More of Me

I'm thinking of writing more frequently. I don't want to make any promises, but I feel myself drawn to the keyboard more often these days.

A sudden influx of blog topics fill my brain last week. So I grabbed a pen and started jotting them down before they flitted away. N saw the list later and said, "Who wrote on my masterpiece?"

Doh! That Mom-fail actually made me wince. Clearly, I will not be writing about "How to Nurture Your Budding Artist" or "Top Tips for Preserving Children's Art."

Truth be told, I will not begin writing about the sunshine and roses in any aspect of my life. I won't detail my great moments in an effort to serve as "inspiration." I'm choosing the path of reality not because of my vast integrity, but because if I didn't, my posts would be one sentence long. For example, today's positive message would be: Dear Internet, I brushed my teeth this morning.

I'll stick with my standard honest accounts of being a ding dong who cares about a few important things. As filler, I will likely tell on myself. Which is why I'm not fully committing to this writing-thing quite yet.

This evening I dashed to the library to check out stupid diet books. I reasoned that my wise diet hasn't been working, so I need to try something different. I found a new stupid diet so quickly that I needed to kill more time before returning to the screaming tribe of children. So I went for ice cream. 

True story.

I turned the top book over so the guy at the window wouldn't see the subject matter as he handed me a giant cup of frozen sugar/fat. As I ate the sundae my stupid diet declared, "You've got to stop eating unhealthy crap."

I'm already thinking this stupid diet may be one of my dumber ideas. Right behind deciding to publish my antics on this blog.

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