It always makes me sad when I come back to this blog and see that my last post date was weeks (or even months) ago. I don't mean to neglect this little corner that I have claimed for myself, but I find it hard to post on a regular basis... mostly because I have become accustomed to censoring a lot of what I allow myself to write so I don't come across as whiny, negative, or ungrateful. The thing is, I am whiny, negative, and ungrateful. I like to think I posses a few redeeming qualities as well, but I do harbor more than my fair share of pessimistic thoughts and feelings...a lot of the time. I started blogging as a means of getting all of the garbage out of my heart and head so I had only the best of me left to give to the people I interact with on a daily basis. Somewhere along the way, I started fearing that I was going to sound like a raving bitch if I used my blog for its intended purpose. You see, I want to be liked and I care deeply when I'm not despite my own inability to tolerate, let alone like most people.
Anyway, I suck at blogging because I haven't allowed myself to actually do it the way I set out to. I wanted this to be more of a journal of my emotions... a diary... since I knew that I would never keep up with a written one. I didn't start writing this to gush about how fantastic my life, kids, husband, blah, blah, blah are. I began posting here to vent because I need to vent, to purge, to get the bad, negative junk out of me. I have social anxiety issues. Compound that with how appalling I find the lack of social etiquette of most people. I am a ticking time bomb waiting to go off on the stupidity, carelessness, and selfishness of others... and then I lack the ability to cope with the fall out once I do flip my lid. I also happen to believe that it is thoughtless, careless and rude to go around berating stupid people for being stupid so I obviously need some other release to get it all off my chest. This was supposed to be that release.
It was also never my intention to write nothing but angsty, whiny, drama laden posts as I actually do have a fantastic life, kids, husband, blah, blah, blah to gush about and be grateful for. I love sharing the beautiful insanity that is our life together but, somewhere along the way, I started to feel like I had to post nothing but sunshine and fluff or else be perceived as dark and troubled. I mean sure, part of me is dark and troubled; I can own that. I just don't want to be defined by that one facet of myself. All that being said, I want to get back to what this blog was supposed to be... my outlet. Mine. It is not a place for the judgement of others. It is not a place to be challenged by anyone but me. If you can't manage those two things in your reading, then you don't need to be here and what I share here is not for you.
Now that we've discussed the direction and purpose of future posts here, I have an update on my bird nest post from three weeks ago... some fluff and sunshine, if you will.
I still think this bird is either a first time mama/nest builder or the personification of the phrase 'bird brain'. She insisted on her nest remaining in our front porch light, managed to build quite a sturdy one at that, and now there are little baby birds in there. How do I know there are little baby birds in there? Because yesterday, as Husband entered through the front door, Mama Bird took off in a frenzy like she always does and knocked one of her babies out of the nest causing it to fall a good three or four feet to the ledge below. We waited about half an hour to see if she would try to retrieve her fallen baby, but she did not. Husband went out, armed with a piece of paper, and scooped the little baby up and back into the nest. It opened its mouth looking for food at Husband's touch and I was relieved that it didn't die in the 30 minutes spent out of the nest. I've checked back a couple of times and there are no abandoned babies beneath Mama Bird's perch so I am hopeful that the baby was returned successfully.
The front door of our house is now off limits so we are entering and exiting through the garage. Packages and visitors, once met with enthusiasm, are now feared with the threat of Crazy Mama Bird and her flights of frenzy. I wonder how long it takes a baby robin to fly. I think I need to do a little research into exactly how long the main entry of our house is going to be out of commission in what could be seen as a ridiculous attempt to protect our as-of-yet featherless little friends from getting an early boot. Why am I getting a tad 'one flew over the cuckoo's nest' over this family of robins? Because my kids want nothing more than for these babies to survive. Mama Bird picked our light and now we all feel some bizarre duty to do our best to keep her babies safe. Yesterday, after I told the kids of their dad's heroic rescue, 8yr-old-boy made this journal entry, "Today, I am grateful for the baby bird."