Are we there yet?

I started this blog almost six years ago. I was determined to write daily, then weekly...then, I thought, "OK, I can write monthly". Here we are in September and I haven't written since May and worse than that, I haven't been reading blogs either. I know I have blamed Facebook for this before, but IT REALLY IS THEIR (her? HIS...Zuckerberg or Zuckerman or whoever's) fault.

Because...with Facebook, when I write a witticism, people comment on it...sometimes within seconds. Because with Facebook, I can post pictures, post my real name, talk about my real town, my real dogs, my real kids, and be really me. Here in herewegoagain land, sometimes I want to really be "me", but then dh is convinced that the powers-that-be will swoop down and carry me off if they REALLY knew what went on in my scary mind.

Of course, now that Facebook knows everything about everyone in the WHOLE WIDE WORLD, my status updates should be keeping him from sleeping pretty darn nicely by now.

Still, when you live with two teens, three dogs, four cats and on a budget....life can be funny. Especially when you live with a teenage BOY like Rowdy. And I do find myself mentally filing away the blog fodder that spews forth from his ever-more-articulate mouth.

For example, when I try to tell him that the boys in our 4H club like him, they really like him when they punch him, or grab his hat, or make fun of his hair--I explained it as "kind of a boy-flirting thing", he looked horrified and exclaimed, "I only want pretty girls flirting with me", that strikes me as hilarious. Because he really DOES want that. Heh. But he get the 8-year-old boys flirting with him instead. Ah, life.

Meanwhile, Sweet Girl will be 15 next month and she has a real honest-to-goodness flirter in her life. One who is her age AND the opposite gender and everything. So, of course, his overtures must be crushed. And there is NOTHING funny about that. At all.

It feels good just to get this down in a blog. Maybe when I die (I've become the quintessential Jewish mom and "when I die" is my new favorite phrase), this blog might be the scrapbook that I leave to my kids. You know, the one without names, pictures, dates or cute stickers. But the fodder will be excellent.

And so, no, we aren't there yet. I'm going to keep plugging along.