It’s too much.
Facebook. Twitter. Pinterest. Instagram. Google+. And more.
All these social platforms bloggers use can make your head spin. Sure, you need them, and they help — if you have a following.
But, maybe you are like me.
When I started blogging all I had was Facebook. Nothing else. And that Facebook account was teeny tiny, made just for family.
Not the best social media presence to say the least. But I have spent the last almost two years growing this presence, like making a Facebook group I love. But it’s not easy.
Sometimes I just wished I could republish blog posts to a new site and find more readers. Make life a little easier. …
It was a busy night, to say the least.
The kind of night that you run around, taking notes as best as you can, but you fear when you finally get home, you’ll remember how you forgot to bring table 22 their extra sauce.
But the rush was only the beginning of my problems that evening.
I was a server in a beautiful, quite fancy restaurant for the summer. While expensive and ‘higher class’, this was still a small town in the midwest.
So, I wasn’t expecting the extra-fancy diner.
He had been waiting for a waitress to come for a few minutes who had forgotten him. I took over for the other girl and grabbed the table. …
“One of the darkest, deepest shames so many of us mothers feel nowadays is our fear that we are Bad Mothers, that we are failing our children and falling far short of our own ideals.” -Ayelet Waldman
I knew what I was doing, yet I did it anyway.
I was living the dangerous life of a mother as I told my daughter to choose a color. Any color. White. The color of the clouds, heaven, and angels was to be the doom of my nails. She took it out, grabbed a paper towel.
And painted my nails.
Let me start by saying I’ve never had perfect nails, so my nail experience may not be as hard for me as for some women. I was the girl sitting in math class bored, probably anxious, and biting my nails down to their very limits. Painful. …
How often do you do this?
You sit down to write, actually put your butt in the chair, and hands on the keyboard. You’re ready. But your Facebook account was open and you see your friend from ten years ago is pregnant.
Of course, you have to congratulate them.
Next, an ad for a movie you forgot you so desperately wanted to see is now on Netflix. Well, your writing can wait until later. After all, you’ve had a hard day. No writing is done that night. Maybe even the next day. Or the next.
They happen to me, and I know they find you, too. They are the best and most simple of traps. And death to writing. …
You’re sure of it. This time, these words will be the best you’ve ever written.
You write, sentences spilling out of you when out of the blue, you’re shot out of the flow of words because the kiddo needs a drink of water, or your time to write has run out and you have to go back to work.
After a day of interruptions, at last, the day comes to a close — but you never did get back to writing your article.
But this time, the words don’t flow as easily, even though the memory of the idea is there. …
Waiting isn’t a problem for me — normally. I’ve waited for the sun to rise, watching it creep behind the same tree for the past 16 years. I’ve waited for days to end and for sleep to finally bring me something to do amid hours filled with nothing and no one, other than Mom. But this day, waiting is hard.
This is the first time I’ve had something worthwhile to wait for. Something I’ve only dreamed of. Today, I wait for my love.
I can only imagine what the rough skin on his hand feels like. Will my heart pound at the touch of his skin like it does to the sound of his oaken voice? Though we’ve yet to hold each other, our hearts are one. And today, when he climbs up he will find his lips on mine. …
“Stop!” I silently yell to the constant rhythm of never-ending, never pausing time.
I can’t take this anymore.
When will I have a second to myself? Sleep clings to my dried out brown eyes causing my lids to stick every time I blink. All I want to do is sit at the computer and get some work done. To write. But the house needs, dusting, vacuuming, sweeping, mopping, and organizing.
My two-year-old son Peyton runs around the house yelling “No pants.” …
My husband left today.
No, not in the forever sense. Not in the way I’ve seen father/father-figures walk out the door throughout my life, but in the way of a business trip sort.
It’s not long, sure, two maybe three weeks. But it’s the second similar trip this month. And, not by his choice, he will miss our son’s 9th birthday and our 11th anniversary. I support him. This trip was a necessity, especially in this world of 2020 where everything is so uncertain. …
How do you get ready in the morning?
For me, I make coffee the night before, if at all possible. Then wake up to a fresh cup being made as I start my 10–15-minute exercise routine with my Fit On app.
I’m on a healthy streak here!
Then I wake up/check if my kid is awake and start ‘putting on my face’ as my mom calls it. Sure, it’s not the greatest morning routine but it works for me.
But this article isn’t like that. …
Do you remember that feeling as a kid?
You know, when you and maybe a couple other of your tiny friends would go out to the playground, the excitement of being free from learning tumbling in your stomach along with chocolate milk and school pizza.
This was recess. Your stress relief. And one of my favorites was always the merry-go-round. I can still feel the metal bars in the early Autumn heat or the feel of my glove against the cold steel. The way it felt to be pushed around by an adult or running along-side the disc and jumping on, butt sliding on bumpy metal. …