A Card of Thanks

When I started blogging this February, I did not have much of an agenda. I used to keep a journal before I got married, which kept me sane in some insane times. I mused, pontificated and poked fun at myself - and found the experience to be the cheapest form of therapy (and also less likely to be bad for my health). With marriage, kids and career, the time that I allowed for myself quietly slipped away. Until that day in February when Eric had been away for almost 2 months on exercise. I was bored and lonely, I felt isolated from the world but at the same time holed myself in the house (mostly due to bad weather and precocious kids) - and felt like I needed to say something - and considered journaling to be equivalent to decent adult conversation. Since I had been an adept diarist, I wondered how the public dimension would alter or change what I wanted to say. It did change my rhetoric quite dramatically. And this is a good thing. When scribing my inner thoughts on paper, I tended to be funny, but I was also self deprecating (both consciously and not). There were more doodles and thoughtful consideration of pens and their nib size. I also tended to obsess about my "issues" and eventually realized that journaling was contributing to their perpetuation. I had to stop writing about it, as a step to healing those demons. When I stopped writting about my baggage, I had nothing else to say, and therefore discontinued the practice. I was not getting the same fix. This also coincided with the filling of my days (and nights) with diapers and spit-up.

Blogging is different for me. I do offer a performance. But I think I am expressing part of my personality that normally manifests in every day conversation. I do like to joke and see the funny side of things. And for all the heartache and stress, the kids are excellent material. While of the otherhand, parenting to me can be mundane and dull, and for me, isolating. The funny stuff reminds me that they are as intellectually stimulating as a conversation with a Phd in Phenomenology. I have spent days feeling dreary and not in the least bit interested in another sibling fight, catering another meal, cleaning up another shitty ass, reading the same story over and over again, listening to the same damn DVD again, cleaning and wiping and dusting and washing and folding yet another item. I've learned, probably the hard way, that "good" parenting is as much about the way you look at things, as it is about they way you do things. Getting in the habit of finding the ridiculous and absurd is ultimately more productive than seeing only the routine and mundane.

But when the shitty stuff happens, as it will happen to us all, there is nothing more validating and comforting than 8 very kind comments from people who took time out of their own day to read and respond to my crappy day. And in this regard, blogging trumps traditional journaling hands down.

Thanks!