We’re coming up on the five year anniversary of Frogs in my formula. I find that somewhat astounding, if I do say so myself.
Five years worth of writing.
Five busy, crazy, joyful, tearful years. It seems like everything under the sun has happened. I had pimples. I had children. I had a job, then I didn’t have a job, then I did. My husband Chuck had a job, then he didn’t, then he did. He chased ghosts. We moved. We had fleas. We had a hurricane. My parents moved. My cat died. I burned dinner. I hated my birthday. I drank too much. The list goes on and on.
I’ll never forget the first time I hit “publish” on this blog. For someone who’d just graduated from grad school with a degree in writing, hitting that button was akin to flipping all the big publishing houses the bird. I didn’t need them to put myself out there. I didn't need anyone but Blogger.
I was free to let it all hang out.
As I quickly discovered, there’s a downside to letting it all hang out, especially when your husband gushes openly about your blog. Way too many people (both friends and acquaintances) found out who I was. It made blogging really damn hard—still does. Even more pressing than “If I make up a name for him/her will he/she still know I am talking about him/her?” is “Do I want him/her to know that about me?”
Way too often the answer is "Hell no."
Blogging come back to life for me last year, after the birth of my second son. I had all new material. Spit-up. Breastfeeding. Sleep deprivation. Hot stuff.
But—shocker—managing two children is a huge time suck, even with things like TV, naps and babysitters. Children have a second sense about time: They know when you want to do something for yourself, and they choose that moment to vomit or poop or catch their finger in the door.
If there's one thing I've learned, to parent is to constantly swim against the current.
I'm not sure what I'm saying exactly about this blog. The mere thought of breaking up with it is enough to give me a panic attack. I love the bloggers I've met because of this blog. Love. But let's be honest, lately the posts have been strung together like a chicken running around with its head cut off.
And what the fuck? Could Follower #296 quit following me then unfollowing? Quit dicking me around.
Life is a little out of sync right now, and until it comes back into focus I need to take a little vacation from blogging. Who knows, it might just mean posting once a week. I do know that I'd hate for this blog to become a wasteland. Not after five years.
We can make it, baby!
About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.