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When I decided to blog, this time around, my focus was on the trials; tribulations; joys and pains of parenting; and life as I see it…a single mom.  My take on things is sometimes, actually probably always, skewed by my experience of going it alone.  Maybe I am a bit harsh sometimes, maybe I am a little too strict, maybe I need to learn to back off, just a bit.  But, it is just me making the decisions and even though I seek advice from family and friends, including those without kids, ultimately the decision is mine. (quite exhausting sometimes)

The one thing that I can always depend on, through my crazy and that of my kids and their friends and their friends’ far-too-lenient parents and my job and my friends, is that it is all one big exercise in comedy.  So, when picking a name for the blog, I wanted something that represented that quirky craziness.  What spoke to me was “Raising Monkeys”.  I can’t describe why it was so perfect.  It had nothing to do with anything of real significance except that it had a ring to it. It was catchy.

“Five Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed”

It connects.  Yet, there is a negative connection for many and I knew that.  However, I did not want to be restricted in my creative endeavors by the ignorance of anyone.  So, I pressed on.  Despite a few well-intending friends stating their objections to the name, I pressed on.  I got an email, a twitter account, a Facebook account and bought a domain name. I started my blog.  And everything went well until I decided to do interviews at the Occupy Oakland protest.

See, I was fine hiding behind the pen.  After all, no one would know who I was or what my background happened to be.  They would not be able to make any connections.  But, standing in the face of my interviewees, it became quite difficult to let the name of my blog, of which I was so proud, roll off of my tongue.  What was my problem?

My problem was that, although I can spit in the face of ignorance, I cannot spit in the face of my valued audience (at least not at the onset, and not with this).  I am sometimes accused of making others’ decisions for them and I try not to decide what others can fit into their schedule or accept for themselves.  However, this time, I will make that decision because you may not like the way I set up my house but you wouldn’t know it if you don’t at least get past the doorway.

I want the sign at my door to invoke a feeling of “Welcome”, not “What the hell”.  I was left with no other choice but to find another equally melodic something that represents the ironic  chaos of my life as a single parent.  Something that represented me.  

Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwiches

Then, it hit me like that big knock upside my head that I got when I was younger and lied to my sister about having been in her room smoking her cigarette butts (Yeah, I said butts…thought I was cool…guess she really did knock some sense into me…haven’t smoked a thing since).

Anyway, one of the cutest things (there are dozens) is hearing my son ask for his Peanut Jelly Sandwich when he actually means peanut butter and jelly.  It is one thing that I don’t rush to correct.  He’ll get it some day and in the meantime, I have the new name of my blog/website.

If you are here, stay; even if you are allergic peanuts.  I promise you this will not send you into anaphylactic shock.

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