A Virtuous Letter

A Picture of My "Happy Place"

Dear Patience,

I know you haven’t been hanging around here much lately, but I’m asking for you to spend some time with me tonight.

I know. I know. You come around every single morning when I’m trying to get Zane ready for preschool, and you were stellar with the whole potty training thing. And to be fair, you’re also a pretty consistent visitor whenever SRH’s parents make their way up here from Alabama.

But really, they only visit a few times a year, so it’s not like you’re working that hard.

Okay. I’m sorry. That’s not true. You’re around a lot. You’re here way more often than kindness or cleanliness. You’ve bailed me out more than a few times recently when lack of nutrients made me homicidal, and yes, it was you who gave me the brilliant idea of family movie night when I just couldn’t face one more bath time.

All true.

So why am I asking again for you virtuous presence this evening?

Because I have a dinner tonight with work colleagues, dear Patience, and I may poke someone in the eye with a fork if you don’t join me.

Yes, I am well aware that you are stretched to your limits by any and all fraternizing with academics, but this is part of my job and you simply must come along to keep me sane – and employed.

Plus Pat – can I call you Pat?- you should remember that you actually do like some academics, just none in this particular group.

Remember that time when they – the folks we’ll be dining with this evening - called everyone in my job class “flunkies”? Yeah, that was awesome. And you were expert when you helped me keep my cool as I explained that this attitude toward folks who aren’t faculty might be hindering their recruitment efforts. See, I patiently explained as you held my hand, flunkies don’t like being told that they’re flunkies. They prefer that we actually pretend that they’re real people.

One of your finest moments, Pat. Truly.

So here’s what I need from you tonight:

Please help me refrain from curling my lip when they start to talk about how incompetent every other person in the whole universe is including their secretaries, students, and fellow female academics.

Please curb my nostril flare when they talk about husbands, vacations, and kids who winter in Aspen.

Please keep me from screaming “Not everyone at this table is straight!” when they pretend not to notice that such talk of husbands et al. completely excludes the one lesbian at the table.

Please allow me to handle with graceful aplomb the way they will ignore me throughout the entire meal unless it’s to express disapproval that more people from my university aren’t attending their conference tomorrow.

I know it’s a lot to ask, but if you can do this, I will be forever grateful. And maybe I’ll take you out for dessert afterwards. You’ll certainly deserve it.

Thanks in advance,

Zany Mama

Papa's in the Barrel

So, it’s a Monday post so you’re probably expecting that I will either a) drop a major health bombshell or b) complain about Zane’s OT appointment today.

But you’re in for disappointment, dear reader, for I am not going to talk about either of those things. Nope, I will not tell funny tales of casually dropping the “Hey, I have a tumor” bomb onto unsuspecting friends and family. (Although, as you might imagine, much hilarity has ensued.)

I will also NOT discuss my irritation with the ongoing OT assessment process. (Nor will I describe the ire I’m feeling at the therapist who promised to send me an email today describing her findings and recommendations for Zane’s parent-teacher conference tomorrow – even though I still haven’t gotten it.)

Nope, I’ve got other things to talk about. Positive things. Fun things. Things I can’t wait to tell you about.

Um…

There’s the…uhh…

Wait…It’s going to come to me.

Oh yes, I was going to tell you about how mama’s off the hook these days.

I’m not sure how I finagled it, but Zane is all about his papa these days. All. About. Papa.

It’s delightful. Who does Zane want to wash his hands after he potties? Papa. Who does he want to give him his bath? Papa. Who does he want to make a new train layout? Papa. Who makes the best chickie fingers in the whole wide world? Papa, papa, papa.

Who does he want to do anything and everything? Papa, that’s who.

I’ll tell you, it’s a nice little break. Because, you know, he still willing to do fun stuff with me – we had a delightful walk down to the neighborhood grocery store this evening, but he wants to do all the mundane stuff with papa.

And yes, if SRH is not around, he’s happy to have me doing those routine things. We get through our day just fine when SRH is at work. But I am effectively “off the clock” the minute SRH walks through the door.

And I’m just not the kind of mama that gets stirred up (or hurt) about these kinds of things. The pendulum will swing back. I’ll be in the barrel again. For now, I’m just determined to enjoy this small break while I have it.

And lest, I start to feel unappreciated, Zane will come out with something like he said at the park this weekend:

Hey, where’s my friend mama?

I’m right here, love. Getting some much-needed rest.

