Bedtime blogger.

Does anyone read this thing anymore?

Hello, world! Answer me!

(Please?)

I guess you might care to continue reading if I cared to continue blogging. Haha.

What can I say? Life is busy. It's organized chaos, basically. To use a worn-out idiom, my plate is pretty full at the moment. It's like Thanksgiving every day of the year up in here.

To put it in simpler (yet still idiomatic) terms, I'm just trying to stay afloat right now. I used to do it all, but now I have three kids. And that alone means frequent sleepless nights, way too much car pool and never-ending laundry piles. And let's not forget I'm a choir member, a sometimes-music-teacher and a Young Women president at church. So now, if I even dare to do it all, I verge on qualifying for the psych ward.

Blogging, at the moment, is one of those things that has been removed from my plate. It's not that I don't love it -- believe me, I have a million stories to tell and countless thoughts to share on various hot topics. But yanno, kids and house and responsibilities and stuff. They tend to take precedence.

As a result, I end up sharing a lot of those thoughts and stories with Dill during our nightly pillow time. And that's actually fine by me. If my audience fizzled down to one lone reader, I wouldn't even care, as long as it's Dill.

I guess this makes me a verbal blogger now. A verbal bedtime blogger, whose unrecorded rants are driven by exhaustion and general frustration with the world and its many inhabitants.

Although sometimes, instead of ranting, I simply dream outloud. I let my imagination run wild. I yammer on about bigger spaces, new careers, hopes for my children and hopes for us, which then usually leads to me trying to figure out how I can make it all come true and SOON. Because I'm ambitious like that, and my wheels don't turn for fun.

Or maybe they do. Because see, instead of making stuff happen, I'm currently sitting here in my pajamas on a concert day, blogging to no one.

Oh, and the baby just woke up, and she's shrieking in her crib, demanding my attention.

Back to life. Back to reality.

(Sing it.)