I’ve recently had a few comments on my blog that I would consider less than kind. Normally, negative comments don’t bother me. You’re entitled to your opinion and you are more than welcome to disagree with me anytime you want.
If you have an intelligent argument against whatever awesomeness has escaped my brain, feel free to tell me.
Someone, I think it might have been The Pioneer Woman, read my blog post about why she can suck it and told me, “If you don’t like The Pioneer Woman, don’t write about her.”
That’s probably the most nonsensical comment I’ve ever read.
If I only wrote about things I like I’d be limited to chocolate, wine and tequila, Virginia Slims Man when he’s not ticking me off and my children on good days.
Plus, that commenter (Ree?) completely missed the point of that post. My issues with the PW aren’t with her. They’re with me and my general suckiness compared to the PW’s general greatness.
I still don’t like The Pioneer Woman, though, and I refuse to pin any of her recipes on Pinterest.
The other comment, the one that really chapped my flabby ass, was the comment by some woman who happened upon my blog post about The Beast being in gymnastics and said that it was obnoxious for me to refer to my child as an animal.
This bugged me for several reasons. First of all, would she be as judgmental if I referred to my child as “Kitten” or “Little Monkey”?
Secondly, why on earth do some people feel the need to judge other moms based on little internet blips? If you saw me day in and day out and had major issues with my parenting, I could understand judging me. But to read one blog post about the insanity that ensued when The Beast was in gymnastics and to call me obnoxious? Because you don’t like his nickname?
My blog is a judgment of me. Even when I express anger and frustration at how I compare to other parents, it’s always a judgment of me and my parenting, my issues, my struggles. I can’t imagine any reason to get on some other mother’s case for the decisions she makes in her parenting. And even if you read my blog every time I post and you and I disagree with one another on absolutely every parenting issue we face, I’d never call the parenting decisions you make for your children obnoxious.
But the other thing that bugged me is that this woman called me obnoxious having absolutely no idea why The Beast is nicknamed The Beast.
So — while I in no way believe I owe an explanation to “Sandy” for my child’s nickname and while I’m pretty sure she will never read this blog again, which sucks because she and I were totally going to be BFFs, I just know it — in case you’re interested, here’s a very brief history of how The Beast became The Beast.
Contrary to what some may think, his nickname is in no way a reference to the biblical beast.
You see, from the moment he could walk, The Beast has been incredibly physically adept. Where my older son was afraid to climb the rock wall on our backyard fort and wasn’t able to successfully do so until he was about 6, The Beast started climbing that thing at 18 months. He climbed it like he had been doing it his whole life. The Beast is capable of pull-ups, while the rest of us can only dangle from the pull-up bar.
And he’s fast. He’s so very fast. Every human being who has ever had to chase him has commented on his incredible speed.
As a result of his crazy physical abilities, the child has developed a physical structure akin to a miniature bodybuilder. His quad muscles and calve muscles are unbelievable. He is a rock.
One time when The Beast was displaying his insane muscles and completing one of his feats of strength, one of my brothers-in-law said in awe, “Man, he is a beast!” And it stuck.
I think the reason it stuck was because of the sheer irony that this tiny, tiny toddler who barely registers on the height scale when measured by his pediatrician is capable of these ridiculously impossible feats.
So there you have it. The history of “The Beast.”
Nothing biblical or savage about it.
That being said, the kid can totally be Apocalyptic-y.