Real Moms Meme

Before knowing about my meme performance anxiety, S. and Nancy both tagged me for this meme. And as luck would have it, this particular meme has elicited some really amazing posts out in the blogosphere.

So yeah…no pressure. Here it goes.

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Real moms…

…are stunning, brilliant, breathtaking, wondrous in the multiplicity of their hues.

Real moms are the full blue-black of eggplant, with profoundly dark eyes gazing at their child.
They are the deep brown of bittersweet chocolate, with all of the flavor that this implies.
Their chestnut skin is vivid with the fire of life and love, and loss, and family.
They are the color of wet sand, warm and soft beneath their children’s bodies.

Real moms are shades of caramel and butterscotch, creamy with sugary flavor.
They are cream darkened by the sun to a beige made radiant.
The hint of peaches glows through their faces as freckles, laughter, tears.
Their skin is alabaster and shows the fragility beneath wise words and loving embraces.

And they are every gradation in between.

They are the same. They are vastly different.

They are real.

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So, I’m not sure how this works, but I think I’m supposed to credit Kristen with starting this meme, and then I’m supposed to tag a few people.

Will the following bloggers please consider themselves tagged?
Riley
Thea
Zulhai

Partner Meme - Part 1

So, Thea tagged me with a meme last week, but I was all, "I've got a tumor to discuss" and "Make way for incessant blogging about my health concerns".

And I have a bit of a problem with memes, actually. Namely, my problem is that I have real difficulty making them good reading. I don't think my answers are particularly inspired (or inspiring), and they often read like a list of my neuroses: does not like cinnamon or coconut, refuses to wear anything asymmetrical, etc.

In thinking of a way to make this meme interesting, I have asked my partner, SRH, to join me in this particular post - part 1 of what may turn out to be 2. I give my answers, and he fires back with his thoughts (in blue).

Just another way to get to know me – through the eyes of my ever-loving, geeky partner.

1. What time did you get up this morning?
7:18 am. I set the alarm for 7am and hit the snooze twice. I love the snooze button - except when SRH uses it. Then I kind of hate it.

I hit the snooze button and it’s all, “You can only do that one more time, Buddy! It will wake me up and you don’t want that.”

2. Diamonds or pearls?
“If I gave you diamonds and pearls? Would you be a happy boy or a girl? If I could, I would give you the world. But all I can do is just offer you my love”. – Because there’s never an inappropriate time to quote a Prince song.

How can you not quote a Prince song? He has at least 14 billion songs in his library and after a while, he just lists gibberish - “Starfish and coffee, Maple syrup and jam, Butterscotch clouds, a tangerine, and a side order of ham” WTF??? One can easily end up quoting him inadvertently.

3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema?
Dreamgirls. It was fabulous! Before that, I was supposed to see Dreamgirls, but my friend Ellen wanted to see The Holiday. I do not believe in criticizing other women in a public forum, but I will make a small observation that Cameron Diaz is no Meryl Streep.

I don’t have any friends.

4. What is your favorite TV show?
Wow. I don’t really know. I like Heroes. I don’t have any rabid favorites right now.

Ummm… I believe she is loath to tell people that it is TLC’s Moving Up. She’s DVR-ing this show.

5. What did you have for breakfast?
Didn’t eat breakfast. Keith Richards told me not to.

Stupid Keith Richards!

6. What is your middle name?
Anne. My mom wanted to give me an “ordinary” name as a fall back option in case I hated my first name. My first name being a bit…uh…interesting.
Her first name is definitely interesting, but it’s much better than the other options they didn’t use: Cinnamon and Angel.

7. What is your favorite cuisine?
Pizza.

Ummm… it’s pizza only if prime rib, or cherries, or watermelon aren’t allowed to be contenders. I would be hard pressed to put pizza in her top 5. Sure, it is the one food that she would probably eat the most often, but favorite? Come on now.

8. What foods do you dislike?
Oh my, the list is way too long. And the people reading this already have firm opinions on just how neurotic I am. I’ll go with the big “hates”: cheese, seafood and all fish, peppers, graham crackers.

That’ll do, pig. That’ll do.

9. What are your favorite chips?
Lay’s Kettle Cooked Barbeque chips. My gall bladder is seizing up just thinking of them.
The operative word being “kettle cooked” – that woman loves her some fried snacks.

