I was talking to Troy last night about how life just feels so…relentless lately. Of course having a toddler in the house, even one who (touchwoodfingerscrossedtwirlaroundthreetimesandclucklikeachicken) is mostly sleeping through the night, is a lot of work. Troy is still working long hours. I’m still homeschooling Annalie. And it’s the holidays, which means extra items on everyone’s to-do list. Especially with the days getting dark so early, it seems like I am constantly running behind, that I never reach the end of my list.

Troy suggested that maybe right now, just for a little while, I need to cut back on one or two things. I agreed that sounded good in theory. Then I realized: I’m two weeks behind on Flickring photos (which I do mainly for the grandparents, so I’m feeling bad about that). I hadn’t blogged in eight days. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d worked on any of the three big crocheting projects in progress. Aside from some Christmas treats, I’ve barely even cooked dinner in weeks.

Yes, I wrote backwards on my hand just to remind you. You’re welcome.

Now I’m thinking that part of my problem is that I have not been doing much of anything creative lately. Luckily, it’s almost time for 7 Days again. (Note that it starts in the middle of the week this time, this coming Wednesday, the 21st.) That always provides a much-needed jolt of creative energy, not to mention it’s like a quarterly reunion of old friends at this point.

Whatever. It’s life, sometimes it’s crazy, sometimes it’s CRAZY, and usually it’s fun. Christmas is only a week away, and (throwsaltovermyshoulderwishonastarwearsomegarlic) we’re all healthy. We’re not traveling this year so we’re avoiding that stress. Things will get better and I’ll crochet and blog and cook more again someday. This is only a season.

And hey, it’s a season with lots of pretty lights to enjoy.

Until I get the chance to blog about them, please go look at my photos which I’ve lovingly edited and Flickred for your viewing pleasure.

It’s been at least a month now since I’ve managed to blog about anything in a timely manner, and I hate it. It hate how many photos I’ve taken and posts I’ve written in my head that will probably never be published here, because eventually it gets to the point where we just have to move on. I hate it because they’re stories I wanted to tell, and because I’ll probably forget most of them if I don’t write them down.

I kind of hate that I’m writing this post about it, too. It’s so eye-rollingly meta and just plain boring when people blog about how they never have time to blog anymore. Yet here I am, doing that very thing. Arrggh.

I know I have good reasons for being a bad blogger right now. I know I have other things to do. I’m taking care of my family, first of all. I cook meals, I do laundry, I read stories and drive to gymnastics class and feed the cats. I have a baby who eats three meals a day now, which takes up a surprisingly large chunk of time each day. I’ve been busy traveling and entertaining out-of-town guests, which was super fun but frankly exhausting; I’m sure the guests would agree.

I have two baby blankets in progress and am planning to crochet two more before the summer’s over. I’ve painted a half-dozen custom-order mugs recently and have more to paint when I get the chance. I’m frittering away the usual amount of time reading blogs and watching TV, plus additional hours catching up on Fringe. And that’s only the very tippiest-top of the iceberg. Like everyone else I know—except maybe Diane Court—I’m monumentally busy.

But still. I miss blogging.