I have been struggling with whether or not to blog anymore. Part of my struggle is the time it takes to write every day has been re-allotted to my digging into a larger writing project. Another struggle is the idea, possibly only theoretical, of my kid’s privacy. Have I been invading it? My last struggle is with my motivation for blogging in the first place. I may be mildly, just a little, wee, tiny bit narcissistic. Slightly. As I wrote this I found yet another struggle. My use of the word struggle (rhymes with snuggle). Really? “Struggle”? I may, need to get some real problems.
While I excel at running my mouth about kids and marriage and mememe, I dream of being a novelist. Instead of dreaming my life away, I am going to give it a whirl. I have been scraping all my ten minutes together and trying to make chapters out of molehills.
As to the children’s privacy; I like to pretend such a thing still exists. As I went along with my blog I began to wonder if having your mother tell the world about every trip to the potty and about that fit you threw in IKEA might be kind of embarrassing. I would be pretty sad if they started blogging about all of my room cleaning nagging and how I cruise the table after snack time eating grilled cheese sammich crusts and rogue carrot sticks.
“And then she said ‘In this family we pick up after ourselves’. Like I asked to be part of this family. I was in line for movie start parents with maids, and instead I get this old battle axe and Captain Jazzy Pants for parents.” Ouch.
Narcissism? Welllll, okay. Who doesn’t like to go on about themselves? Guilty as charged.
So, those are my reasons. Thanks for reading.