Back in my day (and I really never dreamed that I’d actually reach an age where I could type that particular phrase), technology was limited, and the “Age of Information” was a whole lot younger. We didn’t have the Internet, so we were forced to use the encyclopedias at the public library, because no one had visited our house on a door-to-door sales mission to see if we wanted to buy the A through Z volumes, bound in faux leather and imprinted in gold lettering.
So clearly, although we had cassette tapes of Def Leppard and Rick Springfield (which I played and rewound so many times, they actually wore out), no one had a blog.
But now days, it appears that everyone has a blog, and so, in trying to keep up with technology, I’ve finally decided to take the rowboat out to the big blog ship and get on board. Of course, the older I get, the more I have come to terms with the fact that I believe I have adult-onset ADD. Ultimately this means that I have a difficult time holding onto thoughts for longer than 52 seconds at a time, at which point they sail right out of my pretty little head with the carbon dioxide and leave me with a pleasant, but completely empty, feeling. Because of this syndrome, I have no idea whether or not I’ll even remember that I have a blog, and that I should be posting to it on a regular basis, but I do promise to give it my best shot.
And I know that some of you will ask, “Why the title? Why Jedi Mama?”
Because the amount of Star Wars that is re-enacted at our house is often overwhelming and leaves me wondering if I have been transported to the Death Star after all. If Light Saber Duals were an Olympic sport, the boy (our resident 9-year-old) would be a gold medal holder, several times over. Michael Phelps would have nothing on him. The boy would need a wheelbarrow to carry all the gold around in.
When we brought that small bundle of joy home from the hospital, I never dreamed that he would eventually bring me to a point in my life where I could tell you the name of Boba Fett’s ship. In fact, I admit that I had no premonitions that I’d actually even know who Boba Fett was, let alone be able to pick him out of a line up of motley creatures. Nor did I know that I’d be able to distinguish Boba Fett from Jango Fett.
Ohmylands! There is a difference! And although I cannot accurately grace you with a full family tree for the Fetts, I can at least recognize each of them when they zip past me at our house.
Hence…the Jedi Mama.
And this snapshot is just par for the course at our house.