Crazy Day Ever!

I've lost the desire to blog.  I'm compelled to keep writing so that Emily has as many stories about herself to one day read as the boys do, but whenever I sit down to write, I just don't have it in me.  It's not that I've run out of material, per se, because children- all children- are endless fountains of humor and amusement.  It's just that it's started to feel repetitive.  This mommy blog thing is so played out.  The couple of mom bloggers I follow online generally follow the same sort of formula.  Kids are annoying, and we also drink wine.  I'm in the trenches with an army of beautiful morons.  Or it's a humble brag of winning at motherhood. That kind of thing.

So what do people think when they read *my* blog?  I've become hyper aware of that question over the past year, which is partially why I haven't written.  What do they think about ME?  That question becomes more nuanced when you whittle down your audience.  To family, to current friends, to former friends.  To those who are quicker to judge, perhaps, and who don't really like me that much to begin with.  Oh, there's Jackie with her stupid blog again.  We get it.  The kids are funny.  Whatevs.

Also, now that the boys especially are getting older, writing about them feels like stealing.  It feels like I'm sawing off a chunk of their soul and tacking it up on display.  They see the world, but they don't always want the world to see them.  "Don't put that on Facebook," they might warn if I take a compromising picture of them in their ratty pajamas with ice cream smeared on their nose.  "I won't," I say.  There's always Instagram. 

Yes, they are my kids.  I created them, they are essentially my property.  I get to catalog their adventures however I see fit because my name is stamped all over them with the copyright logo. But sometimes I think of writing a less than flattering tale about them which would absolutely KILL with my top four readers, and then I stop.  Because Andy would be pissed if the world had access to some of his darkest moments of deepest shame.  And I can't say that I blame him.  I'll choose to respect that notion, even if it hasn't been expressly stated.

I think I will suspend the blog for now, and make a new year's resolution to find a new avenue for writing.  One that's not focused on my children.  But, what should that look like?  Sometimes I dare myself to write a novel. Go ahead, you lazy coward, just do it.   Maybe I should start with a single short story.  Or a haiku.  It's been so long since I've written anything fictional, and I'm disappointed that that used to be something I wanted to do with my life, and now it's not anything. 

I title this last post "Crazy Day Ever!" because it was the post I started to write, which is something Emily says all the time whenever things go slightly awry.  If she discovers her shirt is on backwards, she'll look down, chuckle and mutter, "Crazy day ever."  She is easily charmed and amused by small things, a sweet little princess whose most entertaining moments I may just have to try my best to remember and retell one day.  And, so, that is where I'll leave you.