10. What is your favorite CD at the moment?
This moment (and maybe always) – Ani DiFranco’s Living in Clip.

Ummm…I beg to differ; I believe currently it is the Commodores Greatest Hits.

11. What kind of car do you drive?
Toyota Rav-4.
Yup.

12. Favorite sandwich?
Rare roast beef on sourdough with real mayonnaise and sliced tomatoes which have been salted and have Chicago Steak Seasoning on them.

Or you know, whatever kind of sandwich.

Really, she ain’t picky… as long as it is that sandwich and made from the Dietz and Watson's London Broil deli meat.

13. What are characteristics you can't stand?
Tumor-ific and non-shrinking.

She also dislikes focal, nodule, and hyperplasia.

14. What are your favorite clothes?
Athletic and/or yoga pants. Duh, I’m a very active woman from a very active family with a very active child.

What about pajamas? They count, right? She will wear pajamas for 72 hours straight.

15. If you could go anywhere on vacation where would you go?
To the mountains or other good hiking places – with SRH and Zane. They are the loves of my life. The rest is just gravy. Good mountain-y gravy, but gravy nonetheless.

Mmmm…gravy.

16. There was no sixteen in this little questionnaire so I'll just give you a random fact about myself:
I won a hula hooping contest in 7^th grade – I hooped for 45 minutes. Clearly, I have a long history of being very active.

She has an amazing ability to remember commercial jingles. Go on, test her.

17. Where would you want to retire?
I cannot even imagine.

I am not sure she could ever retire from her social justice work.

18. Favorite time of day?
Any time I’m alone. I like my family and friends, but I really dig alone time right now.

She does like the alone time. I like spending time WITH her. Hijinks ensue…

19. Where were you born?
I burst from my mother’s womb in northeastern Ohio.

At least she didn’t say “loins.” Ah, Crap! I did.

20. What is your favorite sport to watch?
During the Olympics, I like to watch rhythmic gymnastics. I was a seriously competitive gymnast for most of my formative years. Which you might guess is all fun and flippy, but I found it to be tumor-inducing.

Stupid tumor-inducing gymnastics! I wish she had focused on lottery-win- inducing badminton.

21. Coke or Pepsi?
Pepsi, but I’m not a big fan of the soda pop.

Yup

22. Beavers or ducks?
I’m not sure I understand this one. Why must I choose?

I think she would go with ducks.

23. Are you a morning person or a night owl?
Naturally, I’m a night owl. Since having Zane, I’ve become much more of a morning person.

I am quite the night owl, and she is just a better parent in the morning.

24. Pedicure or manicure?
Pedicure. Manicures don’t last long enough. And they’re stupid.

(I got nothing.)

25. What did you want to be when you were little?
A world famous gymnast – without a tumor.

I bet Dominique Dawes doesn't have a tumor.

So there it is - my answers and SRH's. A peek into the magic that is the our household.

Apparently, it IS a Tooma…

…but it’s not cancerous.

They’re still overwhelmingly sure of that – when I saw the surgeon today, he assured me that he’s “90% sure” that it’s not cancer.

(Some of you may be wondering why he’s not 99.9% sure like he was last week. I wondered that, too, and I think the answer is that he wants me to do yet another test, so that we can be even more sure. And if he maintained his 99.9% figure, I would have very little motivation to do the next test, which will most likely involve another IV and a tightly enclosed space.)

Unfortunately, it is now officially a tumor. A tumor of the focal nodule hyperplasia kind. And it’s a big one. A huge one. So big it could eat my head if it were located in my cranium, but it’s not, so it will have to be content to feast upon my liver.

Picture this: one and a half golf balls wide – that’s my tumor. And it’s spherical, so it’s also one and a half golf balls long. (And most likely one and a half golf balls deep, but he didn’t specifically mention that one).

I have a huge tumor. A gigantor lump. A big old honkin’ pile of cells growing abnormally in my gut.

But it ain’t cancer.

The treatment of choice is to “watch it”, which is what we started doing by having the abdominal CAT Scan last week. I’ll have an MRI in June, where they will gain even further assurance that it’s not cancer and see if it’s shrinking. It should shrink – that’s the going theory.

In the meantime, I am not to do anything crazy like get pregnant and/or use any hormone-based contraceptives. If so, my whopper of a mass may grow even larger, bleed out, or explode. (Okay, now I’m just being silly, but I’m really not supposed to add unnecessary hormones to the mix.)

