I'm blogging today. Not because I have time to, but because I happened to notice that I only posted to my blog 99 times in 2011. The statistics read something like this:
2006 - 22
2007 - 238
2008 - 284
2009 - 263
2010 - 164
2011 - 99
I know what you're thinking: Who cares?! Admit it. The thought was going through your head.
I care. For every few days that I don't blog, there are memories and anecdotes that I will likely not remember in a week (much less 10 years) and I don't want these things to go by undocumented. I want to be able to look back at our life as it is now and reminisce about both the good and the bad.
It's not that I don't have anything to write about. Actually, the amount about which I have to write is inversely proportional to the amount of writing that actually takes place. If I had time, I'd draw you a fun little graph. I can see it in my head.
I compose lovely posts in my head as I drive, shower, make dinner, change diapers . . . they are all equal parts eloquent and witty and share our everyday stories in ways that are honest and amusing. But then I sit down in the front of the computer . . . and I've got nothing. I even tried to keep a list throughout the day of things that I want to write about, but when I sit down and look at this list, I find that I've put the same thing down 4 times, not remembering that I had already listed it. On top of that, I can't remember what that sentence fragment is even referring to now.
I think the third child has wiped any lasting bit of short term memory that the other two left behind, and any remnants that might be straggling behind are being overtaken with minutiae about which side Claire last nursed and which boy's turn it is to choose their afternoon tv show. Oh, and how important it is that I take a shower soon.
SIDE NOTE: Jack will always make some sort of ridiculous argument that it's his turn to choose the afternoon show, often insisting that Ben traded his turn for use of Jack's crayons, books or other miscellaneous toys . . . yeah, right.
So that's where I am . . . longing to blog more, but lacking the memory or time to do so. OK, Ben's on the other side of the basement saying "Sticky, Mama . . . help me!" Off to see what mess resulted from me sitting down long enough to write this.