I miss this blog. I really, really do.
Last year at this time I made the switch from being a full-time working mother to a part-time working mother, and I thought I'd hit the jackpot with that most precious of commodities: time.
More time with the kids, more time with the groceries and laundry (ah, domesticity), more time with my failing brain.
Then my husband, Chuck, got laid off and I started saying yes to every freelance job that came my way. And now here I am again, a full-time working mother except now I shove Cheerios into my kids' mouths so they don't scream during conference calls. Now I ask them if they want to watch TV —"Don't you?! Don't you?!"— so I can sit down at my computer and type furiously—furiously!—to the backdrop of Curious George.
I'm not complaining. I swear I'm not. The flexibility of this new life is priceless. I rue the day that this routine becomes the norm and I stop appreciating the extra time I have with my children.
And Chuck. Yah, he's freelancing too, so we're driving all over the state of Connecticut (and sometimes New York) and our fucking monthly health insurance payment is a mortgage but we're both home more.
I can't lie, there are a lot of days that feel pretty damn good in Mulletville Lite.
But I mean what I said: I miss this blog. I miss all the shit that's happened that I haven't been able to write about. I miss my old job at Mulletville Corp if only because I would spend entire days writing blog posts.
I want to get back here, physically and literally. I want to get back to blogging and to that delightful place where I had time to reflect.
(And breathe. Breathing is good.)
Except it can't be now. I have to find photos of beets and broccoli for a magazine spread. If, after you finish reading this post, you stumble across a hot beet picture, could you send it my way?
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.