Have you ever stared at a page and the words all melded and blurred together to form some incomprehensible muddle? And your brain freezes up and you wonder if you might just be long over due for a nap, or perhaps a more reasonable hour of bed, say, anything earlier then midnight?
I am not entirely sure why blogging has become difficult.
I attribute it to a variety of things including, but not limited too Chantelle, that sweetheart on two chubby legs who runs around investigating life with zeal, and Abby who is a precious saint who wants nothing more in life then to have anyone or someone to talk to her (and her bottle, she pretty much requires a bottle:)). There is homeschool and the house and the piles of laundry, there are six darling children between the ages of 5 and 12 who like me to chatter with them on occasion also, perhaps that is a good enough start but it doesn’t explain the mental block.
What do I say?
Today we cleaned and learned, we played and worked.
In truth I am too tired.
It is almost midnight and what I wanted was to crawl into bed with a good book and fall pleasantly to sleep. What I did was organize the childrens math for the next two weeks (because I am behind….as always) go over today’s school work, outline vocabulary words, helped Joff create a summer reading chart. Bathed babies and snuggled babies and talked to the kids as they fell asleep, fetched the requisite glass or twenty of water and thought longingly of bed, or maybe just having a little bit more awake inside of me.
It is interesting to me, this life of mine. I am a mother so very much and all the time, surprisingly or not I like it whole lot of lot. But sometimes I sit back and while thinking some new crazy thing, say to myself…..wait a minute….I am a mom….how weird is that?
Weird and wonderful.
In the end of course I do write, but I write on scraps of paper or my journal, thoughts get squeezed into corners of menus or Sunday newsletters……post it notes litter my headboard with abstract thoughts that come to me in the night and none of it makes it to the internet.
The words that bubble up and spill out release the need I have to express what I feel and then, written and visualized, I can tuck them away, store the words and feeling and thoughts and insanity away, because they have served their purpose and are no longer needed.
I am tired and am going to leave this thoughts unfinished.
But at least it is something.