There seem to be two types of blogger parents on the internet: those who use pseudonyms for their kids, and those who don’t.
I think the only problem I have with the pseudonymers is that they inspire me to thoughtful reflections such as: Oh crap, are my kids in mortal danger because I’ve used their first names on the internet???!!!
My father is really big on privacy. This adds to my general paranoia. “Never tell anybody anything ever about anything! Less than that, if possible!” is the philosophy he raised me on. And this is BEFORE widespread use of the internet. This is just your average run of the mill caveman safety protocol, as far as he’s concerned. “What’s my name? None of your g.d. freakin’ business, you weirdo pervert! Jerk! Get away from me!”
And then I go ahead and say things like, “And Hank, age 4, dug a tunnel across our property line to bury and detonate secret fire crackers.” Or whatever crazy thing he’s done lately. “Gwen, age 2, has stolen the neighbor’s gnome and has repainted its nose a flaming purple after removing its ears.”
I hear sirens at this very moment.
And the pseudonyms that bloggers use are always so painfully cutely adorable. “Munchkin scrumpkin jolly baby squid” or some such. Good lord, I already came up with names for these people, do I have to do it again?
Do these pseudonymers think that DSS or CPS, or whatever acronym the Child Police are using these days, has access to their blog? Because if this is true, I guess I’m genuinely screwed.
“Olivia, age 9, lined up Daddy’s beer cans on the fence so she and her friends could bet pennies on who could knock down the most by throwing empty shotgun shells at them.”
Why is the phone ringing?
And if the kids hate that I’ve been talking about them and revealing their secret superhero identity, they can always change their names.
Like I did. Like my husband did.
Like my oldest did.
Names are a dime a dozen. My little petunia fluffy bunny nut.
The names in this story have been changed to protect the innocent.
(Oh, crap, I forgot to change the names, didn’t I? “Go see who’s at the door, uber-cutey-love!”)