I Have a Two Year Old; I am Not A Rock Star

I am not a rock star. I didn’t get into the top 13 of Blogger Idol this year. That’s one reason I can’t call myself a rock star, but the real reason is I have a two-year old. There is nothing quite so humbling as taking care of a two-year old child. They don’t let you get away with feeling special, fancy, or star(ish) in any way.

Yesterday, around 11 am here, I just happened to be quickly scrolling through my Facebook feed and there was the Blogger Idol announcement proclaiming the top 13 writers of the 2012 blogger generation. I clicked on it and it took me to the blog page where  there was a video for me to watch. This was the longest, most suspenseful video ever created. I clicked on it to see who won. While it was playing music and swirling and spouting off sponsors and judges and all sorts of things Tiny-Small grabbed my coffee and started running around with it.

Me: Give that back please. That is Mama’s coffee.

T.S. Noooo….I jink it Awl! I love it.

Me: Your spilling it.

T.S. I love coffee. I jink it. I like it too. I like it sooo much. SOOOO MUCH!

I finally got the coffee away from her and ran back to the video. It was just about to get to the winners so I hadn’t missed the important part yet. Then, Tiny-Small started screaming at me and hanging off my leg. I begged her to be quiet for a minute and to be patient. I just wanted to see who won. Luckily, the video had pictures too. It’s almost like they were anticipating the lack of hearing going on in most Blogger Idol fan homes across America.

That’s when I caught a whiff of something particularly disgusting. Tiny-Small had a dirty diaper. I looked down at her smiling, screaming face as she tried to ride my foot like a pony while I was still standing up, and told her that we needed to go change her diaper. I hit pause on the video this time. Then I chased her around the house for fifteen minutes.

Finally, I wrangled her into a clean diaper and got her changed into new clothes, socks, shoes and hair bows. After all of that I had worked up quite a sweat. I returned to the computer and sat down to watch the remainder of the video. I was pretty sure I didn’t make it into the top 13, but I had to make sure. I am, after all, just a tiny little ant in the blogging world. One with a website that isn’t polished to a shine yet and one who lacks the sophistication of branding. My Facebook page has less than 90 likes and my Twitter profile is mostly just me tweeting about painting guinea pigs and asking blogging questions my followers seem to magically know all of the answers to. In short, I’m still living in the blogging woods and washing my writing by hand. The thing is, people as obscure as I am do sometimes win things, right? I had to watch the entire video because what if I did win and didn’t know it and just forgot all about Blogger Idol. That would be a shame and totally possible because I forget things ALL. The. Time.

At some point, as I was sitting there in my pajamas, with my hair uncombed and my daughter riding my foot like a pony, I realized that I am an unlikely rock star. This is not what being a rock star looks like these days. Rock stars are well-groomed and shiny and full of cheerleader like pep. They don’t usually have people riding them like a pony either. Wow, that’s an awkward sentence. I’m sticking by it though.

Anyway, I think it took me 45 minutes to watch the entire video between the break, the coffee spill and the diaper change. Just getting through the video was an act of sheer will and herculean effort. At the end I knew for certain that I was not a rock star, at least not this year. Tiny-Small ran over to me, threw a plastic dinosaur at my head and started singing, “Gila River, Gila River! Mama Mama Mama. I dance. I jink coffee. I sing.” Then I felt a little thankful that I was right where I was supposed to be because that little performance was adorable and I didn’t have to wear skinny jeans to watch it. Besides, at home, I get to be a rock star in my own mind and that is much less work than doing the real thing. Also, I can pretend I am a dinosaur or a ballerina when the whole rock star theme starts to get a little boring.

And that’s how I found out I was not a Rock star and didn’t make it into Blogger Idol this year. I’ll try again next year though because even the little guys get lucky sometimes…at least that’s what Tommy Petty keeps saying (sort of).

14 thoughts on “I Have a Two Year Old; I am Not A Rock Star”

    1. Two things I dreamed of being when I was a child! Sometimes you dreams really do come true, just not in the way you imagined…hahah!

    1. I was only sad for about 20 minutes. No rying myself to sleep (this time) or anything. Writing is the new breathing around here…I will never give up! Thank you for reading my blog and giving me something to smile about.

    1. Yay! That’s better than just in my own mind, right? I don’t know if I will ever win a blogging contest. I’m not techie enough. It’s all about the writing up in here (even if it is sometimes bad…haha!).

    1. You are making me feel like a rock star. Like better than a rock star. More like a super hero. I have the last award ready to publish on Sunday. I’ll take a look at this new one and see what I can do!

    1. Really? I don’t know much about the winners. I am still checking them out. I don’t mind being passed up. I mean, it would have been fun to place in the top 13, but I don’t have any hard feelings. I am assuming the top 13 are there for a reason. I’ve been bugging them to list all of the people who auditioned because I’d like to check out their blogs as well. I know some awesome bloggers got past up this time. I’d like to support their efforts. I hope they list their blog names at least.

  1. It’s like reading a page out of my life! Moosey will scream at me if I get near the computer. He wants to be at the stove as I cook and runs whenever he stinks. We’re not Rockstars you and I. We are Rocks and Stars! Our entourage are messy and needy. They double as our audience and our managers at times. Each the star of our own sitcom and the rock in the storm of tantrums, laundry and, bed jumpers.

    1. You have a way with words! I love it. I am totally referring to my daughter and my husband as my entourage from now on. My daughter truly is my audience and my manager at times. You are lovely!

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