The thing about this blog... no matter what kind of horrendous day I've had, no matter how filthy my kitchen floor, this place is always lovely and pristine. Sure blogger may get fritzy and have the occasional Smenita, but I never have to clean up after anyone outside of the occasional spammer in the old comments section. Even that is perversely satisfying because once you get rid of it?... that particular hunk of spamola? It stays gone! No one's diggin' that bad boy out of the trash or the rag-bag, aghast look upon their angelic faces...
"Mamaaaaaaa! Dat myyy! No fwoah away inna dahh-badge!"
I love it! Once I post it it stays posted. I don't have to re-post the same blasted hunk of literary crap eight times a day to keep it comfortable and /or smelling nice.
My failures even read pretty OK in bold black print on my cheerful sunflower template of joy... sometimes I like to go back and re-read the things that I have written, because with just a joke and a tweak I have downplayed the tears and made my role as a mother seem almost comprehensible. By taking my whole-being frustrations and putting them into words have forced them into sentence structure that I CONTROL.
and I gots me some spell check... don't always use it, but I've got it when I need it.
But a blog is like a photo. While it's great that you can make your life seem interesting and pretty with some good lighting and a little bit of Photoshop, without the panoramic 360 and the smell-o-vision of reality you will never really know what it is to awaken with LaLa snugged up close to you, as you breathe in her wispy, honey colored hair. Never have a true sense of her heart thump-thumping away in her Popsicle stick ribcage... a small but valiant heart which owns me through and through.
My little Birdie. I haven't even attempted to address her odd little speech quirk, or is it an impediment?... that sometime nasal thwump and sometimes almost Yiddish throat clearing sound that she makes when pronouncing her "S's." I know that some day this quirk will be gone, and though I know it cannot stay, I will mourn it's going. Sometimes I look at her and feel like I am dying... I still go in a night to watch her sleep.
and the baby, what with the intoxicating baby smell, and the not sleeping when I want her to, and the vile game of POP that she plays when nursing... yeah Pearl, I mean YOU.
The other day Dadguy said to me, "you might want to watch it. Sometimes on your blog when you refer to the girls as the "Chaos Girls" it's like you aren't joking anymore."
I said, "how very astute of you."
I can feel all righteous and penitent by mentioning that I have been a bit of a crusty bee-hatch, and most all of y'all will obligingly assume the best... um, except for Dadguy who knows for a fact what flavor of bee-hatch I have been! But you never can tell with bee's, and it's hard to think the worst of someone you either are related to (hey there ya CRAZIES!) or that you only know cyberly. Only now Amber has met me in RL and I can only hope I didn't come off as too much of a drip. Which by the way Amber? I promise, next time I will be waaay more interesting or clean the house or something! Ha ha, or something. Can I offer you some Cheerios?