A lot of the time, i don't want to write anything here. My thoughts get all caught up in the philosophies of why i should write, how should i write, what have i experienced that could be beautiful enough to mention in public. Then i get to thinking about all the disappointments these philosophies have brought me--i don't write like i used to, i don't love writing like i should, i take all the beauty around me for granted. This all derails into a mess, and i wonder if i could ever think about just one thing at a time. Would that make me a monkey?
Needless to say, after all this, i prefer to play Gem Miner.

Fixer Uppers

Waiting for the baby to stop crying. I couldn't get to sleep, anyway. What did mothers do before mind-numbing computer games were invented? I guess that's what churning butter was for.
I love going for walks. Around here I enjoy looking at run-down old houses when I walk. It's a sick pleasure, comparing my pretty house to those less fortunate. But it makes me feel at home, the sagging roofs and soggy yard debris that bring back childhood memories. I can focus on small beauties: a sample of unique architecture under peeling paint, the not-quite-patternless networks of deciduous branches, colorful reflections appearing suddenly on murky puddles. Perhaps I don't need to be so concerned with 're-sale value'. There is beauty to be found in humility.

Watch me go, I'm blogging!

Once again, I have nothing in particular to say. I miss the sunshine, I love my house, I hate my belly, I enjoy my funny kids, I endure my baby's neediness, I'm not sure how I feel about my husband. I'm not the kind who can go between two extremes without getting tremendously seasick. Going from "My husband is the most fabulous thing on the planet" to "I've never wanted to punch someone so hard in my whole life" within a couple hours, it makes me want to take my head off and set it down until it stops spinning. I didn't even have mood swings when I was a teenager. Maybe I'm getting my emotional adolescence now, 15 years late. If that's the case, maybe I would feel better if I finished off this post with a string of cuss words and suicide threats.

Nope, nothing's coming to me. Drawing a blank. Guess I'll go punch my husband instead.

(muffled "OUCH!")

"Go read my blog, Mr. Universe." I love that man. I mean, look what he has to put up with.

I'm becoming sporadic in my blog posts. This is not good. So I'm posting for the sake of posting right now.
It's after 1AM, I can't sleep, and there's plenty to do tomorrow. I do laundry on Wednesdays.
My baby is turning into a daddy's girl. While I'm rocking her to sleep, if she hears daddy in another room, she signs 'daddy'. When he's home she'll crawl up and throw herself into his lap. It makes me feel like she's muscling in on my man, and should be stopped. This is a very odd feeling, I want it to go away.