The Harder They Fall

The front door swung open, and there was my rumpled and gangly seventh grader, tossing his backpack onto the floor.  “Guess what, Mom?”

“What?” I called from upstairs.  He tipped his head up to look at me.

“We are blogging in my Language Arts class, and I told my teacher that you are a blogger.  Check your blog, Mom.  My whole class was on it today.  All of her classes were.  You probably had a lot of hits on it.  Check your stats!”

My ego blipped as I scanned my brain for any recent online swearing I might have done, any complain-y posts about school or education or how much I hate homework, or anything that could be embarrassing for him or me.  Mostly me.

I checked the stats.  Nothing of significance had happened.  No surprise there.  

“She is going to ask you to speak to my class, Mom.  Probably all of them.  You should write her an email and tell her when you’re available.”

I looked down at my house slippers and then at the screen of the computer, which still bore the evidence of the “work” I had been doing that day in the name of blogging – examining yet another BuzzFeed article akin to the one I perused today with the headline “The Cast of Honey Boo Boo Dressed As The Kardashians.”

I am always available.

“I will wait to hear from your teacher,” I responded calmly.  I didn’t want to appear eager.  Plus, my messenger was a twelve-year-old who has to be reminded to use utensils when eating.

Meanwhile, my stomach flipped.  Me?  Talk about blogging?  Well, I guess I’ve been doing this for a while.  I could be considered an expert.  I have a faithful readership, numbering in the dozens.  I personally make up only a third of my blog hits per day.  Maybe I’m not The Pioneer Woman.  Not right now, anyway.  But I could be.  I am a blogger – anything can happen, and this could be the first step.

The days wore on and I checked my email no less than ten times a day.  When would she contact me?  Was my middle-schooler playing a cruel joke?  He is so grounded.  Maybe my email address isn’t clear on the blog's home page.  Maybe I should send a note to school.  Maybe I will get business cards made and tell him to make it rain in English class.

The email came.  Mrs. Mowery, would you like to come and talk to my classes about blogging?  Why, certainly, I calmly replied.  When would be an opportune time for me to speak to the young scholars?  I prissily asked. No matter that Gmail doesn’t have a crisp British accent feature.  I am Blogging Royalty, a local celebrity asked to speak to four middle school English classes on a Friday about my expertise.  I am a super star, Young House Love with DIY Lasagna instead of DIY Whole House Plumbing Overhaul.  I am the second coming of The Bloggess, Miss Jenny Lawson. 

I. Am. The. Next. Dooce.

I spent the bulk of the next day asking for tips from my blogger friends, reading internet articles about netiquette and typing up links to websites that would help these budding bloggers produce quality online work, knowing that in the future they would think of my visit and how much my advice had helped them wade through the tangled interwebs.  I would impart priceless wisdom that they could previously only glean from expensive blogging conferences.  I typed up no less than three pages of blogging knowledge.  It was not overkill in the least. There is so much information, and I had so much to give.

The day came, and I chose my outfit carefully, packing my laptop in the computer bag I had carried for official business in graduate school nearly a hundred years ago.  I am on a new path now, I thought, as I dusted the years of disuse off the black pleather.  My son and I drove to school and I walked stoically to the classroom while mentally transforming myself into the sage advisor on all things in the blogiverse.

After we settled into class and I introduced myself to my son's lovely Language Arts teacher, I sat quietly at a desk and listened as she talked about their blogging exercise and I waited until the floor was mine.

I stood, gathered my pile of handouts to give to the students, took a deep breath, and spoke.  “Hello. I’m a blogger.”

And the lights went out, plunging the room and the entire school into darkness.

I made the rest of my speech that day, and I think the kids enjoyed it, but not as much as they enjoyed hanging out in the room with not much to do but their blogging assignments and play games on the school’s still-working laptops until the principal announced that they would be dismissed two hours after school had begun.

Fifteen minutes later my son and I returned home and I changed out of my Blogging Royalty costume into black sweatpants to do the rest of the chores that I had smugly charged my husband with as I left that morning.

We did go to Chili’s for lunch, where my son and I shared our adventure with my husband.  Their Chicken Tortilla soup is pretty awesome.  I’ll bet Ree Drummond doesn’t know that.  And OMG, did you see the photo article on BuzzFeed about Disney Princesses with beards?  Genius.

My son and me, The Queen of Blogging.

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