Let Me Tell You

Recently I was describing to a friend a comically crappy day I'd had, and he immediately said, "So why isn't this going on the blog?" I've thought about that question a good bit since he asked it. The quick response is "I don't like to write/I'm not a good writer" but that excuse never really goes over well. So here is something a little more accurate and less self-deprecating.

When I was a kid, I sucked at keeping a diary. Oh, I'd write in it, tell it all my fears and complaints, and close it up, satisfied to have gotten that off my chest. Then the next day when I pulled the diary back out, I'd read what I'd written and think to myself, "I was bothered by THAT? How silly!" and then rip the page out and throw it away. I guess once I air my greivances, I kind of get over them, so I don't want a permanent record of them. I ended up with a diary that had book reviews and recaps of what I did on Saturday night scattered between the stubs of torn out pages. I do that on the blog sometimes- I start what I think will be a profound post about how frustrated bath time with the kids makes me, then I read over what I've written and laugh that I ever found something as simple as bathtime to be a challenge. Then I erase it and slap up a couple of pics of the kids with some pollyanna comment like, "Look how cute they are in the bathtub! It's not always as fun as it looks, though!" and call it a blog post.

The other reason I don't tell fun stories on the blog is because I like to TELL fun stories. Out loud. My strength does not lie in constructing hilarious blog posts about how Chloe can't keep her balance when she walks, or in making my trip to Huey's with my family sound like an adventure while smoothly throwing in a good description of the food. My strength lies in telling you that story the next time I talk to you. (Or even telling you via IM or text, because I consider that conversation and I'm a good conversationalist.) Plus, if I do put the inferior written version on the blog, I miss out on the fun of telling you. I like to talk, and it's easier to do when I've got an arsenal of stories you haven't already read.

So next time you see me, ask me about the time Chloe got all choked up at school this week. Or about how I ended up crying in the parking lot of Schnuck's at 8:40 Friday morning. Or about who I ran into at Huey's last night. Although even if you don't ask, I'll probably tell you anyway.

Now hurry up and read this before I come to my senses and rip it out of the diary.