Thanks to Mommytime over at Mommy's Martini for her own blogiversary post today that prompted me to go look at my own archives and realize that I've been in the blog business for ONE YEAR. So, I'll be shamelessly ripping off her post topic and doing a little retrospective on the year.
Good thing, because the alternative was a little post on how I almost had a throw down in Michael's today because not only did they not have any Thanksgiving craft projects, but they of course had ONE person working on the register, and a line of twelve people. And no one knows that there is a SYSTEM for when someone opens a new register -- next person in line, not rude person who just runs there first! Ooops. You got that post anyway. Sorry. (I got the chocolate advent calendar, so I guess it was worth it in the end.)
One year ago, I finally started up this small blog about my small world. I'd been reading Not to Brag religiously, so happy to be able to keep up with my old friend MEP's life in a way we couldn't on the phone or in person due to geography and children that start screaming as soon as they sense fiber optic lines in use. I felt bad for not returning the favor of sharing my own life aside from in her comment box. I'm so glad I've been able to maintain our friendship here as well as in real life.
I really can't believe that N. was only two months old when I started writing here. Has it really gone so quickly? And was she ever really so small? Also, was I crazy?? Where did I find the time? I do seem to remember a lot of posts written while nursing, something I was infinitely more adept at with her, baby #2, than I would have been with Mr. Sucky Nurser, and I do not mean that literally.
This blog continues to be a place for me to record the moments of my children's lives that I don't want to lose to the whirlwind and monotony of long days at home with them. They so quickly turn into weeks and then into months, and then amazingly: one year. I may not have written much in the baby books, but I do have this record that hopefully will remain for them to read when they are old enough not to be embarrassed by it.
I'm happy, though, that I've also been able to use this blog, at least occasionally, to write about the other things that matter to me, things like food and books and poetry, and yes, television. It helps me feel like I'm still something else besides a mom, even though that is certainly my most important role these days. I'm glad to be writing on a regular basis, even if it's not poetry, even if it's not every day. Maybe that master's degree in creative writing was worth what we're still paying off after all.
I'm hoping to get a little more technically savvy here, and make better use of the ways a blog can function more smoothly, and maybe expand my readership a little along the way. But I don't have any illusions that this blog will ever be anything more than something that is important to me and the couple of loyal readers I have. I've pledged it will not be something to add to the guilt list -- I'll write when it works for me to do so. Interestingly, that seems to often be when J. is traveling. So in some ways, it's how I deal with the solo parent days when I'm in need of more than children's voices.
There are lots of other things I could say about the last year, about how I never believed I'd get sucked into reading the blogosphere to the extent that I have. How Facebook is dangerously close to controlling my life. About how my devotion to my DVR seems to be flagging a bit, thanks to the loss of naptime. How my children are turning into the most amazing people I know right before my eyes. About how my husband continues to be the best friend I have in this life I never even thought to imagine when I entered adulthood. But there is time enough for all of that. Time enough on the afternoons when I try not to measure out my life in coffee spoons* and write here instead.
I may not be disturbing the universe*, but thank you to those of you that read what I have to say. I'm glad to get to put a little of this small world into words, and thus make a little sense of it. You are the ones that provide the audience for me to do so.
*You didn't think I could write this without some poetry, did you? Thank you, T.S. Eliot, for my favorite love song, that of J. Alfred Prufrock.