Before blogs were blogs I was emailing regular stories of The Princess to all our family.
This was when we lived in Wisconsin and everyone else lived everywhere else.
Those emails got more complicated when I announced the twins.
That was in Pennsylvania.
Then three years ago I started Three Little Bugs. I was writing for the extended family who wasn’t around to watch the daily antics.
This developed into a satisfying case of narcissism as I began to amuse myself with my own stories. I was now writing for my own kicks and for the extended families interest.
Then we composed the yearly blog into our Family Album. My bugs read it regularly and laughed and laughed.
I am writing for my personal kicks, my bugs laughs, and my extended families waning amusement.
If making my children’s lives public were a cupcake (Uh, yes – all roads lead to sugar.) Then here is the unexpected frosting on top:
A.) I refrain from getting wordy. It is imperative to delete at least half of my words before “publishing” or else I would loose what attention I get. And believe me, I DO love the attention. I am batting my eyes for it.
B.) I refrain from getting too sentimental. If I admitted in public I was an emotional tide pool what authoritative respect I demand from my brothers would evaporate.
C.) A lot of people learn a lot about my children and when my children are faced with this truth, they are dumb struck. They run and hide and save you from being shocked at their ability to exhibit obnoxious gutter behavior. Like nose picking and laughing at body noises. (Frankly this is less the frosting and more the cherry.)
Unfortunately I do NOT always feel like writing a story. I do NOT think my children are funny. I do NOT think life is amusing. The dog will NOT stay potty trained. The Princess will NOT stop whining. The Pirate will NOT eat healthy. Not, not, not…
And then I start thinking my journaling efforts are a gigantic waste of time.
Recently I also started sleeping thru the night so my blogging habit began to shrivel and shrink.
You can thank Melatonin for that.
Last week my biggest blog fan carefully mentioned the Three Little Bugs dusty appearance. He was careful because no husband should criticize his wife's housekeeping unless he is prepared to pick up the broom himself.
I scowled and he changed the subject.
Then, yesterday, with no radio in my brain, with no stress to mull over, with nothing really, I woke up in the middle of the night and was amazed to find I could not get back to sleep.
When I lived in California as a bitty thing I would curl up in my oversized night shirt. I’d be a ball in front of the the fan blowing cool night air in through the screen. I’d lay there getting almost blown away and listen to my dad play Atari.
Last night, with nothing else to do. I curled up in front of the fan on the floor. No Atari though.
Instead a little person joined me. She is very small and let me hold her hand while she slept on the floor next to me.
I laid there thinking nothing for a while and then words began coming.
Stories began forming.
I had thought there were no stories floating around our house. I’ve had to scrape up the remains of the days to make a casserole of information, but now I opened up and there they were. Whole.
I captured at least seven while I laid there.
One story started with, “Grow Girl Grow…”
Another started with, “My brother texted me…”
And even another started with, “Before blogs were blogs…”