Blethic

The Matron will admit to occasionally living in a blog post.

Here she is, standing in line at the supermarket, composing the scene in her mind: "The Matron is the impatient sort and today's drill did not please."

Here she is, reading a student essay, composing the post in her mind: "And because tea comes from China, we should now have accents?"

Here she is, engaged in canine mortal combat, composing the post in her mind: "It is actually possible for a dog to jump three feet in the air in order to snatch a sandwich out of a TALL child's hand if that sandwich contains meat."

That last one was the foster dog, the Jack Russel terrier named Snappy and required a wooden spoon wrenched in his his jaws to open the mouth and pry out the sandwich. That Merrick then requested to eat.

Anyhoo--this blog post isn't about Doggie Drama, exciting as it might be. It's about the blog. Because the Matron has been pondering Blog Ethic=Blethic. She thought that word up. She's so creative!

Recent comments inspire the Matron to say this: This is CREATIVE non-fiction. This means that while mostly stuff here is true, she gets leeway. In fact, her stepmother knows this so much that she knew enough to email and inquire: "Is Scarlett REALLY auditioning for a major motion big time Hollywood picture or are you just messing with me?"

Really. Filming today, actually. Send luck.

This brings the Matron to the Stage Mother thread. Does she really honest to God-Buddha-Oprah-Allah-Universe think that her child A) has enough talent to star in a major motion picture and B) will actually get in one?

No and No.

That's the Mary real person. But the Matron does indeed love a narrative arc and Stage Mother offers so many options! So many delicious delights! But some of those delights could involve a pretense or pretension that doesn't actually exist. Because there is a real life child involved with colleagues, friends and family who sometimes read this blog (hi honeys!) the Matron tries not to mine this vein too much and to keep it more or less real. More or less. Most likely, sorta, sometimes! See how that CREATIVE nonfiction confuses!

Trust her -- she could really get out the claws and wig this one out. But it would be really truly fictive. Because guess who is the person upstairs watching the original movie that is being remade? Who memorized her lines and rehearsed? Who forced her mother to call the casting agent regarding wardrobe?

"MOM WHAT TIME ARE WE LEAVING?!!!!!"

Guess who has desire? Fuel. Juice.

The other Blethic consideration is the journey. Outcomes are completely unknowable and out of one's hands. But the journey? All hers. And parenting is a journey that takes unpredictable directions. Her particular journey just so happens to include that daughter and her desire and drive. And it also includes the son who will not be blogged about, the teenager who has given his mother ONE PRECIOUS WEEK of prose devoted to him. The week ends today, neighbor. So there is no snitching.

What do you you do when you're a writer and you write about your life -- are even working on a book of essays about said life-- and one of your children declares him or herself off limit? This is a real-life Matronly Mary dilemma. For the moment, she is granting Stryker his wish and taking him off-line, starting tomorrow (sorry, Stryker fans!!). But she has told him that children do not dictate to parents what they can and cannot write about. She promises him that she won't share HIS personal story but she is sharing hers and sometimes, his story intersects with hers. That's as far as she's going.

Sound right?

The third person narrator is now signing off, having fully fleshed out Blethic that had been bothering her.

Oh wait -- while she can still say this: how many 13 year olds can sell their laptop online and use the money to buy parts and components in order to build his or her OWN new computer, nearly entirely by scratch in a process involving drills and wires and software construction?

That's the sort of brain she's contending with. The end, Stryker.