I've not been the best 'keep it current' blogger lately. That didn't mean a lot back when it was just me reading these little peaks into my insanity. Now, however, a few of you gluttons for punishment like to visit on a fairly regular basis. I like having the company, but sometimes it makes me feel guilty for avoiding the 'create posts' screen.
Avoiding may be a harsh word. I'm not going out of my way not to pontificate. I merely struggle to find anything compelling me to write it. I'll be honest, I like the comments. I like the feedback. I like knowing I'm not talking to myself all the time, because frankly, with two little kids and a grown man in the house sometimes it feels that way.
Yet frankly I've always written as a way to lighten my load. There are things that rattle around in my head, sometimes even in my soul, that beg to be released. This has been my outlet to do so. My lack of blog writing (and subsequently blog reading to a degree since they seem to happen in tandem for me. Write a little - read a little) has little to do with concerns that I have nothing 'good enough' to write. It has everything to do with having little demanding to be written.
Certainly I could fill the space with something for my beloved friends inside the computer. Do you really, however, want to read about the extreme glee and pride I experienced today because my feisty little two-year old went nearly 8 full hours in underwear before creating a puddle on my floor? That included multiple "fruitful" potty breaks. See, aren't you glad I shared?
I could share how I'm jealous of the adorable photos so many are capturing at apple orchards and pumpkin patches. Ok, granted, we got a few cute ones this weekend. However, I was really hoping to snag one of both kids looking "Christmas card perfect." Instead I got the following. Of course, I'm biased. I tend to think they're adorable any time they are not channeling demonic beings. This just wasn't that "we are having fun just standing together and smiling for you" type photo I was going for.