I just spent a half an hour frantically changing my blog header because I feel like my blog is holding me back. This will probably sound dumb and made-up, but I swear I just can't type on this thing anymore because everytime I open the page I think about how I wrote all that stuff about my grandpa. It's like an automatic response now. I pull up the page and feel heavy and annoyed at myself and want to do something else. I thought if I made things look different, then maybe I could feel different.
Okay. I will now try to feel different.
Things at my house have been really clicking lately. Like, really really clicking. No TV! Imaginary play! Craft time! Dinner cooked! Clean house! It's magical. A lot of it has to do with Luke and his newly found habit of helping me with the dishes. I have no idea how I tricked him into thinking it was his responsibility to do the dishes every night but I did, or maybe it wasn't me at all; maybe it was him or God or maybe there is mind control from the advertising industry involved, I'm really not sure. And I don't care. My sink doesn't have dishes in it, and that's a win.
I know the really really clicking phase never lasts very long, so I am trying to soak it all up before someone inevitably breaks their arm.
I hate that I hesitate when I want to say how great and joyful I feel.
I hate that misery loves company, but saying you're happy and blessed and actually really love being a mom and your life isn't falling apart makes you boring.
It isn't funny or interesting.
I don't think I say it enough.
I love being a mom. My life isn't falling apart.
I do my fair share of bitching and laughing about the ridiculous aspects of parenting, but I want to be very very clear in case this was lost in the midst of all of that: I love my life. I love my family. I wouldn't trade a minute of it. I am the luckiest girl in the world.
I would say it every day if I didn't think you all would get tired of hearing it.