The Blogger's Dilemma

So I'm at my official place of blogging -- the breakfast table -- attempting to entertain and amuse the small group of readers who officially and unofficially follow my blog, and  my psyche feels the not insignificant weight of pressure.  Even though I began this blog as my method of relaxation, a purely selfish form of recreation that I can pursue any time of the day when the kids are in camp/school/bed/free play, I weakly permit myself to be influenced by someone else's blog about the Top Ten Rules for writing a successful blog.  Although it has never been my intention to blog for any reason other than for fun, I cannot get the Top Ten Rules out of my head. One of the Top Ten Rules is to post something new at least three times per week.  I have to admit that I am really thrilled that there are people who are reading my blog faithfully, and some who even call me to ask when I am going to post something new, so although I initially thought I wanted to write a blog just to write, I have come to the realization that I want to write a blog to be read. Therefore, this bit of advice about how to write a successful blog is nagging at me.

Becoming a blogger has changed my perspective.  Now, every event, conversation, and observation goes through a blogworthiness filter.  It's sort of like Elaine's spongeworthiness analysis on Seinfeld.  I don't want to blog about just anything old subject, notwithstanding the fact that I have blogged about laundry.  My dilemma is this:  I love to spend time with my family, so when I'm not working at the office, I'm home with my kids, husband and dog, reveling in our domesticity, doing things that I love but which are too mundane for anyone to read about in a blog or elsewhere.  In other words, there simply isn't a lot of blogworthy activity right now.  

While I am not without problems, I lead a rather charmed life.  How can such a charmed life suck so much that I don't have enough material to post something new three times per week?  I could blog ad nauseum about the craziness that our job-related and child-centered schedules create, but it wouldn't be all that different from the craziness that is experienced by anyone with a job and/or kids and/or grandchildren.  Everyone's life is crazy and stress-filled, and I don't suppose mine is especially so.   

I love having kids.  I never would have predicted feeling this was when I was unmarried and childless, but becoming a mother is the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me.  That it happened twice is a grace that I can't quite grasp.  Only God knows what I did to deserve this kind of blessing.  My children have made me discover things about myself that I didn't know could be true:  that I have a large capacity for patience; that I can become sincerely interested in something simply because my child is interested in it; that I am happy to put my wishes second to my children's; that I am capable of loving with such depth; that I can be fierce when I am protecting my children; that 18 years feels heartbreakingly short to me.  I would rather be with my kids than doing anything else in the world. 

Recently, though, I have started feeling the desire to get out once in a while.  I fully acknowledge that there is  a strong possibility that I am the one who suffers most from separation anxiety; the children are fine.  Now that Jagger is almost 10 months old, I think he and I are ready for me to start going out without him to someplace other than my office.   So, tomorrow, Juvy my niece is coming in the evening to babysit. 

Randy and I don't know what we will do with our few couples-only hours.  Probably something simple -- a nice dinner, or a nice dinner and copious amounts of alcohol, or just copious amounts of alcohol.  It doesn't really matter.  My goal is simple:  To venture someplace where chicken fingers is not served.  What's important is that we will be out and I will be carrying a purse, not a diaper bag; Randy will be holding my hand, not pushing the stroller; our conversation will be uninterrupted by a baby squealing with glee at the top of his lungs or a 5-year old with unending questions about millions of subjects; we will be led to a table that has a tablecloth by a hostess who does not have to bring along a cup of crayons; we can eat with our plates in front of us and not off to the side, far away from a baby's reach; and we can leave the restaurant without apologizing for the mountain of crumbs and cheerios on the floor.    It's all so exciting.

And, because I believe in jumping in with both feet, here is another bit of news:  We have a sitter for next weekend as well!  We are going to the Chelsea vs. Milan soccer game at the M&T Stadium in downtown Baltimore, courtesy of Gergana the Sophisticated European Friend.  (My previous post has left her concerned I will leave Finksburg, so she feels motivated to offer me more cosmopolitan diversions to offset the fact that I have penciled in my calendar the smash up derby for next year.)

As I try to develop some semblance of a social life again, I will keep my eyes and ears and nose open for blogworthy experiences.  Stay tuned.