First and foremost, I’d like to thank those who commented on the previous post. Your wisdom, insight and kindness did me a world of good. I didn’t read blogs much last week, for which I feel very guilty, but I caught up a little the past couple days and read even MORE posts from people experiencing blogging blues, blahs, pressure and/or guilt. I had no idea.

The funny thing is that we all sort of mention the same things. That makes me think that though this is likely cyclical, as many a wise commenter suggested, I needed to draft something official to address this ennui.

Friends and passersby, I give you my declaration of independence from all ridiculous and counterproductive thoughts and behaviors related to blogging.

A Blogging Declaration of Independence

1. I will only write when I feel like writing. I will not allow myself to feel obligated to write a blog post or do any other blog-related activity if I don’t feel like it.

2. I will no longer stop to consider if a post will be boring to other people or use that as a deciding factor in what I write.

3. I will write from my heart and remember that my blog is about me and whatever I want to write about.

4. I will not compare myself to other bloggers.

5. I will not allow myself to feel bad if I notice that someone doesn’t come to my blog anymore.

6. I will not concern myself with comments or stat counters or other numeric devices that might have the ability to affect my mood or what I write.

7. I will not feel bad if something I care about doesn’t get a lot of feedback or comments.

8. I will always try to remember that blogging is a hobby first and foremost. When it stops being fun, I will step away and re-evaluate.

9. I will no longer feel guilty about not commenting “as much as I should” because my first responsibility is to myself and my kids. Though I love reading and connecting with other bloggers, real life needs to come first.

10. I will make an effort to not get lost in blogging. Just because I can while away an entire evening in the blogsophere with relative ease doesn’t mean I should.

11. I will not worry about losing readers if I change my focus from time to time.

12. I will be true to myself and my feelings. I will be cranky if that’s how I feel. Being a diplomat 24-7 is just exhausting and unnatural.

13. I will try really hard to fight that feeling that I am missing out on something if I’m not reading and commenting on blogs.

14. In committing myself to this declaration, I am setting myself free so that I can enjoy blogging more and stress about it less.

15. I will update and add to this declaration as necessary.

I invite anyone who wants it to take this declaration and personalize it to your specific needs. Post it on your blog and link to it from your sidebar so you will see it and think about it regularly. Be sure to come back and let me know about it so I can link you from this post :)

ALSO! In an effort to free up more time for other important things, I find that I cannot keep up with Props and Pans. I enjoy writing it and I enjoy getting freebies to sample and review but I just don’t have the time. I’d hate to close it so I’m looking for a co-editor (and/or writers) to solicit and post reader submissions and write a few posts every week. I will maintain the technical side and we can alternate freebies, reviews etc. If anyone is interested, please email me at izzyirish at gmail dot com.

I went to the 24 hour CVS tonight to pick up a few things, including some cough syrup and a decongestant because I have yet another kindergarten cold.

As I exited the cold medicine aisle, marveling over how one human body can manufacture so much snot, I spotted Jennifer Weiner’s new book and stopped to take a gander. I was flipping around, trying to decide if the book of short stories was any good when I hear an accented voice next to me.

“Excuse me”

I look over to see a nicely-groomed blondish guy, not really “hott” but not scary nasty, either. Apparently, he is speaking to um…me.

“Yes?”

“I would like to tell you that you are very beautiful” he said, spoken slowly and in an accent I cannot identify; possibly Russian or eastern European.

Huh? I mean I’m having a pretty good hair day and a woman with a phlegmy cough is SO attractive but seriously…where is Allen Funt? This is like Candid Camera or something, right?

But instead I just smile and say “thank you” because I can’t even remember the last time a person of the male persuasion complimented me, which is kind of sad.

But wait…I can see he’s winding up to say something else.

“I would like to ask you…”

Don’t tell me. Let me guess. You need some money for a cab because your car is broken down.

Or you need help picking out tampons for your sister/girlfriend/roomate.

Or…I’ve got it! You want me to buy you beer because you lost your passport, right?

“…can we go to a date together?”

The hell? A date? You want to go to a date? I glance over my shoulder looking for the cameras as I tell him in my sexy (read: hoarse) Demi Moore voice that I am married. I even show him my ring just in case he wants to debate the point. But he doesn’t. He just say’s “Oh, okay” and hightails it out of there, no doubt burning with embarrasment that he was rebuffed by some old-ass married chick. Heh. Right.

I’m not totally convinced that he didn’t have an ulterior motive. Like maybe he’s a part of some foreign white slavery ring that specializes in frumpy American housewives because a certain sultan overseas prefers them and his M.O. is to find them out alone at night and flatter them and convince them to go out with him and when they do, he kidnaps them.

