I haven't talked to my dad in a while. I really need to call him, or I will come home to find a message like this on my answering machine:
"Hi, it's Dad. Just calling to let you know that I haven't died. In case you were wondering. I suppose (my stepmom) would call to let you know if I did, but don't count on it. I've tried calling your siblings, too, but no one answers. I guess you're all too busy to talk."
Yes, I have gotten that message.
It's not that I have anything against my dad. I love him dearly, but I can no longer talk to him.
Our conversations now go like this:
Me: "Giant did the sweetest thing for me on Mother's Day."
Dad: "I know. I read the blog."
Me: "Oh. Well, we finally got the minivan fixed."
Dad: "I know. You wrote about that, too."
Me: "Well, good luck on the golf course."
Dad: "Thanks for calling, Honey."
I started writing the blog to keep track of things for my kids and to help me remember all that has happened throughout the year. (We send out a four page, obnoxious but funny Christmas card making fun of ourselves and all that has happened.) I didn't tell a soul about it for months and months. I saw no reason to. I certainly don't want people to read the blog then be bored to tears by the Christmas card.
Then one day my dad was getting on me yet again for not having a Facebook account. He laid on all sorts of guilt about how he wants to keep up with everyone and see photos of the kids. His final blow was, "Your brother puts all sorts of great photos on his page." So I blurted out that I would not get on Facebook, but if he wants to see photos I would link him to the blog I write.
And so my biggest fan was born. He has told everyone in our family, all of his friends, and perhaps even his dentist.
I'm glad that he enjoys the blog. I'm glad that he gets to see the photos and read about the kids.
However, I never predicted the loss of conversation.
I love to tell stories. When something ridiculous happens, I am thrilled, because it means I have another story to tell. Funny can be found in almost any situation, and I like to help people see it. I also like to get people to think differently or from another point of view. Sometimes my stories will do that. And usually, my story will spark an idea or story in the other person. Thus, a wonderful conversation can be had.
When I am talking with someone who reads the blog, I lose the chance to tell a story. The person has read it, laughed, and moved on. Or thought and moved on. Whatever. Either way, I lose the chance to be a part of the experience. The spark that was ignited by my story never gets put into an idea or story. No conversation gets started. The other person learns all about me, but I haven't learned a thing about him.
And it's not just with my dad. Buttercup told a friend of hers about the blog, so she and her parents now read. It is quite odd to have someone come up and give you a hug completely out of the blue. At least it seems out of the blue until the person says, "I read your blog," and I remember that I wrote about how awful I felt during a Lupus flare and a cold the previous week. All I can do is say, "Thank you." Then get through the long pause until I think of something original to say. Like, "This has been a really warm spring, hasn't it?"
When I wrote a post about our messy craft day with my bible study group, I needed to get their permission to post the pictures. Some of them now read the blog. Although I don't know who does until I start to tell a story and someone gets the "I've read this" smile and nods as I talk. She doesn't interrupt, but it's just not the same when someone knows the ending.
So, to all of you that know me in real life, did you know that you can comment at the end of each post. Other bloggers know this and leave a comment. It is exciting to get a comment because lets you be a part of the experience. If something you read sparks and idea/story, leave a comment! Or call/email/text me to tell me the idea/story! At the very least, tell me that you read something so I don't tell you a story you've already read.
Real life people, if you continue to stalk the blog, I'm going to start making stuff up. I'm going to tell you stories of all sorts of things that never actually happened just to get a reaction out of you.
I'd threaten to stop writing, but my dad would kill me. Or make me use Facebook. I don't want to use Facebook. Or be killed.
For the next 48 hours I will be living and breathing soccer. It is our home tournament, so we will have 15 or 16 games, plus hours of volunteer duties, in the next two days. Since it is a soccer weekend, Mother Nature has dialed up some cold, windy, wet weather for us. I need to go find my boots and throw some blankets in the van.
When I get back, I better be findin' all sorts of thoughts from you people.
Have a lovely weekend!