If you're a regular reader of my blog, you know I'm not a regular writer on my blog. Which is unfortunate, because I started this blog with the best of intentions—multiple posts a week with witty insights, fabulous advice, etc., etc., I was going to share with the masses.
But then reality set in. I realized that I didn't have all that many tips to share (because, you know, I'm kind of flying by the seat of my pants here). And most of the time, I was too tired to have insights...or at least, witty ones. Because most of the time, my "free" time comes at about 1 a.m., and if the options are to pack lunches so my kids can eat or blog about the latest in my life, my kids win out. Every. Single. Time. (Sorry!)
I'm a bad blogger because, despite the fact that I'm practically chained to my computer, I do have a rich real life. I have two fabulous daughters. A husband that I love. Lots and lots (and lots and LOTS) of challenging work to keep me busy (and dreams of finally living a big dream from my childhood and writing a novel). A core crew of fabulous girlfriends who I plan to drink wine and laugh with until I go senile (and probably even past then). Family far and wide who I don't see often enough. Oh, and a kitchen remodel to survive.
It's all a bit too much, at the moment, even for someone who likes her life busy. There are days where I fantasize about ditching it all and moving out to a deserted isle in the Caribbean...at least for a week or two. But mostly, I just trudge through in triage mode, taking care of my life one crisis at a time.
I'm hoping to get better about chronicling a bit more of my life (if only because my poor daughters don't have baby books, so I can at least, someday, print this bugger out and give them the high and lowlights). But for the moment, I'll have to be content to just go out and live it.