Tamara Buchanan is June Cleaverish
I am so un-hip.
Really. Ask anyone. I’m a square peg trying to fit in a round hole and it’s quite uncomfortable.
So the fact that I am here, joining the ranks of “mommy bloggers” is positively astounding. I mean almost every mom has a blog, right? And we all have the same stories – diaper blowouts, sore nipples, tantrum’ing toddlers, the ABC’s of sleep deprivation, the XYZ’s of child rearing; opinions on vaccines, healthy living, should’s and should nots – ad infinitum. Some of us are proper, some of us are raucous and raunchy; some of us crack improper jokes at the most inopportune times, and some of us know everything about anything and we’re not afraid to cast the first stone, igniting Mommy Wars 1.0. So where do I fit? What am I doing here?!
Ah, well. Some of us simply need a place to go where we’re not just a stay at home mom, seconds away from a complete and total nervous breakdown. A place where we can complain and still know how very blessed we are to have these little, magical
monsters butterflies in our lives that call us mommy. Or mom. Or ma. Or, “HEY YOU WITH THE BOOBS.”
(That last one’s me.)
And this is my place, I guess.
I’m not here to make a difference. I’m not here to plant a seed, make a mark, or become the next [insert ridiculously popular mommyblog.com here]. I’m here because I never wanted to be the mom, the wife, the June Cleaver(ish) – until I became her.
I invite you to join me on this journey – but the invitation isn’t hand-cut and hand-written. It’s not drawn in gel ink or sprinkled with glitter. The invitation is plain and in black and white, which might be the only thing I’ll ever really have in common with June Cleaver.