Today I wanted to write about one of my best friends. She’s getting married Saturday and I wanted to talk about what makes her so awesome. Her selflessness, for example, and her contagious spirit.
But then the dishwasher broke so I spent the first half of nap time doing dishes by hand. (I know, I know … poor me, right?)
Today I wanted to write about my part-time summer “job” working at a doggy day care. How the furry darlings are always happy to see me, which is sort of cute but mostly annoying because I have this weird phobia of clingy creatures. Which is why I teach high school and not elementary. I wanted to write about that too, by the way.
But then I remembered that I was tired and that a wise person – presumably a woman – once said, “Sleep when the kids sleep.” Alas, there went the second half of nap time.
Today I wanted to write about being a “mom blogger.” Am I a mom blogger? What is a mom blogger? Do I like the mom blogger label? How do I define this … this sacred thing that I do for no one but myself? I still don’t know, you see; I never got the chance to write about it.
Because after nap time the sun finally came out, which meant that I had to plant the daisies from Geoff’s grandma before it rained again.
Today I wanted to write about my mother. Mostly because I love her but partly because she’s been begging for “her” post for about a month now (hi, Mom). No really, though, mostly because I love her.
But then Geoff called and said he had to work late so I spent the rest of the evening making spaghetti and cleaning up the subsequent disaster alone (sans dishwasher).
Today I wanted to write, but the time just wasn’t there.
Which is okay, I guess.
Because I sort of think the only thing more important than writing about life is living it.
That last line? Yes, exactly.