Blog Smog

My Granny Jarvis, always working.

  
    What I feel like today: my brain is in a smog. I hope the kids don't come down and smell chocolate on my breath, then they'll mooch, I'll give in, yet all to grateful to take the stuff off my hands. Maybe I should just end this box of chocolates' misery. Hanging out in my drawer since my birthday, waiting for me to give in. So I'll call the children and watch the whole box disappear in a cloud of snorting and face stuffing. I deny my children sugar, you see, so when a granule or drop of high fructose sugar is removed  from a crinkly package they can tell from rooms away. Children are attracted to bad things. Adults are too, thinking of my coffee cup I left in the kitchen. Oh, I have thought too much this morning of stimulants, trying to keep awake thru morning chores and breakfast. Coffee didn't work, alas neither did the chocolate.

   I thought that at first when I started this blog that I would faithfully write each day, about something, ( the pile chocolate is gone-the rest of the box is in the basement). But why would anyone want to read about my "everyday"?  I wanted to use this as a outlet, a soapbox, an excuse to write. So here is my chance to improve my spelling and maybe learn to type. Bryon suggested that I always hold my fingers in the right positions... Go fix some plumbing, I glared at him. Writing every day hasn't happened. No lack of subject material really.

    I can say right here why that this is often difficult to do. I have this little boy who lives with us and he is terribly dear to my heart, that makes him a little spoiled. I know that if he starts laughing what will happen, down the stairs he comes. " Mama, guess, just guess."  "OK, go change your pants". Where was I? A little while later because there is a certain amount of attention that he is addicted to, good or bad, there will be a series of needs. Always at least three lines into a post.( no one smelled my breath! hmmm, 3rd paragraph). I don't notice those interruptions when I'm doing something boring like folding laundry! In fact I welcome interruptions. Then I can point to the pile of washclothes and say, "Fold 20 washclothes and then run upstairs and play."

    Then often my subject material for a post is thought of for someone else. I don't think that I want it to be that way. I am not writing this to claim that I am always interesting. In fact unless you like to work you won't enjoy reading my blog, because it is about work. Work is not always interesting (but for laziness sake the candy remains further untouched by me and undetected by scroungers). I will not always expect it to be entertaining to read every time we clean out the chickenhouse or when I trim the goats hooves. I love to work, ask my husband. So understand why I would love to write about it: how it gets me down and lifts me up.

     Today just staying awake is work. Yesterday driving to Cincinnati was work, getting back, directing evening chores, putting six kids to bed was work. No, these are the chapters that get skimmed over, vaguely remembered as mundane. ( I am glad I left the chocolate in the basement) I am writing for me, so thank you for visiting with me. And the fact that you read all the way to this paragraph and that you aren't my husband, mother or sister means alot to me. And, Husband, Mother and Sister, you mean alot to me too!