It’s been, what, a month? More? I wish I had an excuse. I don’t. I am a terrible blogger.
Here’s the deal: and I’ve mentioned this before. At least I think I have. Although, I have so many drafts and “mind-posts” that have never been published. Frankly, I am not entirely sure what I’ve actually written about, and what I think I’ve written about. But I digress.
I don’t like writing about my kids. I think about it, and sometimes I write an entire post about them or something cute they did. And right when I’m about to publish it, I think, “Would you have wanted your mom to write this about you?” And it’s not even super private stuff. But I know firsthand, that sometimes the smallest anecdote is the one that hurts the most. You don’t have to write something deeply personal about a person to have it sting, to leave them feeling as though you’ve betrayed them. And I ultimately have no way of knowing what that might be for my children, especially Emory who is a very sensitive creature. So, I just don’t write. Not anymore. Not about my children. Even though I really want to.
But they are my fulltime—my more than fulltime—job. They are my everything, my only real inspiration. I am with them pretty much every hour of every day. And when I’m not with them, I’m running, baking or pouring lollipops. This is my whole life right now: kids; cleaning: lollipops; baking; running; walking the dog; sleeping. I have very little time for anything else. And I’m OK with that.
But I miss blogging. I miss being a part of an online community of some sort. I used to have a pretty big one here. Now, I don’t blog much at all, although I want to. Basically, I reply to folks (using 140 characters or less) and they may or may not respond to me. Half the time, I am not even sure they see what I write. My online life has become rather detached. (This is entirely my fault, however.)
But I want to write more. I know that. I miss it. I miss this space.
Certainly I can find the time to write, right?
First thing this morning, sun wasn’t yet up, bed sheet creases still ever-present on my cheek, I opened the computer to write. And immediately the day took control. The kids needed breakfast; the dog needed walked; the place needed tidied; the laundry needed folded. The day had begun before I had a chance to say, “GO!” Before I knew it, I was running around trying to keep up, and I’d forgotten about the post I’d meant to write, the one I’d been inspired to write. The day slapped me and said, “YOU’RE WRITING? There’s cat puke on the sofa, yogurt on the toilet seat, discarded toenails on the floor! MOVE, WOMAN! MOVE!”
And move I did. I left WordPress open and the new entry untouched. I hit the toenail coated ground running.
Much, much later, I walked by the computer and saw that someone, likely Elliot, wrote, “fedouy” in the title of my empty WordPress post. I just stared at it, trying to decipher what he meant. Did he mean anything? Was he trying to tell me something? HELL NO. It w as nonsense. But It was the most anyone had written here in weeks.
So I kept it.
And wrote this.
Anyway, I’ve given it some thought, and I’ve decided that the only way this site stands a chance is if I write about food, baking, and techniques surrounding as much. Because everything else in my life has to do with my kids and I just can’t write about them.
So, I have a new goal, one I can attain. I think. I will post recipes, how-tos, cake disasters, etc. I will do this at least twice a month. (I’m aiming for once a week, however.) I hope that’s ok. And I hope you stick around. And I hope you understand.
Who knows. Maybe one day, after the kids are a bit older, I’ll have a life that doesn’t completely surround the things that they do. And I’ll write again, on a very personal level like I used to, when it was all about (and only about) me.