I met Matt a few weeks ago at a Dettol Mission for Health function where I spent the first half of the day thinking he was the husband of one of PR girls. He tells the story that I tried to order wine from him but I can tell you THIS IS NOT TRUE. I smiled politely at him for the first hour and was about to ask one of the girls which one was the Mum to the cute little boy when someone told me he was a blogger! That’s what we call stay at home parenting/blogger discrimination Beth – bad one! I immediately felt terrible and spent much of the time talking to Matt and Max. Matt is funny. Max is adorable. Matt can write and he likes to cook. His son also refused the ice cream on offer at the lunch which made me think that Matt is one of those really good parents who only feeds his kid healthy food – then again he only has one kid so we’ll just wait to see if that smugness that comes from feeding your kids organic frittata sticks around shall we? Matt also just quit his part time job to have a crack at blogging full time. Respect.
So. Here’s Matt!
Blogging for the Obsessive Compulsive
Blogging is playing right into the needy hands of my obsessive compulsive self. It is filling a void that has previously been filled by an ill fated X-Box. The X-Box although presented as a gift from Mrs Under left my life before our week anniversary together under the sweary banner of “I wish I’d never bought you that f@cking thing!’ Admittedly it was a week in which I only saw Mrs Under when she opened the bedroom door, addressed me with a withering look and tutted her way out again.
Blogging is every bit as addictive and the withering look has returned with a vengeance, with some justification I hasten to add. My favourite way to fritter away my life is analysing the stats page with the intensity of a mathematician far more accomplished than the ‘D Grader’ typing this. I have been known to sit for long periods of time, how long I don’t exactly know but long enough to know that in that moment I was a total loser, hitting refresh every minute just in case I got a rush of New Caledonian traffic, this actually happened once (if 5 counts as a rush?)
I like responding to comments I receive, racking my brain to determine what a cool and elusive writer might respond. Most of all though I just like writing, I bloody love writing! When I was a moody teenager my late, great Grandma gave me a book on writing, I dismissed it as wishful thinking on her part, taking it home and devouring it cover to cover, over and over again when nobody was around.
That’s the beauty of blogging, anyone can do it and have an audience of like minded’s happy to indulge your fantasy and make you feel just a little bit like you can pretend you’re a writer. This is a terrible admission but I find it much easier to be myself from the safety of a keyboard and a pseudonym, the real me over thinks and analyses what he is going to say in pursuit of perfection, the virtual me just types any old nonsense without screening which is far more fun. I think I just admitted to being better in digital.
Blogging, like parenting, is tinged with splashes of guilt; I question whether daddownunder is stepping on Matt The Father, The Son and The Holy Husband’s toes. I caught myself the other day explaining to Max that I could not read him a book because I was adjusting my Widgets, I immediately administered a disciplinary slap across my own face, turned off my computer and read the book with added gusto.
Without wanting to sound too dramatic blogging has been my saviour. The Boy is a prolific sleeper and filling that golden time with something creative and meaningful, rather than 4 half hearted press ups, a bit of Dr Phil and Max’s leftover sodden cereal, keeps my mo-jo ticking over. This week I took the daunting but ultimately exciting step of giving up my day job, despite people for years telling me not to do that very thing, to focus on blogging and dadding.