Dig thought I would keep this blog for about ten hours. I'm delighted to have proved him wrong.*
It's been going a while now. But recently I'm aware from the secret stat counter that new readers are finding this strange gritland, populated by the delightful and charming Grit, the absent Dig, and the weird three-headed creatoids from the Planet Vestigular.
Readers, you are welcome here, you really are.
I am also humbly aware that some folks return dayafterdayafterday. How loyal is that? Would you like a statistic for your strange but kind ways? If I am reading that secret stat counter right, of all you people who visit, over 60% of you come back! To my way of thinking, that is amazing. You may be another reason why I post a daily diary entry.
Of course, I could have those stats wrong, and six of you can't work out why I'm not yet selling pigeon grit.
But I am not a professional blogger, nor even a very clever one when it comes to the look of the blog. It looks total crap, doesn't it? But I thought that maybe now was a good point for a FAQ.
Only no-one asks me any FAQs. So I could do a Never Asked Question, like a NAQ. Yes. That's what I'll do.
Here it is then. Grit's NAQ.
Grit, what is this blog about?
Home education. But those words are not big enough and wide enough, nor high sky enough for what we choose. Home education is a lifestyle, it's a way of looking at the world. It's a theory, a philosophy, an outlook, a delight, a challenge, a madness.
All of those reasons are what this blog is about. Along with why my face hurts, why my heart bleeds, what opinions I might have about stuff, how many books and art and furry animals can we love. Oh, and this blog is also about the days that go so well I could kiss strangers in public places. And an outlet because sometimes I feel so bad I could cut myself in two. Blogging has less blood. Then there are some days when I just like to take a pop at Ed Balls.
Grit, why did you start this blog?
Sometimes, I wrote Michelle long emails about the day. She would reply lol. Michelle is very polite, and I worried that lol could be a way of saying, fuck off. Then again, maybe she really meant GET A BLOG SCREW HEAD HIPPIE. So that's what I did. Thanks, Michelle! lol.
Grit, why do you have to record every single day? Are you mad?
OK, I admit to this slight problem. No, don't worry about it. It'll be fine. It's just a slight fear. That I might lay my head on the pillow one night and know I have achieved NOTHING in that day. That was a day not worth living. Next, I die in the night.
Writing a diary is a form of achieving something, even if it's a diary entry full of crap. Shark, Squirrel and Tiger can hold my very last diary entry in their trembling claws and sob over the picture of Tiger looking like she is about to kill, or the cute blind hedgehog groping its way towards DEATH, and know that mama thought of them, sometimes while she banged her head against the wall, but always when she loved them and their strange alien ways.
More procedurally, I also feel driven to record how we spend the time in case the Local Authority call and accuse me of not providing an education for Shark, Squirrel and Tiger. I have a very poor memory, probably thanks to the aluminium they keep putting into deodorant. The Local Authority might trick me and convince me that I actually provide no education at all. Then this blog is my strong arm righteousness. I can look here and go YAAAAABOOOOOO! SEE? Yesterday we saw a hedgehog! Suck on that, sucker!
Finally, I write a diary about every day, good and bad, because I think then you get a good all-round picture of what life is like if you choose home education. It is a big decision. Bigger than all the universe some days, and more impactful on your life than an imploding star. So it is good to be prepared and see the misery and joy you might be in for.
Of course all these reasons might be tosh. I might blog because I have a weird hoarding compulsion. Only with words and time, and not plastic bags containing numbered chip wrappers.
Grit, why do you sometimes not blog for days, then it all spews out at once?
This morning I had to lever the kids out of bed to leave the house at 10am. Dig had an appointment at 10.30 and we needed to drop him off before we drove on to a workshop which started at 9.45.
At 9.30 Dig says he must send a parcel via DHL and can you sort that? By 9.50 the kids are not out of bed, the phone has rung twice, I recall that yesterday I promised faithfully to email someone about something, and then at 9.55 the gardener knocks on the door wanting to chainsaw his way through the privet.
At 10am, the kids are still reading in bed and I regret not having a defibrillator. At the end of the day, I might do a brain dump before bed, otherwise I am going to die for sure. Three days later I correct the spellings and add the connectives like And. I am fond of those. And is simpler to type than notwithstanding.
Grit, why are your posts always late?
Did I mention that issue I have with days and clocks and keeping track of time? It's like I am living in a parallel universe here, hoarding a lot of plastic bags, and caring for three-headed creatoids from the Planet Vestigular. Soon the alien beings will be returned to their mothership. I must look after them till that time. Everything will fall silent and I can post on time. Then I may have nothing to say.
Grit, why are you called Grit?
Grit is an irritating substance that pokes you in the eye or wriggles itself into your shoe and makes you so angry you could kick small furry animals. And that is life now. It is all so much daily pointless annoyingness and misery. Yet all that unshakeoffable painful experience might yield one moment that is lovely and beautiful, unique and delicate. Like a pearl. So I like to think that in amongst all the grit there grows a pearl.
I accept it's mostly grit.
Grit, are your children really called Tiger, Shark, Squirrel?
No. The three-headed aliens are really called Starnugget, Moonhose and Liquishia.
* Hmm. Come to think of it, that just may be the real reason why I blog bloodyminded on.