Waxing Scatalogical

Every time I get a mommy blogger to review I say some variation of this: I'm not a mom; I don't want kids; parenting is beyond me and I just don't get it. And it's true, every time. But I'll be damned if there aren't a lot of you parents out there blogging away. You've snuck right up on me so that here I am at 34, still befuddled by the thought that people try to get pregnant. I know; I'm kind of a late bloomer.

Still, every time I get a blog that's demonstrably mommy in nature, I cringe. And this is entirely unfair because, lord, how many people out there have kids? Some of my favorite people are parents. Some of my favorite bloggers are parents. My parents are parents and I love the hell out of them. I am so much in the minority as to be almost freakish. And they're just people, after all. They haven't been infiltrated by evil parent aliens from the planet Annoy the Fuck Out of Me, where their god is The Mighty Scrapbook and their government -- My Offspring Did the Cutest Thing Today -- demands a kid-centric regime. At least not all of them have.

So I renounce my anti-parent blogger bias and promise to no longer sneer and roll my eyes automatically when I see a page devoted almost entirely to progeny. At least I'll refrain until I've determined whether they are, indeed, aliens.

Which brings me to today's reviewee, Creepy at Tiptoeing Through the Tulips. It is, yes, a mommy blog. You can tell right away -- look at the huge honking childish scrawl that takes up your entire browser window. It kind of gives it away. It also kind of drives me insane. There's also the tell-tale collection of darling pictures of children paraded down her sidebar. Initially you might think, as I did, "Oh holy fucking christ, another fucking mommy blog. I bet her kids shit rainbows and fart lollipops."

Well, you and I would be wrong. Because her kids just shit shit. Lots of it. (Be glad I didn't link to this post. Oh, wait. I did.). A lot a lot. If I didn't think the whole tulips thing was very appropriate, I'd suggest she change her blog title to something along the lines of "There's Shit Everywhere," or "Shitastrophes," or "Ew, What's That Smell?"

But don't let the poopapalooza throw you off. Creepy is worth pinching your nose to tread through all that loaf pinching. She's all kinds of upfront about who she is and what this blog is about. Yes, it's a mommy blog. But if a mommy can say these two things, back to back, I'm down: "*I love my kids so fucking much I want to squeeze them 'til their little heads pop off. *My kids drive me so fucking crazy I want to tear their little heads off." Because that's kind of how I think it should be, me with my neverhavingkids self.

There's a lot of "this is what we did and how it went and aren't my kids the cutest little shitpants on the planet" writing, but Creepy is likable and irreverent and honest and twisted and enraged enough to pull it off. Also, we totally share a birthday. Aries holla!

So, it's not the most carefully crafted blog, and maybe the kid stuff can get a little ho-hum for a nonbreeder like me, but she makes up for that by telling a very honest, meaningful, and relatable story about raising a special needs kid. My day job deals with exceptional education, so I know how valuable sharing experiences can be for parents of kids with special needs, and I respect Creepy for wanting to document her experiences. It makes a difference, and I suspect it will make a difference to her son some day.

However, Creepy, I'd still like to encourage you to branch out more. Frankly, I'd like to know more about you now. The blog feels a little like it's outgrown its beginnings, with Graham thriving and growing and little Dottie, too. It feels like it might be time to drop the umbrella of "mom who blogs about her kids" in exchange for one about Creepy, who is a mom and more.

Some suggestions: Your design is innocuous and boring, but not eye-bleedingly horrible. I'd move the archives up above the pictures of the rugrats. Good job on having separate pages for important things, though. In terms of writing, you have an engaging and funny voice that I suspect is very true to life. But there's a slipshod quality to some of your posts. I know you're a busy mom, and you say you're not a writer, but I suspect you are. Or could be. Spend some more time on crafting your posts and editing them. And please, for the love of Daniel Craig's sweet, sweet ass (<--- my version of heaven), lay off the fucking ellipses.

'Cause in the city we're ourselves and electric too

I'm not a city girl. I'm not a country girl, either, for that matter. Nor am I a country club girl or a suburban girl or a southside girl or a campus girl. I'm not precisely sure what location descriptor might fit me best, really. Perhaps I'm a midtown girl. Whatever I am it's not city. And this depresses me a little bit because, oh, the lights and the pace and the sights and the culture (yeah, sure, junkies in the park counts as culture, don't you think?). But I'd be overwhelmed down in the thick of it for more than a couple of weeks, honestly. I'd want some trees and a little space before too long.

The Unbearable Banishment, however, straddles the line between suburb and city, sometimes embracing his banishment and sometimes pining for his lost city (which isn't really lost, since he works there, but still). He's a Midwestern guy who moved to NYC and stayed for twenty years but got sucked into New Jersey suburbia and family life.

This is the dullest design ever. Oh, it's fairly innocuous. I'm not seeing any antifreeze green or anything. But it's such a downer. Seriously, folks, get with the program. This isn't 2004. Find a better template. We've got loads of links for you to find something better. UB, you take lovely pictures of the city and your family. Snag one of those and make it your banner. The design you've got now says, "Ask me about purchasing medical supplies," not, "I'm a cool, arty, urban dad with a sense of humor." I will say this, it's not cluttered. Although you'd be better served with tabs for an About page (create one, please) and your blogroll.

UB is a bookish city boy and the father of two girls about whom he writes sweet and funny posts. He reminds me of my brother if my brother were straight: neat, organized, intelligent, well-spoken, artistic, and politely irreverent (that sounds like an oxymoron, but it's not). He's into theater , theater, and more theater (Why do I feel like I need to be spelling it "theatre"? Because I'm all snooty-balooty, that's why.) and art and books.

There's amusing commentary on NYC/NJ life and funny references to Bond, which is aces in my book. Anyone who can quote Goldfinger is all right by me. But he's also remarkably down to earth and his writing is approachable and conversational. And he's a marauding cell phone jammer, a practice of which I wholeheartedly approve. He needs a fucking cape.

Most of the blog is light and funny and erudite and sort of carefree, but there are some posts that reveal what's going on in his life and his heart, and these are very fine, too. I'd like more of them.

The morning is moving on without me, and I've got to get this review posted. But what I really want to do is settle back into this blog and read some more. It's being added to my feed reader as we speak, although there's one minor problem: I want to know more. There's not a lot of talk about Mrs. Wife, which is either a little off-putting or terribly protective and sweet, I'm not sure which. And we get a lot of now, but not so much then. I'd like some more exposition, but then I always do. "Take it off, take it all off" seems to be my mantra. I get that not all blogs need to explore the sharp, rusty edges of our souls or sift through the decaying pages of our sordid pasts, but, come on. Just a little?