It's ironic to me that when I first started blogging, 5 years or so ago, no minutia of my life seemed too small to write about. I could blog 2 or 3 times a day at my peak. And now I'm lucky if I find one thing in a month worthy of writing about. Why? Is my life more boring? Is it just that kids dominate my life more? I do have one more now. Maybe it's the lack of reciprocity to drive me? I don't know. But seriously, what did I write about then?? And why don't I write about it now?
Maybe, for example, I could write about how I have been working out like crazy at the gym and am in the best shape of my life right now. Weights. It's all about the weights. Well, and the fact that I joined the country club of gyms doesn't hurt.
Or I could write about how I took TWO fantastic trips in December, one to Texas to visit my sister (with kids) and one to St. Thomas with my hottie husband (SANS kids!). I could even include the part about the lady who decided to have a baby on the plane so we had to make an emergency stop in Denver, causing us to arrive at our home airport at 2am, so you wouldn't be jealous.
I could write about Pippa, She's 19 months now and doing all kinds of super cute and super naughty things. Usually they're naughty but also cute simultaneously, which makes discipline a challenge. It's hard to yell "NO!" sternly when you're secretly busting a gut.
I could write about the adventures of raising a mini version of my mother, with all the brilliant creativity and vivid imagination and total lack of social skills that make you laugh at a 7 year old (but not so much at a 70 year old).
I could even write about the delicious foods I've made lately: the amazing cinnamon almonds, the bacon-sausage-apple cornbread stuffing, the cranberry apple salad. They're good recipes, I swear!
But...I'm not. WHY? I don't know. And I'm not sure anyone reads my blog anymore, so who cares?