Today is my one hundredth and eleventy-first birthday! :: BILBO BAGGINS
Actually, it isn't. Today is Big House in the Little Woods's first birthday (I doubt it will survive 110 more such celebrations). But since I'll never have an appropriate occasion to say it's my one hundredth and eleventy-first birthday, I thought I might as well mention it at this inappropriate occasion.
May 28, 2010. Hello, Big House in the Little Woods. Hello, waking up at a wicked hour in the morning to type in my blog's name, its domain title, the comment info. Hello, frantic hours spent uploading premade blog buttons and headers and combing the Cutest Blog on the Block for backgrounds. Hello, ultimate journal. Good morning, Big House in the Little Woods. Welcome to the world.
Back on May 28, 2010, I was the graphic designer of the family. I designed my sister's blog (which she has redesigned so many times that I lost count). All that has changed -- I know nothing of blog design compared to her. I was an eager fifteen-year-old with a soap box to drag out and a voice to be heard. My second post to go up was "Schoolyard Feminism," a short little diatribe with all the passion my typing fingers could muster. It almost made its way onto Ladies Against Feminism.
Big House in the Little Woods was a culmination for me. Years and years of jotting notes down, building a portfolio of ideas, planning design and focus. I'd always loved to write -- purely for the love of words, yes, but also to get people to listen to me. I had something to say and I wanted to say it without the 90 day waiting period between letters to the editor -- to spout it out to someone besides my cornered mother on some other platform besides the kitchen stool. (I do that too. Sorry, Mum.)
On May 28, 2010, I started a journey to find myself. I worked through theological and sociological problems on this humble blog. I cried over being called names -- I fumed over comments that totally misunderstood me -- I struggled to answer the questions and accusations that came now and again. I tried to reckon the praise received with the flawed but searching soul that wrote those words. I was just a girl coming out of a shell of preconceived ideas, looking for the light.
Back then, I wanted to prove myself. This blog was a boost up to my soap box. I wanted to be seen, heard, praised as a force to be reckoned with. But ironically, that led to a softer stance. I let commenters walk all over me rather than risk offense. I was writing for the few pennies someone would throw in my tip box. I was waiting for people to recognize that what I had to say was important before believing that what I had to say was important.
Nothing's changed much. I'm sixteen sixteen now, a year from where I was when I penned immortal words of introduction. But I am changed, 153 posts later. I don't care so much what people think -- if I'm too long or too wordy or too nitpicky or too conservative or too extreme in any other way. My blog isn't a performance anymore, on an open stage with bright lights and a curtain to hide the rough spots between scenes. It's a window -- a window into my world. It's an everyday life of an everyday girl who isn't striving to be a blogging heroine or a super-Christian. It's the footprints of a life. Follow as you wish.
FROM THE ARCHIVES
...when I'm broken before Him
...building a life that will last
...you shall know the truth and the truth shall set you free
...the decline of the American bookworm
...the best way to deal with heartache is to laugh
...why pointing a finger gets four right back atcha
...an unsocialized homeschooler makes her case
...something beyond the career girl