When I was a kid, my mother loved Erma Bombeck books. She owned all of them and read them over many times. She’d laugh out loud to If Life is a Bowl of Cherries, What am I Doing in the Pits? and The Grass is Always Greener over the Septic Tank. I read them myself as a preteen and although I wasn’t married, didn’t have kids, and didn’t know what a septic tank was, I still found them charming and amusing. So, I’ve always had a soft spot for Erma myself.

A few weeks ago I was looking to round out an Amazon order with something small, so I could get free shipping, so for nostalgia’s sake I ordered a copy of Erma’s If Life is a Bowl Of Cherries. Although it was written in the 70s, I figured it was about timeless themes — snoring husbands and maintaining your sanity while on camping trips — so it wouldn’t seem too dated, and would still be a fun read.

I was really surprised to find out that it is dated. It’s not the subject matter, it’s the way that it is written. The book is kind of like reading a transcript of a stand-up act — it’s a bunch of one-liners, thrown rapid-fire at the wall, hoping something will stick. It’s not that the individual lines aren’t funny, it’s that there isn’t a cohesive whole to the various chapters. I was expecting a book of humourous essays. Instead it’s just joke after joke.

I think I’ve been completely changed and spoiled by Mommy blogs, which are so incredibly different. I’ve always thought that Heather Armstrong, The Dooce Lady, is a sort of modern-day Erma Bombeck, an apprentice to the master, if you will. But in fact, I like to read Dooce much more than Erma’s writing — and I’m shocked, because I’ve always thought that Erma was the gold standard. The difference is that a blog entry has a more cohesive “story” to it. It’s not just about getting the laugh, it’s about sharing an incident, happy or sad. A post might be very short, but it usually is about just one thing — not a scattershot of topics and punchlines. It allows you to bond with the author in a different, more meaningful manner.

Plus, I’ve read several of my favourite blogs for years now, and I’m getting to feel like I know these women. I’ve heard all kinds of tales about their lives, their husbands, their jobs, and their kids, in a more intimate way than Erma’s book allows. Erma is often funny but I don’t feel like I really know her from her reading — it doesn’t have that personal feel. Over years and years of daily posts — some funny, some moving, some sad — you can really develop a relationship with the bloggers you read.

And I love it.

I love blogging but even more than that, I love to read blogs. They’ve changed my definition of what it means to be a reader, what it means to bond with the author behind the work. The grass is definitely greener in this age of the blogger.