And since it’s going to be around for a while, I’m wondering if I should name it.

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In other unrelated news, we had Zane’s second OT appointment today. It was much better than the first, but really, the only way it could have been worse would have been if the therapist had vomited on me.

I’ve decided to let Zane continue through the evaluation phase, and then make a decision about whether to continue. Mostly because I hate myself, and I’m totally into that special kind of hell a parent experiences when you sit by and watch your child fail to complete tasks that most kids his age can do and a stranger gets to write it all down on a piece of paper.

Still working on some issues there.

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On another unrelated note, Zane had his first dentist appointment today. His teeth are “perfect”, and he did amazingly well.

Unfortunately for Dr. Boylan, he and his office are now known as the generic “Dennis” at our house.

Zane can’t wait to go back to the Dennis. He gets toys at the Dennis, and Dennis cleans his teeth really well. Dennis gave him a Pooh brush.

Dennis is da man.

A Good Day

This may come as a surprise to someone who hasn’t read my last 15 posts, but I’ve been a bit crabby lately. Yesterday I finally got a clue that perhaps it’s due to lack of nutrients (the gall bladder diet is great for the thighs but not so good for the brain cells), a kid who was sick for well over a month, and raging lady hormones. It’s a dangerous mix, my friends, and I have somehow been loath to own the grouchiness that is me recently.

But last night SRH and I went out on a date (dinner followed by trip to Target, a perfect evening!), and I decided to give voice to the ill-temper.

Me: I’m just crabby right now. I have been for the past few days. I kept thinking that it’s going to getter better, but it’s not. And I’m beginning to think it’s me. I mean, for a minute I thought it was you, or the stupid occupational therapist that Zane saw this week, or that woman who made me ingest a barium solution AND gave me an IV today. But it isn’t. It’s me. I’m crabby just because, and it’s probably not going to change until…heck…I don’t know. It MAY NEVER change, SRH. It may never change.

SRH (pauses before speaking because you can’t just respond any old way to the previous): I think you should go to yoga tomorrow.

Me: Yeah. But I don’t think it will help.

But somehow just speaking the words that identified my acrimonious attitude made it a little bit better.

And then today I had a really good day. No, really. I did. It was quite nice actually.

And since I have been sharing my many bad days recently, I thought I’d share some of the good stuff that happened.

Yoga Class – I went to a yoga class first thing this morning. It was taught by my favorite teacher, and it completely kicked my butt. Like I’m-too-sweaty-to-be-crabby kind of kicked my butt.

Bath and Kitchen Emporium – SRH and I are going to re-do the bathroom this spring because we seriously have one of the ugliest bathrooms this side of the Mason-Dixon. Truly, people cringe when we show it to them.

So SRH and I visited a local kitchen and bath showroom to look at bathtubs. Turns out that we’re not going to buy a new bathtub this year because the only thing we would gain would be, um, a deeper tub. And that really doesn’t justify the cost. And no new tub = no new flooring = easier renovation = fewer headaches AND less ducats out of our pocket.

Cool.

Lunch – I had lunch today with an old friend with whom I had lost touch. (Look at that grammar. Eh, eh? Seems that crabbiness doesn’t affect the entire noggin. I can still rock the correct object of a preposition.) Anyway, she’s the kind of friend that reminds you that you are a good mother, a good partner, and a fairly decent human being. And it’s not because she stinks at those things so you feel better by comparison. It’s because she makes you believe that your best is good enough.

Must make sure to hang out with her more often.

Scrubbed floor – When I got home from lunch, SRH was on his hands and knees scrubbing our kitchen floor - just because he felt like it needed it.

He almost got lucky then and there.

Dinner – After scrubbing my disgusting kitchen floor, SRH proceeded to make one of my favorite dinners while I sat on the couch cuddling with Zane.

And I didn’t feel guilty about it for one moment.

Hot Tub – After dinner, I was feeling a little chilled so I decided to spend some time in the hot tub. Which you might think I’d do all the time since it’s 5 feet from my back door, but I don’t really. SRH doesn’t like the hot tub, and I don’t care to do it alone.

But today was different. It was perfect being out there alone. In fact, I had a moment of panic when Zane appeared at the back door.

Zane: What you doing?

Me: I’m in the hot tub, baby. It’s like a big bath tub. Do you want to come in with me? Please, please, say no, kid. I’m having such a good time out here alone.

Zane: Nope. I don’t like it.

