The Summer I Almost Gave Up Blogging

Oh, hello there. Are you still visiting this dusty old place?  Remember me? I used to post here fairly often before I was struck by the soul-crippling days of summer. And then vacation hit, the gremlins scuttled off their respective busses, and I was quickly buried by my seasonal responsibilities.

...What responsibilities? Did you seriously just ask me that? Do you read my posts?

Stay-at-home-moms work their aprons off when Summer hits. There is no time for bonbons. There is no time for daytime trash TV. We put on full protective gear and cute matching camo outfits and run into the fray for 2.5 months.

The tasks assigned to me over the summer included (but were not limited to): chambermaid, professional organizer, short order cook, event coordinator, life coach, lifeguard, personal shopper, personal assistant, complimentary shuttle van driver, payroll manager, and overworked referee --very overworked referee. And I did all of this for the low, low cost of my sanity.

By mid-August, I had completely lost the will to live my ability to blog. Being able to write involves having time to sit down and think about stuff. It involves not having to get up every two minutes to break up a fight, get someone a snack, or help someone figure out how to not be bored.

I seriously contemplated giving up blogging altogether. I really did. I thought that perhaps my time to share the crazy in my life with the world was coming to the end of its natural life. That maybe I should shut the whole operation down and turn this subprime piece of internet real estate into a mail order bride outlet: "Canadian Wives: We Got Your Beaver Right Here."

Why are you laughing? That part wasn't funny.  I was talking about closing my blog down. It's a sad thought that is undoubtedly reducing you to big, wet tears, right? Right?

I was at a very low point in my creative life: feeling burned out, overwhelmed, with no hope in sight.

And then, yesterday, just as I had given up all hope of ever being awesome again, this little yellow dot appeared on the horizon.

Was it a canary?

A loud banana?

The Man with the Yellow Hat?

Nay, friends.  It was the school bus. The wonderful school bus, packed to the brim with wonderful children going to wonderful school!

And just like that, I felt fucking wonderful again!

So, here I am, writing a blog post on day 2 of many, many glorious days of public education. Am I subpar parent for the joy I felt when I could hand two of my children over to the system five days a week? Probably. Do I feel guilty about it? Not really, no. I'm over feeling guilty about parenting stuff. I could find things to feel guilty about every single day. Do I want to be depressed my entire life? Do I want to feel like a failure 365 days a year? No. So I turn the guilt dial way, way down.

Then, I drown the rest of my conscience out with coffee. It's better for everyone that way.

And, with my guilt dial being held down with a popsicle stick and half a roll of duct tape, I did another great thing: I enrolled Spawnling in a pre-kindergarten program 2 days a week. That's six hours on Monday and six hours on Wednesday for a grand total of 12 hours each week, or 48 hours every month. If I do the math - and believe me, I have - that will be about 480 hours this school year that are entirely dedicated to The Maven and her craft. Minus sick days, of course.

But who's counting?

Don't look at me like that. He's ready, you know. He's been begging me to go to school for two years. And besides, after well over a decade of raising kids full-time, I could use a little scheduled breathing room. I deserve this. I've earned it. Been there, done that, have the after hours comfort food binge rolls to prove it.  Stop judging me! I don't need your repressive eyes upon my person.

... Oops. I think someone moved the popsicle stick. Anyone see the tape?