80 Gazillion Days. And a Wedding.

Confession: I'm old.

So, it's been like 80 gazillion days since I blogged. What's that? Silence? Crickets? I hear no disputing it, because it is true. 80 gazillion days. I counted. And while September is always a hellishly, and I mean, kick-yourself-in-the head-want-to-jump-off-the-roof- hellishly busy kind of month, it's not looking like you're getting any quality content out of me for a little while longer. So, that being said, I intend to dazzle you with photos. Because, really, who doesn't love photos?

I am old. My baby sister got married over the weekend. The whole thing required a year of meticulous planning, tireless efforts on her part to pull off a flawless and gorgeous wedding, and the whole damn thing was over in just a few hours. It just doesn't seem right! Fortunately, through the miracles of invention, we can save these moments FOREVER. FOR.EV.ER. And so, while the wedding made me feel like I was about 80 gazillion days old, I would still like to share it with you. Mostly because that means that I can stop typing now.

I warn you, I have never put any pictures of me, my family, or my sister on here before. I am delving into new territory. I still won't put up pictures of my kids, but trust me, they were frickin' adorable! Stunning. Gorgeous. Incredible.

Oh, and if the pictures suddenly disappear, it means my sister revoked my right to plaster her newly married face all over the Internet, so get 'em while they're hot.

Stalkers beware. If you use any of my pictures in any way other than for your purely non-sexual viewing pleasure, I will sue you, bite you, slash your tires, and microwave your kittens. That is all.

Ooooooh


Aaaaaah


Ohhhhhhh


Weeeeeee


Aren't they pretty pictures? Almost made you forget about my sparse blogging skills lately. And for sticking with me for so long... a shot of your 'Mommy Confessions' host...Moi...

Taste The Rainbow.

Confession: Depression has it's benefits.

I knew that after I finally picked myself up by my bootstraps and blogged yesterday, I would feel good. I knew that it would refresh my spirit, and renew my commitment to the blog, and the blogging community. What I did not know is that it would make me feel bad too. Bad about how neglectful I felt like I was being to myself, and to my family, and most of all, to my floors. Yes, my floors. Depression is a funny thing. When you get into that funk, you are doing the bare minimum that you have to in order to keep everyone in your house fed, clothed, and functioning. And even that is a stretch. I am a master at hiding my depressed moods from my kids. And I am completely able to get dinner ready, buy school supplies, even take family trips, even when I am in a terrible funk. I'm a mom, it's what I do.

But, my friends, I never really realized that through all of my mood swings, and lack of motivation; or even through the times when I am up and riding high, focusing on the blog, that there was a silent victim in all of this. That victim? My floors. Yes, my floors. I never really realized how much they had been neglected until today. Sure, my husband had brought the plight of the floors to my attention before. But I was so focused on the kids, the husband, the blog, the dogs... and so, something had to suffer. And suffer it did. Sure I sweep. They're hardwood, so I kind of have to. And I mop, mostly when absolutely necessary, like when someone spills an entire bottle of grape juice trying to be, ahem, helpful. But I had no idea what a little bout of the I-don't-feel-like-it's could do to your precious flooring. Because THIS is what you get when you rise from the ashes of your depressed mood, and take a stand- a stand to blog, a stand to shower, and yes, a stand to sweep your bedroom floor.

Yes those are cotton balls, and a pull-up, and Skittles wrappers, and dog hair, and human hair, and yes, yes, yes, this all was living under my bed. Oh shut up! What does it look like under your bed? Okay, I'll give you that the skittles wrapper thing is a little odd, especially since I don't buy Skittles, but still...I think I may just go back to being depressed.

Bloggers Anonymous

This post is dedicated to the twelve readers that I probably have left after my mind flew the coop and my computer went insane, causing me to be blogless, and therefore postless for nearly a month.

Confession: Sometimes, though we hate to admit it, we are floundering.

My name is Michelle and I am a Mommyblogger. (Hi Michelle)
Listen closely. Do you hear that sound? That is the sound of flailing. It's not quite the same as failing. It's more like a quiet feeling of overwhelmedness, where the only reason you are getting out of bed in the morning is because if you didn't, your kids might very well starve to death burn down your house. With the biggies like summer ending, gearing up for back to school, the approach of Halloween, and (gasp) the holiday season, it is easy for someone who is prone to depression and anxiety, to slip in to a rather uncomfortable place. A place where if I didn't have three kids, I know I would just pull the covers up over my head, and spend the bulk of every day with a death-grip on the remote control. It's not a good place to be. Frankly, it sucks. It sucks both because I feel this way in the first place, and because I can't even have the time to wallow in it. It happens every year, every season, when there are piles of things that I know will somehow, have to get done.

It's not just the big events of life either. It's the little things too. Like really wanting to post all last week about my vacation, but constantly being involved with other things. Too wrapped up in potty training, back to school shopping, birthday party planning, to take even a moment's breath for myself. And when I feel like I can sneak away for a minute in between mopping the floor and making lunch, I feel guilty. Guilty knowing that there are four piles of laundry on my bed that should be getting folded right now. Someone remind me again when I signed up for all of this? And then there is blogging.

So many things that must get done. Where does the blog fit in? Even when I do manage to assuage my guilt, by telling myself that I'll feel better after writing; that I owe it to the people who read my blog, I still can't seem to get it done. I try. Really I do. Okay, sometimes I try. Other times I just kick the laundry piles off the bed, cover the computer screen with a towel, pull up the covers and hide. On those days when I really do try, I hardly have time to log on to the computer before I hear the pitter patter of little feet heading across the floor, in search of mooooomy. And I read, and I tweet, and I envy those other bloggers who too have 3 or more kids and somehow manage to get it done every. single. day. And I wonder how they do it. And all I can come up with after I've crawled from the covers and guzzled three cups of coffee, is that they either have much more helpful spouses (and mine is pretty good), much more self sufficient children, or a serious speed addiction.

Whatever the case, the last few weeks of bloglessness had left me wondering if it was time to cut my losses and move on; thinking that maybe it was it time to pull the plug on my Mommyblogging life until my kids are a little older? Or longer. And then finally at long last, I pulled myself up out of the dreadful funk, fixed my broken piece of shit computer, and sat face to face with the blank screen. And I realized that I am a blogger. Add whatever title you want to it. Call me names. Taunt me. Tell me I have nothing better to do then tell the tales of poopy diapers and breast feeding. I don't care. Because, I have been from Prozac to Paxil, from Vodka to Valium and back. And the one thing that always makes me feel better is sharing my stories with all of you. So, thank you. For the twelve of you that are still here. Thank you, from the bottom of my blogging heart.