Blog Birthdays and Unintended Consequences.

I wasn’t going to blog today, on account of being on holiday and so on, but it just occurred to me that today is my blog birthday. I started this blog three years ago.

I know, you’d have thought I’d have got a bit better as this blogging lark after that much practice, but there you go, life’s full of mysteries, like why Flea went off potatoes overnight at the age of two, and why those TOWIE types can’t find something more useful to do with their day.

Anyway to mark the occasion of my third blogging anniversary I thought I’d let you know what happens when you’ve spent three years ignoring your child while you’re busy quickly checking your blog comments, Tweeting photos of them looking amusing, and generally dragging them all over the place so you can write about it on your blog.

Yesterday, Flea and I went to a spa for the day. It’s not something you might think you can get away with as a parent to a lively 6 year old but actually Flea loved it, and a big thanks to the team at Hartland House, who pampered us both so wonderfully.

As we were enjoying a cream tea at the end of our day, Flea put down her juice, and said, “Mummy, will you write about this spa on your blog?”

“I might do, I suppose.”

“Well, I was thinking I should write it. I could be your co-blogger.”

Turns out Flea has a whole plan mapped out. She wants her own writing credit on the blog, and if she’s going to be blogging she really needs to be on Twitter (on Hootsuite, apparently, not Web Twitter). She’ll be reviewing the places we go and things we are sent.

But that’s not all.

Oh no, that’s not all.

Apparently, because I am allowed to blog about funny things Flea says and does, Flea is planning to tell you all about the things I get up to.

Like today, when we sneaked into the cinema late, and I was being very strict and telling Flea how important it was that she be absolutely silent. Obviously, I then managed to fall up the stairs during a moment of silence in the movie, landing with a bump and watching, mortified, as the entire contents of my handbag clattered down the steps in the darkness.

Flea thinks you might find such stories amusing. I have told her, obviously, that you wouldn’t be AT ALL interested, but as a precaution, I’m going to paint over the letters on the keyboard. Try blogging about THAT, small person. Ha!


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