Four more days...

In four more days, I will have been blogging for a year. I know that no balloons will fall from the sky, no doves will be released, and no one is going to put my photo on a big banner to celebrate this year. I'm okay with that. I wouldn't mind a celebratory piece of chocolate, but that's about the extent of my partying over something that exists solely in cyberspace.

Contemplating this year, I've come to realize that I'm often completely baffled about what subjects should be discussed in this blog. Most of my readers are friends and family members, which means I need to be cautious about mentioning interactions with any of them. What I might consider to be an amusing story might actually hurt someone's feelings, and my friends and family all know where I live to hunt me down and make me pay. I'd rather not risk that. I figure I can get away with kidlet-based stories because my kidlets don't read my blog. (And it will stay that way as long as I can manage it!)

There are days when I find myself writing a blanket letter to a random group of people, insane drivers being my most common target, because it's easier for me to imagine actually talking down to them instead of being blatantly ignored by them. Yes, I am aware that some people mock those of us who write "letters" like that. No, I am not overly concerned with their distaste over such a style of writing. Everyone is entitled to their own opinions, no matter how wrong they might be.

Ultimately, I'm selfish. I want to write about subjects that interest me, and I want to know anyone who reads my words will agree completely with me, even if I say the moon is made out of eggplant and artichokes. (You mean it's not? Oh, right. Blue cheese. Sorry. My bad.)

The subjects that concern me the most never show up here at all. I refuse to write about them. (Family and friends know where I live, remember?) There are days when I am sitting in front of my laptop, fingers poised over the keys, and I am physically unable to come up with an idea to write about that does not touch upon a subject that I am trying to protect. I am vaguely amused that what is supposed to be a picture of my life as a stay-at-home mother looks more like a puzzle in which half of the pieces are lost behind the couch somewhere.

Regardless, they are my puzzle pieces that are missing, my written ideas that are going to be contemplated, and my kidlets who are going to one day throw a conniption because Mom was crass enough to write about why they got the nickname of "Farticus." (Actually, I think that one is fairly easy to guess without explanations.) This is ultimately still life as I know it, and I am looking forward to a new year of blogging ahead of me.