Stage-singing in the dark

If leisure is the basis of culture, parents are the wildest of barbarians. I guess we didn't need Josef Pieper; any unkempt parent on three hours of sleep who doesn't know what or when they last ate (leftover chicken nugget five hours ago) can tell you that.

I plead this as my argument for not reading enough, not getting in touch with my fellow bloggers (particularly now in the blogathon) like I've really wanted to, and to excuse any fault, should any exist of course, in my often semi-conscious scribblings.   

I haven't at all figured out how to read and write and mother.  How do you do that??  I just barely can write and parent, thanks to the exquisitely timed and worded "I'd like to challenge you on that" from my dear friend Imelda on the occasion of my lamenting the lack of leisure and why I couldn't blog.  You have her to thank for all this bloggage here. But still, argh... when I write I want to humorously tap into my mommy vocation and deeper still to the prior years of my college education while being actually caught up with what is going on in the world as opposed to just what is going on in my kid's diapers and... wouldn't you know, this takes time. :S

Even now while stealing from sleep, and chores, and meals, and family time, what I want to write about outweighs what I've actually written.  For instance, just in the past two weeks, I haven't mentioned the dot with legs I yanked from my daughters leg, trip to a science museum of my youth, the aftermath of my basement flood (yeah, you were all wondering what the rainbows were about, huh?), baby's first time on a horse, a dance recital, what my home renovations were (I mean, you're dying to know that), and the story behind this pic of my daughter playing duck duck goose with a bunch of Eagle Scouts.

Maybe all my chattiness here is just backlash from years of listening and thinking and not talking.  You see, blogging has been the weirdest experience, for while remaining as outwardly reserved as ever I was, now people know everything's that's going on. It's flattering. It's disconcerting.  It's utterly bizarre.  "What do you mean you know I like Pinkberry?  I... oh.  Yep, I did blog about that while in my pj's alone in the kitchen at midnight.  Guess that does now count as communication."

How fun and how weird.  Give me a moment to get over technology for a second, I grew up in the 80's with penpals, indulge me: WOW!!!  Okay I'm done.  

My party trick is ruined. At one time, I'd simply listen and think and decide what I liked about what I heard you say. Now I'm gabbing on for all these silent viewers.  "Blogger" tells me I have quite a few viewers in Russia, for instance.  Yes, Russia. Which yes, is flattering and bizarre.  Privyet!  Blagodarstvuyu!

So, I need all your blog addresses or comments here or a bunch of coffee dates, this conversation is crazy one-sided (how rude of me); we need to catch up.  Ball's totally in your court.  How are you???? :)

Anyway fellow introverts, I'd like to challenge you to find a way to pursue that nagging [good, virtuous, or non-moral ;)] thing you'd love to do but don't think you have time for.  You know the thing. If I can make time, you probably can to.  Like prayer.  Fortunately you can offer up pretty much everything to God as a prayer so there are many options but yeah... think about it.

Maybe you can blog and then we can like be totally blog-pals too! :D  Can't deny it's scary though.  It's like deciding it'd be fun to sing on an empty stage in a dark theater, and then suddenly the lights go on and you realize hundreds of eyes are on you.  To blog is to open yourself up to criticism. To the very real possibility that people will say, "Uhhh... she's not really who I thought she was."  Worst, you take the risk of saying the wrong thing, or the right thing the wrong way, and to make that mistake in front of a whole lot of people.

:S

To quote a popular song typifying the sublime wisdom of this age: 

"I don't care. I love it!"  (Link includes equally inspiring and most non-offensive video [seriously what's going on there!!] I could find of the tune.  Do excuse their terminology of female dog and slang for excrement.  And I suddenly want to buy new sneakers...)

Which is not true at all, really.  I mean about the "not caring" bit.  But I will always try to err on the side of humor. :)

My hard-earned kid-free time ends in an hour and a half... a period which is supposed to include dishes and laundry.  So adios Maria!  Auf Wieda̦schaung Birgit!  NamasteVita!  Viso gero Sonata! Do zobaczenia Kinga! God þē mid sīe, Dr Rice!

"Neither do men light a candle and put it under a bushel, 

but upon a candlestick, that it may shine to all." Matthew 5:15