My Inner Martha Stewart
People who know me in passing seem to have this image of me as a bit of a wild child. And while I can be when the occasion calls for it, I’m much more likely to be found curled up with a book or crafting when I’m not catering to Vista’s every whim.
- Image by skinnylaminx via Flickr
But this weekend, I’m taking off for a girls scrapbooking weekend.
I know a lot of people are cringing at the thought of spending 3 days laying out pages, cropping pictures, and adding embellishments, but for me it sounds like heaven.
It appeals to my inner Martha Stewart.
I did offer to Bil this morning to cancel my trip, since Vista is sick right now, and it can be a lot to deal with a coughing, puking child on your own. But he’s told me to go, so I’m going to take him at his word and enjoy myself.
Enjoy not having to wake up at 4:30 am with my early bird 2yr old.
Enjoy being able to relax and put my feet up.
Enjoy having someone else cook the meals all weekend.
This will also be a good test run for my NYC trip this summer, as this will be the first time I’m away from V for more than one night (trying very hard not to hyperventilate just from writing that).
I know she’ll be fine with Daddy, and he’s hands on enough that I don’t feel I have to leave a list of ‘to-dos’ for him. He knows her medication schedule and how to give her the inhalers. And really, other than that, she’s a pretty easy kid.
So I’m going to go, enjoy some adult conversation, maybe have a drink or three, and scrapbook my little heart out.
Insert Something Witty Here
I’m seeing this more and more.
The feeling of ‘I wanted to say something, but couldn’t come up with anything witty to say, so I didn’t say anything at all’.
I’m guilty of this.
I’ve typed many a tweet and blog comment and then just before hitting that post button, I’ve deleted it because I didn’t feel it added anything to the conversation.
And I find myself doing that more and more. This self-censoring.
But why do we put such pressure on ourselves? Why does everything we write have to be just perfect, better than the other persons comment, tweet, whatever ?
Honestly, I’m happy to have any blog comment. Even if it’s just one that says ‘hey I was here and I liked this post’.
I don’t ever read my comments or tweets and think ‘Wow…why did they even bother writing that?’.
To me it doesn’t matter if what someone has written is witty, smart, funny, profound.
What matters more is that they felt it was worth taking the time to comment or reply at all. And that means a lot.