Archive for February, 2007

Muddling along, getting used to blogging….

So, I find myself in a completely new place, and as usual, I’m lost.

And I’m not just talking about the fact that I just moved from Colorado to Pennsylvania and I feel so damned disoriented because I don’t know where WEST is anymore when I’m driving around. In Colorado Springs, you ALWAYS knew which way was West. The Peak was RIGHT THERE and Voila! That was West.

No, I’m not talking about that, although I’m sure I will, at some point.

I’m talking about being lost on the Internet. And feeling my ‘age’. I’ve spent a good year wondering if I should start a blog, and I didn’t for a long time because

1. I barely have time to do everything else I need to do every day.

2. What the hell do I really have to say, and who the hell would care enough to read it?

3. It just seemed so…complicated. The intricacies of it all, the linking, the commenting, the fucking RSS feed thing that I still don’t really understand, all that shit.

I used to be a graphic designer. I used to design interfaces and button schemes for websites involving GIS technology. And even though I did all that, it wasn’t nearly as technical and glamorous as it sounds. Even with all that, I was still low on the scale in terms of technical knowledge. There was probably a 15-minute period about 7 years ago when I was technically savvy enough to say that I really understood the Internet. That was it, my 15 minutes. Then I had babies and lived in a sleepless, breastfeeding fog for a few years, and that seems to be when blogging really took off.

I just figured I’d sit it out, wait for the next thing to come along, maybe get in on that. But then I moved from Colorado to Pennsylvania, and found myself lost in my physical world, so I did the next logical thing. I started a blog.

I don’t mind being lost. I don’t mind learning new things. But if I screw it up and do something inappropriate with linking to other blogs, I’ll feel pretty bad. I don’t want to be a ‘bad’ blogger. Or a rude one.

So, having said all that, I’d like to call your attention to the following article: Say Everything, by Emily Nussbaum. I found it on Arts & Letters Daily, but the article seems to be located at New York magazine. It’s a long article, but it speaks so well of what I can’t seem to articulate about coming late to the blogging scene, and the endless worries about blogging and being so public online, worries, it seems, that date me and show my ‘age’. Young kids today don’t worry about the Internet the way I do, the way we do, those of us who grew up without cable TV and AOL.

It’s a long article, but it’s definitely worth reading. I hope my links work and that they’re done right.


Wake Up Call

It’s 5:45 am. A beautiful (albeit freezing) dawn is breaking. But that’s not what awakens me.

 Instead of the twittering of brave winter birds and the hint of February sunshine behind the shades, what jolts me awake are the blood curdling shrieks coming from the bathroom, where my 6-year-old daughter has been for the past ten minutes, using the potty and then losing herself in whispered songs and daydreams. But now, the dreams have taken some sort of horrific turn for the worse and she’s in there screaming as if all the hounds of hell (not to mention Hannibal Lecter and Freddy Kruger) have broken through our thin veil of existence and they’re about to rip her throat out. 

I lurch out of my half-doze and I’m trying to leap out of bed to rush to her side, but the shrieks have paralyzed me, and the very air around me has taken on the consistency of maple syrup, and the screams continue to peal out (in fact, in a certain part of my psyche, they’re still going on, endlessly, forever and ever) and still I fight it, kicking sheets and blankets away, trying to swim out of the maple syrup murk of knowing my daughter can sound like that, and I’m yelling, “WHAT? WHAT IS IT?!” as I’m trying desperately to get to my child before the axe murderer that is surely hiding behind the shower curtain can hurt her, when the screaming simply stops as suddenly as it began, and my daughter says, her voice the model of calm and decorum: 

“Oh, never mind. I thought there was a spider on me. But it’s just a piece of fuzz.” 

Without any possible hope of getting back to sleep after that little situation, I get up and head for the kitchen and I run into this on the way:


This is my younger daughter. She’s three. And when I say she’s three, I mean she’s really really REALLY three. She is not afraid of spiders. Yet. Right here, I suspect she is wondering two different things: 1. why is her big sister so afraid of fuzz, and 2. why in the name of God and all the saints have I not yet fixed her a 5-star breakfast????

Terrible twos, my ass. Two ain’t nothin’ compared to three. 

Welcome to my world. Come on in. You can leave your alarm clocks at the door. There’s coffee if you want it, but around here, you don’t always need it.

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