It was a long, dark and narrow hallway and his hands were just inches from mine. (I remember hearing once that your opening sentence must be an attention grabber.) Another blog – really? How passé – how 2004. But here I am anyway. I’ve always been a late bloomer. I’ve been last to almost everything in my life. Last to get up in the morning, last to get married and have kids, last to know that drop-off is on the right and parking is on the left. I set up this site 2 years ago and I just didn’t know what I wanted to say. Yet again, late to the party. Everyone else has readership in the millions, screaming into their cable lines about crappy-life thingy’s and bad haircuts. What do I really have to say? Really? Nothing important, but since no one listens to me anyway, unless there’s a tip involved, what the hay.
Over the years I’ve collected journals. Barnes and Noble have some great journals – leather bound, great paper weight – and I’ve got about 8, maybe 10 (I think I have a couple upstairs somewhere.) Not a word in any of them. Oprah started this with me. She told me I had to “journal” my feelings. Get it out on paper so that it lives and I can face my demons. Something like that. I bought it. I drank the Kool-Aid. After all Oprah is my best-friend and she would never let me down. So my blog has been parked here for 2 years. My husband says “When are you going to write your blog?” about twice a week. Bastard. He loves to hold the mirror up. Take a good look kid–you’re letting the world fly by. He’s right of course. Bastard.
Truth be told, I love to write. I don’t care if no one reads this. I love to dream and writing is just dreaming out loud. No one needs to read my dreams or my random hiccups on the way down the road. If you do find it interesting, great – enjoy. If not, c’est la vie.
Warning: I’m not interesting in any way. I’m not a world traveler. I’m not rich nor famous, and I don’t really use curse words. I use to love to say shit, but I have kids now. I’m just another working Mom feeling constantly like I left the house with my curlers still plugged in. I’m looking for things to write about but nothing really comes to mind. The most interesting thing today is that my daughter pointed out that I ate the last of the Cap’n Crunch. She went to have a bowl this morning and there was just a little bit left. She was disappointed in me. How could I eat the Cap’n Crunch and leave her hungry. I guess she had a good day anyway since she shared a bite of her dinner noodles without comment. She’s nine. Cap’n Crunch is not our normal cereal – too much sugar. I get it once a year maybe, like turkey in November. She asked for it last week and was surprised I didn’t say no. She looked at my face just to make sure I wasn’t pulling her tights. Then I go and eat them all. Some women drink; I eat sugary stuff. Sorry Captain.
I also have a son who drives me crazy. He wants to date. He’s twelve. He tells me that to a 7th grader, “dating” isn’t “dating”. It’s just a way to hang out more than just at lunch. Hang out? No way. No “dating”, no “7th-grade-hanging-out-dating-becoming-popular dating.” NO. Now go do your homework. I miss diapers and Thomas the Tank Engine.
I also still have a husband. He’s a good guy. I’m not ready for divorce yet; he doesn’t make enough, and I still have weight to lose. I wish he wasn’t a procrastinator but I’ll write about that another time.