Tonight, we went to a very swanky wedding. It was held at the church we attend, the place where we met and got married. The reception was at the new University hotel and conference center.
When we got married, there were approximately 275 people in attendance and it was the most full I'd ever seen that church for a wedding. Tonight's crowd topped Easter Sunday for pew-cramming. Guests from all over the place were in attendance and I'm sure that many of them make in an hour what I make in a month. There was a Senator there. Not shabby company, right?
We drop the kids off with Sheri, long-time friend and faithful reader. She and her husband are considering a second child, so I offered my brood up for rehearsal. Unfortunately, I think the evening went a bit too well, so I think it may have encouraged them to think that classic logical downfall that brings second children to the world: Hey, this isn't so bad. This logical thinking is responsible for siblings only slightly less often than the train of thought that starts with: hm. When was my last period, again?
If any of this stops making sense, please remember that there was an open bar. I stopped drinking only when I ran out of fingers to count drinks on. (I did limit myself to one hand, however. I'm not a total lush.)
So, I'm at the reception and there are hundreds of people there, quite a few of whom are people we go to church with and have known for a decade or the growing crowd that I have come to think of as "UA Expatriates." It's like a family reunion, only featuring people you (generally) like.
Here's where the weird part. I found myself having two repeated conversations. One, I fully expected. The answers included, "Melody's surgery is scheduled for Monday" and "The job hunt is, well, going. Not sure if I'd classify it as well." The other oft-repeated dialogue? Discovering covert blog fans, then having them introduce me to the people nearby with hearty blog recommendations.
This is happening more and more often, and it always unnerves me a bit. The first time it happened was with another good friend, Deanna. Deanna I have known for eleven years. She is the epitome of class and good taste. Think Martha Stewart with substantially better hair, facial expressions that involve parts of her face actually moving and no prison record (to date.) She is, among other things, our church event planner. She is the upper-middle-class suburban mommy dream.
Yet, she has a gloriously biting sense of humor. I think it helps her get along with the mere mortals surrounding her.
After Deanna confessed her deep fondness for this silly thing I have going here, I could not write a post for a week. I kept thinking, "Will Deanna find this funny? Will it meet her standards? Or will she erase her bookmark and never look back?" I developed a minor complex.
A few weeks later, the same thing happened at a different church we attend with someone I do not know all that well. I froze at the thought, and wondered what extremely inappropriate musings I had most recently put forth.
See, I got into this for one reason, and one reason only: I am lazy. Extremely lazy. I have brought it to an artform, really. Other people make parenting decisions based on What Is Best For My Child. I think about what gets the most return for the least effort and will encourage them to, well, just leave me alone. Part of this lifestyle I have chosen means that I will NOT be making hand-crafted scrapbooks with the precious memories of their magical and whimsical childhoods. (In fact, I have been oft-tempted, while blogging, tell them to, "Shut up so I can record the precious memories of your magical Goddamn childhood.)
I will have a cold and impersonal electronic record that has been read by everyone else on earth before they get a peek. If they are lucky, I will someday get it bound into a book and hope that my cheapness disease does not prevent me making them each a copy.
It also has the bonus effect of allowing the grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins and honorary relatives to have a glimpse into the life, development and general well-being of my children's lives with no real effort on my part. I just didn't expect it to expand so much.
I have one regular reader who is the wife of one of the elders at our church. After I learned this, I found that I was self-censoring. As I told stories, especially about the girls' inexplicable fascination with Charlie's penis, I would think, "Is this too shocking for Ann to read? What about the grandparents. If I tell too many Melody stories, what will Dixie's Grandma think? (especially if all the Dixie stories are centered around her exploits with sharpies and scissors)."
Recently, my mother introduced several of her friends to my antics here. These are people who have known me since I was a mere babe in arms. Some of their children were schoolmates of mine, so other high school friends have discovered me as a result. It is very strange. As evident by my "Girl Most Changed" award at last year's high school reunion, I live an entirely different life than I did back then. It is weird having all my worlds collide.
I always knew my imaginary friends from the world of mommy message boards would be here, but the persona here is much similar to there and, heck, they were the ones who encouraged me to start this silly thing in the first place.
Don't mistake me--I love having readers. I love to read comments and to check the stats and see how many hits I have. I love to go to the hit analysis and see the world map with little arrows sprinkling the continent and expanding the globe. It is just odd for real life and internet live to intersect.
So back to the wedding.
I had no fewer than five conversations about my blog. Having fans is a bit odd, but I secretly love that there really are people reading all this. I drank no fewer than five alcoholic beverages. Good night . . .