Separation Anxiety

Lately, I've been considering abandoning this blog. I am having so much trouble finding the balance between working and mama-ing and housework that the idea of the hour or so it takes to write a decent blog post seems Herculean to say the least. I might as well commit to knitting spring jackets for all the kids or making four course dinners every night.

Puh-leeze. I can barely manage to work out about once a week or so, much less blog a few times a week. And then I guess you'd still expect the entries to be good if not entertaining and engaging; nay, award winning!

I am such a type A personality that I cannot stand to do something without doing it with all the excellence I can muster. Ideally, I can write a kickass entry while three children hang from my body in alternating poses of desperation and maternal need. I can hold off a fair amount of whining and leg clutching with the liberal application of an episode or two of Little Einsteins while I make dinner and wash jelly out of the rug but I have had to abort several sub-standard entries (kinda like the last one) which just cannot allow me to be proud of what I have written. This blog is meant to be an outlet for my creative side, and it's just not fun when I cannot take pride and satisfaction in what I've written.

I frequently write blog entries in my head while driving to work or walking on the track during my lunch break. But I never find the time to vomit them into the internets and hence the universe is saved from my meandering musings. But I miss it. So much so, that I have decided not to kill this blog just yet.

I have held off my consideration of blog-icide with this final act of desperation:

I am going to commit to writing at least one entry per week (barring vacations and other acts of God) and I am going to take the time to make it a thing for which I can be enjoy the creative act. I am doing this for me, because I have so deeply enjoyed writing again. And now that I've told you all about it, my pride will keep me on track on finding the time for this small pleasure.

Maybe next week I will commit to becoming a clown for children's birthday parties (and terrorizing adults, like Dr. P) or some other insanity. Please stop me. I beg you.