I have realized that this blog has become something akin to the Strawberry Shortcake diary I had when I was 11. It even had a little lock with a little, tiny key. I hid it under my mattress because I was such a SLY 11-year-old. (I hope my mom enjoyed the reading. My brother told me years later that he certainly did. Brat.)
Like the diary, this blog has become a place to record my extremes. I seem to turn to it when I'm in a mood of some sort- frustrated, or exasperated, or depressed, or just full of myself.
Dear Blog, My husband is gone all the time!
Dear Blog, This has been the worst day!
Dear Blog, my toddler won't eat his vegetables!
Dear Blog, My mom won't buy me the Benetton sweater! She's so mean! (that one is actually from the Strawberry Shortcake diary... vintage 80's)
Waa waa waa...
And I guess that's OK, because this blog is for me anyway, and maybe I have regressed to my 11-year old mentality of needing a place to vent all my strong emotions. Hanging out with a 1-year-old and 3-year-old all day, every day, will do that to you. I've got more strong emotions than stubbly hair on my legs at this stage in my life. (And that's a LOT.) Aside: Brother actually rubbed my leg the other day and said "Furry" in his sweet little voice with a big smile on his face. And then, with an even bigger smile- "Momo!"
Yes, sweetheart- fur. Just like Elmo. At least one male member of the household likes it.
As I was pondering my little blogging revelation, I came across this blog entry. It hits the nail on the head. So go read it, why don't you.
Anyway, I would just like you to know, for the record, that I'm actually a normal person. And that if we were friends, you would find me one of the most laid-back and even-keel women you know. (I hide my feelings very well.)
Happy weekend, and enjoy your glimpse under my mattress.