Dag, I Wrote One Anyway

When you go to to type your own blog’s website into your web browser because it’s Monday, and you usually post on Mondays, but you accidentally type in another, much more popular blog into your browser–and when it takes you a second to realize, as you’re reading this particularly entertaining, well-written blog, that (oh, yeah)–this isn’t your own blog and shouldn’t you be writing a new post, already?–it’s maybe a sign that you’re not really in the blog-writing mood and that maybe you should take today off, perhaps.

So.  What you get today is a blog post about how I don’t feel like writing a blog post.  Feeling ironic yet?

It’s turned from a radiantly sunny day to a sort of drab, almost-winter-y, overcast, barren-looking sort of day.  It’s the sort of day where my daughter asks, “Hey, Mom? Can we not go anywhere today? Can we watch a movie?” but you drag her and her sister on some errands anyway because a) you only have two days a week where you can actually run errands, uninterrupted, with the wee children, and b) they’re just so darned fun to go out with, because they’re so golly-darned good, even when I’m hollering at one to hurry up and get in the car already because there’s traffic in this lot and the other child is squirming in my arms and I’ve just realized that she’s somehow barfed vanilla-flavored milk all over her coat…and, by extension, all over my hair.  This is why I usually wear a ponytail.

Also, it’s Christmastime–a lovely span of weeks where a mom makes sure that everyone around her is caught in a swirling mist of delight, peppermint- and balsalm-scented air, dreams of snow and Santa and wise men on a starlight path, while the actual mom in question is trying to write cards and plan food and figure out where the heck she put that sweater she needs to wrap.   And when this mom is a stay-at-home parent, who, in reality, has exactly 25 minutes to herself between the hours of seven a.m. and eight p.m., no kidding, because there is absolutely no break where she’s not answering “why?” or changing a diaper, or filling up milk cups or wiping smashed banana out of the dog’s fur, well.  It’s all minutiae.  But it adds up to one big, hectic to-do list wherein I forget to respond to emails and my friends wonder if I’ve suddenly broken down and moved to Tanzania to study rock-climbing.

So, no post today.  I’ve changed out of my jeans into sweats, pulled my hair back (I didn’t have time to dry it this morning, anyway, and it gets all crazy/funky/wavy like this, in case you were wondering), and hunkered down to keep the mechanics of Christmas working so that my family can enjoy the magic of the season, dammit.   But I have lots of stuff simmering in the back of my brain to write about–hoo, boy, it’s just itching to come out, if it can fight its way past the shopping lists and checkbook spread sheets and calendars jumping around in my head, so it’s a-coming, people.  Just let me find that sweater, first, and I’ll get right back on it.

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