Sorry about the poop reference but it comes with the territory. I'm the mom of a 6 year old. There's a lot of poop talk at our house. Too much, I might say. Oh no, this blog is not starting out well at all. I'm not saying what I mean to say. Since I'm new to the blogosphere I guess it's going to take awhile.
See my profile picture? That's my son at Christmas 3 years ago. Look at that face, that beautiful, perfect face. I love that kid! I love him with all my heart, with more love than I ever imagined possible. It's not for his good looks that I love him, though. He is the funniest, sweetest, smartest, happiest kid I've ever met. I want to be like him. I want to have as much fun as he was having that day, dancing around in a Santa hat, sweatshirt, underwear and boots.
Unfortunately, being the mom, I usually don't get to be the one who's dancing anymore. I'm the one who has to remember to bring the camera. And the drinks. And jackets. And maybe a change of clothes. You know what I mean?
So that's what this blog is for. I've always been a writer. I love to write. Writing is how I dance. Sometimes, years ago when I had my writing "chops" as it were, I used to feel like I was flying, or like a boxer dancing around in the ring. I would lose track of hours. Well now I'm super rusty for sure, and what feels good and smooth to me on the inside may look kind of shaky and jerky from the outside. Sorry for this possibly strange display. Right now I'm the Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz and hopefully this blog will be Dorothy helping out with the oil can. Except I'm not sure which I more lack: heart or brains. Or courage. Could be courage.
Anyway, I love metaphors.
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