My apologies on the absence of posts. I know I shouldn’t apologize (and usually don’t) because this is my blog and my timeline but I also know I have more than a few new readers. So Hi! And welcome.
The girls and I got out of town for a bit and traveled south to see family this weekend. Not my family, their family. You know, legally. That’s beside the point until they can transport themselves; we’re all in this together. Ella moved her booster seat to the back bench several months ago. I guess the cupholders and privacy are appealing to a six-year-old. Which, of course, made Amelia want to go back there too. The problem lies in that she cannot buckle herself in (she’s in a high-back booster) (but only because the 5-point harness seat expired and I refuse to buy another freaking car seat in my lifetime) so I told her that if Ella is willing to buckle, she can sit where she wants.
Ella buckled. And then they were alternately mean to each other and annoying to me. Which meant they annoyed me the whole trip. The only quiet time was for a bit today when Ella read to Amelia for a good half-hour. I am continually amazed by how well that kid can read. I mean, she’s not a total anomaly. It’s not like she’s reading Harry Potter or anything. We’re talking Alexander and the No Good, Very Bad Day. And Madeline. And Owen. But then that moment was over and it was back to “MAMA! She’s sticking out her tongue at me!” “MAMA! Ella took my Leapster!” “Wah! My juice spilled.”
Oh hell. And these are just two kids. My parents had three unrestrained hooligans in a single backseat. I know how much it sucked to ride that way. Imagine being the driver. Maybe that’s why carseats were invented: to have an excuse to keep the children from breathing down the driver’s neck.
I didn’t take my computer with us. That was a deliberate choice. I know me. I’ve met me and when boredom strikes, I would spend far too much time hiding behind a screen and not enough time visiting.
I’ve been going back and reading my blog from the beginning, spanning more than three years and hundreds of individual posts. I can tell when I have new readers because of what is being read and sometimes a post will show up that is years old and forgotten. I have to check the date and read it just out of curiosity. I really like all my old Fat Camp posts. What’s funny is that I haven’t come as far as I had imagined I would and yet, so much further.
Since Grad school had to be backed up a year (I can’t afford daycare for Amelia while I’m in school as well as the cost of classes and transportation so I need to wait until she’s in kindergarten, Fall of 2012), I am considering my blog in book form. It seems a shame that posts are getting lost in the mess of our daily lives. Some of the early ones are just as good as the ones from the last year. Angst or no, there were some good thoughts and (mostly) well written even if it was in a vodka and nutty bar soaked haze.
Part of me thinks that the “Blog turned into a book” genre has run its course. And the other part of me thinks that my story might help somebody else.
The issue becomes this: do I write as a widow? As a mother? As a grieving mother? As a fat girl? Or am I just another bored housewife that isn’t a wife anymore? A drain on the economy? All snark and no guts to bite?
That remains to be seen. But I’m starting to think that, in my copious free time, I should assemble this mess into something readable.
I don’t often open myself to dialogue but, what do you think? Worth the time, even if it just ends up being for me (and someday the littles)?