Mothers and other strangers...

I realize that I have not maintained the best track record of blogging. Hell, I'm utterly convinced that any attempts to reach out to my adoring public might be met with nothingness. I might as well jot this all down in a diary instead of divulging to the silence of the internet. I predict an audience of crickets may be responding.

I haven't had the time, constitution, head, heart or soul to emote on my failures or shortcomings in parenting. I lack pathos, ethos and whatever other kind of "os" it takes to make a good go of blogging. Forgive me blogger, for I have sinned.

I can attest that I haven't been sitting on my hands since last July. As a rundown of extreme events, I survived one and a half soccer seasons, a somewhat failed attempt at T-Ball, an adenoidectomy, an episode of head staples, a trip to Disney World, a busted well, approximately 60-someodd inches of snowfall, and my job, oh did I mention my job, which seems to have dominated all things and has made me feel like both a success and a failure at times. For all the extra time I had in 2007 that led me to start blogging, I've gone far to the other side. And not to take any air out of blogging, but facebook is easier, faster, and requires a hell of a lot less soul bearing. I appreciate it for giving me the ability to zing with a one liner and then run like a bat out of hell with little explanation or follow through. It's my cyber hit-and-run.

I am the mother of a 4 year old now and Captain Kid has grown to a larger than life version of the baby he once was. I look at some of my earlier posts and realize that I probably could have written what was to come. In so many ways it's easier. Yet if I were to write what a 12 year old Captain would look like I'm sure I'd come back to read it with little to no surprise.

There's a full realization that being a mother is like an exercise in bipolar disorder. You realize just how low the lows can be, but the highs are euphoric. And if I had one wish, it would be to feel less rushed. It would be to take more time and give more time. More time for mothering. More time for Dog. More time for the Dad. More time for me. I look at others with envy of their time and organization and wish I could make my home and garden as beautiful and as finished looking. I see well behaved children who aren't throwing their baseball gloves in the air while dancing around the outfield. I see close friends and couples taking the time and money to get babysitters and commit to date nights. How on earth did I get so tied up?

Time. I just can't hack it, can't find it, can't make it. Even as I sit here typing I'm engaged in an extremely deep conversation about which water system to put on my house to remove all the damn iron from the water, while the Captain hands me cups of imaginary hot chocolate to drink, all the while the dog starring woefully and the clock ticking away for a child's birthday party followed by a soccer match and a spreadsheet to update for my boss for a big Monday meeting. Unique problem? No. My problem? Always.

I somehow took a left turn while blogging because I had a whole pet peeve to get off my ample chest about Mommy Wars, but I guess it will have to keep for another day. I'd finish it now, but I just have no time.