Shut up and stop rolling your eyes. It could happen.

I told hubz when I came home and he laughed. Laughed, dammit!

  This morning I was flipping around like I do every morning trying to find something news-ish to watch that didn’t suck and I had an epiphany of sorts.

But first, I just have to say that I cannot stand the Today Show and especially Al Roker. There’s something about him that really bugs me. But even worse is how the FOUR hosts stand around and make lame chit chat with each other in the street. We’re supposed to find this entertaining?

And Meredith Vieira, whom I do like, has no earthly idea how to stand in a skirt. Her legs are always astride and it makes her look like she just got off a horse. Sort of John Wayne-ish. I don’t know why it bothers me but I think it’s because they I suspect they make her wear a skirt (which she typically doesn’t ) and that’s just way sexist and provincial. Grrr…

But I digress.

I’ve been in a really down mood lately. It started a few weeks ago when I had a total meltdown one night when we were watching the late news. I just started crying about how much I hate the world; that if I had to hear one more story about a molested, kidnapped, raped or murdered child or woman or scuzzy pedophiles or a school shooting or genocide in Darfur or global warming or the impending extinction of yet another species or animal cruelty or child abuse or political corruption or the war…my head would explode. (To be fair, I would get my period a couple hours later and I can be nearly certifiable when I’m premenstrual)

I just find myself unable to be happy lately because of, I believe, a barrage of bad news that I can’t seem to escape. I can’t take anymore. I feel like the boy in that fairy tale The Snow Queen. He gets a piece of glass or something in his eye and from that point on, he can only see the negative things in the world.

So my epiphany, as I was looking for something decent to watch, was that I just need to bury my head in the sand for a while. As much as I like knowing what’s happening in the world, I have decided, for the sake of my mental health, to cut out all news. I will not be reading the paper or watching the news on TV and I’ve removed all news links from my Google start page. This will be my new home page.

So what do you think? Can watching too much bad news depress people? Or do I just need a good antidepressant?

˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚˚

On a completely unrelated note, there’s a new post up over at Props and Pans where I discuss a product I was asked to sample. Go check it out if you get a chance :)

In an effort to be an engaged and involved parent, as I have generally been throughout my daughter’s life, I attempted to attend my first PTA meeting today.

It seems, however, that once again the gods were conspiring against me and I didn’t heed the warning signs:

• Torrential rain - Yes, when it’s raining so hard you can barely see 10 feet in front of you, screw the meeting. Pick up your child and go home. Also do not worry that if you don’t attend you will not be “walking the walk” in relation to all the times you bitched about this school having an under-active PTA. Nobody will even notice. Just go home. You can be a martyr some other time.

• When you reach the meeting and nobody can tell you if the 12 piles of papers (I counted) on the sign-in table are for attendees or not, you may want to just hightail it out of there because this is clearly not an organized meeting that will start soon and end expeditiously. If you decide, against your better judgment to stay, do not try to engage the very brusque and unfriendly woman to your left who hints that your older child shouldn’t take up a seat because there are clearly more adults than chairs.

• When your one yr old decides that instead of sitting quietly in your lap he’d rather make a bunch of noise, squirm and kick his shoes off, you should not stay at the meeting that still hasn’t started. No. You should depart because it’s all downhill from that point.

Downhill? Yes. You see, after doing his hooting, squirming and shoe removing routine, your one yr old proceeds to run down the aisle, leaving a faint whiff of something. Could it be…? Why yes! It’s poop! Smart mom that you are, you decide this is a great (and very valid) reason to leave…except you still have to pay for your daughter’s book fair selection.

As you put the squirming boy down to write a check, he runs off and a kindly teacher intercepts him, poopy diaper and all (which she may not yet be aware of), and offers to hold him while you write a check. While you are grateful, all you can think about is the caustic poop he produced the day before, courtesy of his antibiotics for the weird thing on his finger. Fearing a blistery diaper rash, you forgo the nice lady’s offer to hold him so you can partake in the meeting and you finally leave.

When you get to the car to fetch your diaper bag (because you love to learn your lessons the hard way and refuse to bring it with you ever), you decide against finding a bathroom to change the baby’s diaper because it’s too far away. You decide instead to recline the front seat of the momvan and do it right there. While hustling and doing your damnedest to get the evil fiery acid poop off his skin, it starts pouring again and you have no hands free to hold an umbrella. Your back, butt, legs, shoes and the back part of your freshly blow dried hair are getting soaked. Great.

Finally, you finish and you walk around to your door just in time for a truck to come roaring past you on the street. You move quickly but not quickly enough. A big splash of water soaks the front of the momvan along with your legs, feet and leather sandals. You’re now 3/4 soaking wet.

Will you ever learn?