustball Orpington, my hand raised chick. Isn’t she gorgeous?
Now, the ball is in your court, my friends! How did you get your names? Is there a fun story behind it? Mine was kind of lame, I know, so surely you can do better… Humour me – it IS my blogversary, after all!
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