Most of you aren’t aware of this, but I work very hard on this blog. I mean, reams of drivel with only tangential relationship to the pictures that they go along with don’t write themselves, you know. I frequently find myself sitting at the computer trying to polish that one beautiful sentence* that delicately alludes to the more visceral parts of motherhood without coming right out and saying that my day was more-than-usually filled with excrement. (I haven’t used it here, but I am actually quite proud of “Mount Vepoopius.” It’s the little things, you know?).
Margaret gets me, though. She knows about the agony of the well-crafted bon mot. And sometimes she drapes herself across my legs and works.
*I’m lying, you know? These things are totally stream-of-consciousness, and sometimes people tell me about typos and grammatical errors, because I would totally care about those in some types of writing, but I have 40 minutes or so on a good night to do these and laundry and relax, so there’s not a lot of proofreading. Or planning. Or even really thinking through what I’m saying. What you get is what you would get if I were just talking to you, although I get footnotes here, and I use them more sparingly in speaking.**
**I do still use them, though, when I speak. Is that weird?
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