Horseshoes and Hand grenades

Last week, the relief society president and a counselor came over to meet and visit me. Nice of them, I think. I was amiable and complimentary about their ward and when she asked me, "what do you like to do?", my mouth almost started from memory.

I enjoy singing and playing the piano, reading, traveling, spending time with my friends and family and being outdoors.

Instead, I had this impetuous thought and said it before I really knew better.

I told her that I liked to write.

It felt like such a sexy thing to say. I've certainly never said it before, never even really thought it before, but received that instant gratification that I must have known such a response would invoke.

Her eyebrows raised at my atypical response and interest flooded her face. What sorts of things did I write?

My fancy facade sort of fell apart as I responded so very eloquently, "Oh...nothing really exciting. Just thoughts and stuff about my day."

I don't know why I couldn't say the words, "I blog." Perhaps I was still caught up in feeling sexy and I don't think any word that rhymes with frog, smog, log, bog, dog...is.

So, we left it at that, her wondering at my fancy interpretation of journaling and me feeling a bit sheepish of categorizing myself with an arty and intellectual bunch. I quickly added my usuals and felt a lot more comfortable talking about music (which certainly is what got me roped into my last-minute accompanying gig).

Am I a writer?

If you quilt, are you a quilter? If you take pictures, are you a photographer? If you bake, are you a baker?

I blog. I know I'm a blogger. But I think I'd rather be a writer.

I've noticed more and more that my own response to the question, "Why do you blog?" or "What do you get from blogging?" is that I like the writing. I like the other stuff too. I love adding pictures (although I haven't done enough of it this week - sorry about all of the words again), the great way to keep in touch, the great way to reach out to new friends and the record...journal, if you will, of my days. If I had to pick one thing, though, I'd say I like the writing.

There is such a wide variety of blogs out there now. I don't really know where I fit.

I'm a blog mutt.

There are the mommy blogs, which I sort of have. I certainly include that part of my life almost daily. But I stop short of fully immersing myself into that genre, because one thing this blog has allowed me to do is separate myself from my motherhood. I've remembered who I am - independent of my kids...or my husband. I've remembered that there are stories to be told that don't involve them. That sounds selfish, but for someone who loves being a mom, loves her kids and staying home with them (I wouldn't change it for the world), but who also struggles because it's not a natural gift or joy or even something I feel I'm particularly good at - it reminds me that I still have value. Maybe even the attempt to separate is part of a mommy blog, though. Don't count me out of that one, I guess.

There are the journaling blogs. I certainly fall into this category. Plenty of my posts walk you through my day. But I can't do it every day. Updates are nice, but no one needs to know how many gallons of gas I put into the van yesterday (well, if you must know...it was 11.4). Plus, I don't want everyone knowing what I do everyday. A girl needs some mysteries. Wouldn't you like to know what I did yesterday? Too bad. I like this category. This is my ultimate purpose, really, in keeping a blog. To print it into a book and have the permanent record.

There are the skill blogs. I don't even hug the atmosphere of these kinds of blogs. No recipes, how-to's, creative ideas or showcase of my talent. I do sigh when I read these, though. Wouldn't it be nice? Then I usually click to another blog.

There are the inspirational blogs. The ones that encourage, inspire...make you feel. From weight loss or nature to religious beliefs, I've read a few of these and I just can't do it. I'm too selfish. My daily purpose can't be helping others when it's my own therapy. Besides, I'm hesitant to share sacred things. I think and feel them, but I'm much too irreverent to give them justice by writing them down. They stay where they are safe, in my heart and my head.

There are the fitness blogs (curse you, fit people!), product review blogs (I have to really like something to pimp their paraphernalia for free), pop culture blogs (I never have any insider information on shows - and rarely a strong enough opinion to devote a post to one).

The blog that has me feeling the most left out and untalented are the intellectual/writer's blogs. You know, people who have actually taken classes and have been trained to write. Not people who simply tell their relief society president that they do (and...unintentionally cook with my food storage. Who am I trying to be?????) My friend, Andrea, sent me a link to one last week, and I really enjoyed it. Sharp writing, clever insights and such an interesting way to express something. I loved it and when I read it, thought, "I want to write like that!" but I don't come close. And they say close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.

But if you're a mutt, maybe it can count in blogland too. I'd like to think so.