Over an entire year has passed since I’ve thought about writing, wanted to write, or let’s be honest, logged in. It’s been so long that I lost my domain, resulting in me trying for an hour to outbid the morons that parked it, before giving up because a new episode of Real Housewives was airing. Priorities, people.
No excuses here, except that, well, it’s been an interesting journey. I have lots to be thankful for, namely my husband, kids, extended family and friends, yet I’m also super fond of head massages at the hair salon, no lines at the grocery store, and that pair of jeans that makes me look like Kate Moss plus 80 pounds. (Baby steps, you know.)
I’m still the same person, though a few things have changed: Against my better judgement I turned 40, I finally told Greg to deal with my side of the closet looking like the washer threw up, and I friended my dentist on facebook before realizing I can no longer post fears about having my teeth cleaned. We still like to laugh it up in this family, like when Greg drops me off at Target and screams from the car ‘Get me somethin’ REEEEEAL good,’ and when our youngest told me he needs cologne to ‘smell nice for the ladies.’ (The kid is 7.)
In a house full of boys, writing is a nice outlet for me to test my sanity and it certainly beats the calories from heating up molten lava cake in the microwave. (Kate Moss jeans, anyone?) Everyone gets busy in this circus act called life trying to balance working, chauffering, cooking, (yes, pizza is a food group, kids), which all get in the way of making time for doing that one thing we love. And for me, it’s writing. Well, downing vats of Starbucks coffee, too, but mostly writing.
And so I write.