Can u keep a secret?

What skeletons have I got buried in my closet? Not many I haven’t either shared or experienced with my sister or intimate circle of best girlfriends. I like to think I led a life of sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll during my early and mid 20’s, but it was more like a journey towards realization and progress. Ten years ago I had no idea who I was, what I stood for, where my boundaries were drawn and what it really meant to be unselfish. Although my first-born child made whopping contributions to my evolution, my safety net was far too vast. If ever I fell, somebody was always right below to catch my daughter and help me find my feet again. I never had to be entirely responsible for my own actions and hence the somewhat sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll part. Even as a mother. Indecency and bad behavior that now make my stomach turn with anxious regret. Even as a mother. Careless decisions when surrounded with self-interested people. Even as a mother. I reminisce to her tiny days and wish I had known better. Wish I hadn’t been so reluctant and ill-equipped. Wish I could have been the mother I am now. Wish I didn’t have dirty little secrets shrieking to be unchained.

Actually blogging has been highly therapeutic, especially the part about admitting my limitations and fears as I guide three small people towards a healthy adulthood. Telling the world I’m not the perfect parent is like emancipating myself in plain view and not caring who passes silent judgment from behind their nameless monitors. Because we all fall short in similar ways, but don’t talk about them because we’re too busy trying to outdo one another. Too busy trying to out name-brand each other. Too busy troubling ourselves with the opinions of others. Too busy presenting a façade of perfection, composure and financial security. We grasp the tiny nuggets of sandstone as we struggle to scale the rock wall, sweating, aggressive and losing our grasp. Instead of arriving first, why not stroll the trodden paths of wild flowers? Why not reach the destination later, but happily and without regrets? I grapple with this and I’m not uncomfortable saying so.

There seems to be this new wave of revelation and disclosure within my blogging circle and whilst I find this trend highly fascinating, I simply cannot do that here. Only under a cloak of anonymity can I admit freely. Why? Because I’m a big fat chicken -bok- who can’t host Thanksgiving dinner after my husband’s family reads about my naked exploitations and manic escapades. They’d never look at cranberry sauce the same again. Or the baby carrots swimming in cream for that matter.

I hereby decree this blog a mother’s liberation. If I fuck up, you’ll be the first to know. Having said that, I’ve decided to start another blog. A dirty little secret blog. Just for me and a couple other crazies who’ll never forget WORDO or “Ain’t No Such Thing As A Bogle.” I’ll try to make my current blog a priority for my mundane mama memoirs, but for the immediate here-and-now I may be slightly negligent as I toy with my naughty blog. Hee..I said naughty blog.