I’ve been thinking about writing here again – I keep thinking, “Oh, this would make a great blog post tonight … if I still blogged.” I don’t know, though. There’s just something narcissistic about this whole blogging thing. The internet is filled with navel-gazing and mommy bloggers who seem to think the whole world is desperately watching to find out if their baby pooped two or three times this afternoon. Sure, there are plenty of blogs with interesting commentary on parenting, spirituality, politics, current events, parents with children with enormous challenges or illnesses … but my writing and brain power don’t quite seem up to scratch. We’re just a normal family living a normal life.
Blogging for me served a purpose, was great therapy, when I was single and on my own with a preschooler, but now? Now that everything’s happy and I’m pretty much living my dream?
Well, we still have adventures. I don’t always recognize them for what they are, though, and instead see them as challenges, or disastrous days, or difficulties dealing with a quirky nine year old boy (quirky … I like that word, thank you to my friend Joanne for it), or just plain blended-family insanity. Maybe I do still need the therapy of writing things out, shifting my perspective back to seeing the adventure. Instead of just a haze of exhaustion.
Writing also helps me in that, well, right now my ability to construct a decent sentence or to tell a coherent and interesting story is questionable. I’m out of practice. If I’m still entertaining the idea of writing something worthy of publishing, I need practice.
I’ve also been told that I’m long-winded. It’s okay, it was done nicely, and she was right. One of the things that interfered with my blog posting was how freakin’ long all of my posts were. I need to learn how to be concise.