Friday morning, a few minutes after 8 am, my aunt picked me up to head over to the endoscopy center. As far as I could tell, I was the youngest person in there by decades.
Recently, I saw January 2018 referred to as a “very long year.” This seems right on so many levels, and so far February is shaping up to be another long year in month form.
I’m sitting in the bathroom, writing while my kids splash around in the tub, trying to see just how much water the floor can tolerate. This is life right now — sitting on the closed toilet lid, making sure nobody drowns, hoping Rowan doesn’t pee in the water, and telling Lorelei to get her butt out of her brother’s face.
True story: Sometimes I don’t write blog posts simply because I cannot think of a good title. Sometimes I don’t write them because I don’t think anybody really cares about regular boring life shit. Then I have to emotionally smack myself around a bit until I remember that while I did start this particular blog with the intention of having readers, it’s not why I started writing in the first place. Writing blog posts was my Facebook On This Day before there was even a Facebook.