The Blog Awards Ireland ceremony took place last night in Ireland. The one I was a finalist for. I wasn’t there, but everyone else in the world was. (Apart from the other moms closer to home who were also having a night out. I wasn’t there either. Next year I will vet my husband’s choice of marathon weekend more carefully before agreeing that I’m fine to solo parent just then.) But I will now tell you all about the night out I didn’t have anyway.
Tl; dr version: I didn’t win. But some other people did, so that was good.
It was Saturday morning but archery (Dash’s current thing) was cancelled so we had no engagements. I had stocked up on milk (yay, planning) but apparently dropped the ball on all other breakfast goods (boo planning), so Mabel and I went out almost first thing to get some cereal, maple syrup (just in case I made pancakes), and bagels. I considered the children fed for the day and proceded to do my best to ignore them from then on while I took up my station in front of Twitter and Facebook and followed agog the goings-on on the other side of the Atlantic.
Since we’re five hours behind over here, all the excitement took place in daylight hours. This meant that, on the one hand, I didn’t have to stay up late to get to the bitter end, but, on the other, I was still nominally in charge of children who were not remotely in bed, and who were constantly demanding food and drink and other unreasonable things, and it was too early to drink. Everyone else in the Twitterverse seemed to be having a nice glass of wine, and all I had was half a bottle of flat beer (and I waited till dinnertime to drink that, I’ll have you know).
I am fully aware that life goes on in Ireland when I’m not there, but it’s not usually quite so in-your-face about it. Yesterday it was a little surreal to know that while I stood at my computer on the kitchen counter in Maryland, a parallel universe me was getting dolled up for a night out, driving to Clane (okay, let’s leave that bit out of the imaginings because I have no idea how to get to Clane), walking into a room full of semi-strangers, and getting quite squiffy and pretending to be famous, just because I happened to have advanced to a certain stage in a fairly arbitrary manner in a competition that’s really of much less consequence than it pretends to be.
Still, consequence or no, I would have loved to have been there. A night out’s a night out, after all, and who better to party with than a group of mommybloggers?
I amused myself posting things like this to Twitter, using the hashtag with abandon:
I hope you’re happy that I’ve totally failed to feed myself or my children any dinner thanks to this. #blogawardsie They ate marshmallows.
— Maud (@AwfullyChipper) October 4, 2014
Though I might have been a little more restrained if I’d realised that all the #blogawardsie tweets were being projected onto a big screen in the room itself. The girls said it was as if I was there. I’m sure I’d have been drunker and worse at finding the little keys on my stupid phone if I’d been there, so everyone was spared a lot of terrible typos, at least.
The afternoon wore on. In Ireland, people were giving up and going to bed, much like watching the Oscars live here on the east coast of America when they don’t finish till midnight. It was exactly like the Oscars, actually, if you couldn’t watch it on telly but could only frantically follow all the hashtags instead. In Clane they were handing out five or six awards, tweeting them, and then everyone would pause for food before getting down to the next group, working in alphabetical order through the categories all the way up to best blog post and best overall blog. In Maryland I was refreshing Twitter obsessively, jumping on the announcements and then putting them on Facebook, gossiping about things on Facebook, and blithely sending smart comments and congratulations/commiserations into the ether whenever I came up with them.
The comforting predictability of the alphabet meant that my category, Diaspora, was pretty near the start, so at least we got that over with. I didn’t win. A nice man called A Trip to Ireland did, which was fairly much a foregone conclusion because if you’re in the category called Best Blog of the Diaspora the judges want your blog to be good and diaspora-y. I only really talk about Ireland when I’ve just been there, so the blog awards take place at entirely the wrong time of year for me to be in with any sort of chance.
But there was a huge pause (main course, I think they called it) before the other categories I was emotionally invested in – Lifestyle, Newcomer (for Parent.ie), Personal, and Parenting (where a bunch of other friends were nominated, since all my Irish bloggy friends are from a wonderful group called Irish Parenting Bloggers. This group, I might add, saw about 40 women attending the awards, with at least 26 members nominated, spanning 11 categories plus three in the final ten for best blog post. And to think the blog awards didn’t even have a Parenting category last year because they didn’t think there was the demand for it. Sheesh.)
I got a bit stroppy with the tweets at that point.
Come on, eat up, eat up. We don’t have all night. #blogawardsie
— Maud (@AwfullyChipper) October 4, 2014
But we didn’t all have giant Connect-4 and floor prizes and an interval act and whatever else it was they had going on over there. Some of us were just at home WITHOUT EVEN WINE and with children who still wouldn’t leave us alone, and we needed answers.
Anyway, Parent.ie didn’t win best newcomer and neither did the parenting blogger who was nominated in that category, and my friends didn’t win best lifestyle blog (they were robbed) but Sunny Spells and Scattered Showers had (most deservedly) won best health and wellbeing, and then to much fanfare Lisa from Mama.ie won best parenting blog, which was wonderful and much deserved not least because – though this was not part of her winning it at all – she was and continues to be the brains behind putting the IPB group together in the first place.
But I still couldn’t even contemplate making dinner because the best blog post prize hadn’t happened yet. I turned on the oven anyway, as a gesture. The kids were … I’m sure they were around somewhere. Hand-wavy gesture towards the rest of the house. Whatever. Suspense, man.
And then just as we (those of us stuck at home, not at the party, in Ireland or abroad) were giving out on Facebook about how long it was all taking, suddenly it transpired that one of the givers outers had just won best blog post. So that was very exciting too, and there was much squeeing, and after that I think everyone just danced a lot and some people fell over a few times because they had terrible shoes on and someone slept in a van and some people took home the table centrepieces and I probably should stop now before I say anything I shouldn’t.
And then in America we had oven chips and broccoli for dinner because I wasn’t up to anything more complicated. And while I missed all the fun and the dancing, I also missed the late night and the hangover, so I suppose there’s that.
(I hasten to add that the title is mostly Douglas Adams, lest anyone would think it was just me.)