Me: Oh, okay. Next time then, buddy. Whew!

It’s now 8:30pm. Zane’s in bed. SRH is talking about cleaning the bathroom – because he just can’t stand it anymore! - And I’m on the couch watching TV and contemplating making myself a smoothie.

Oh yes, it’s been a very good day.

I think the lesson for me here is to own my crabbiness. Apparently, it makes good things happen.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day, my fellow Irish people!

Back to Life, Back to Reality

We’re back from a completely fabulous weekend away. Well, I guess it wasn’t completely fabulous for all involved. (Our host’s grandmother passed away while we were visiting, and another friend got motion sickness so badly while riding the metro that she puked up a perfectly good dinner.) But for SRH and I, the weekend was pretty darn good.

Good food, some drinking, great friends. Just what the gall bladder and liver doctor ordered.

When we returned, Zane’s asthma was flaring and the house was a wreck, but I’m still really glad we went, even though our host subjected us to Aqua Teen Hunger Force.

Whatever. All fun has a price tag.

In other news, Zane had his initial occupational therapy evaluation yesterday. I could share several irritating details about the visit, but suffice it to say I was unimpressed with the incredibly short (20 minutes) session.

Apparently, his evaluation will stretch out over 2-3 appointments, although the therapist felt free to go ahead and refer to his “auditory processing dysfunction” a few times. Great…we have a diagnosis without a full assessment. Mama loves that.

And here’s a bizarre tidbit: After seeing Zane for approximately 6 minutes (I checked my watch), the therapist said that she was unconcerned about his inability to participate in group activities at preschool.

This, after the preschool teachers and I have both expressed concern that he seems unable to participate and is very “wiggly” during said activities. But not to worry, the therapist who barely knows my child is not concerned.

Would you like to know why?

Because, she reported, it seemed like we were an “active” family, and so he was probably just used to being more active than the preschool expected. But since he was clearly able to focus on the puzzle he was doing (interestingly enough, a solitary activity), and we’re such an active family, it doesn’t seem like a problem.

Huh?

I have a few issues with her assumption that we are especially active – as flattering and/or innocuous as that may seem. 1. She was only seeing 2/3 of “we” since SRH wasn’t there. 2. We – including SRH - are NOT especially active. and 3. She’d only known us for 6 minutes (the duration of which we sat at a small table doing a decidedly non-group activity) before she made her judgment.

So, I’ve been pondering how she made the assumption that we’re an ever so active family, and I can only surmise that it’s because I wore track pants to the appointment.

Yep, I think that’s it. I wore athletic pants. Therefore, we must be active.

Next time I plan to wear a beret, so she can tell me how French we are.

What erroneous assumptions have been made about you lately?

Weekend Trip

Thanks for everyone's warm thoughts about the whole liver/gall bladder thing.

We're headed out of town in 10 minutes - yippee! - to go see some college friends for the weekend.

I leave you with the beautiful symmetry of a haiku gone wrong.

My gall bladder sucks.
My liver may be worse- er.
Drink, food, friends will help!

It's Not a Tooma

In the interest of not being a liar pants, I will tell you about my appointment with the surgeon yesterday. But I don’t want to tell you. I will…but only because I said I would.

If you’ll recall, I had a gallbladder test last week which was both painful and barbaric. Fortunately, it indicated that there is indeed a problem with my gall bladder. The doctor said that most gall bladders do their gall bladder thing at a rate of 50% blah, blah, blah.

My gall bladder is currently under-performing at a rate of 32.5%. Splendid, I thought. They’ll take the blessed thing out, and I can go back to my diet of red meat and sausage.

Not so quick, my petite pumpkin. While half of all surgeons will remove a gall bladder functioning at under 35%, my particular surgeon holds himself (and my organs) to a more stringent standard. In his estimation, the organ must be functioning at 30% or below to warrant removal. Therefore, he does not recommend surgery at this point.

Me: Well, I am disappointed, but at least I got confirmation that it is indeed my gall bladder, so next time this happens maybe I can get it resolved more quickly. (I smile hopefully but not, I pray, desperately.)

Surgeon: Well, there is actually something else…

Me: (smile frozen)

Surgeon: The HIDAScan found a benign mass on your liver.

There was lots more explanation after that, including how long term use of birth control pills can lead to such a mass or maybe it’s a clump of blood vessels, but really the final message was …blah, blah, blah…there’s something foreign on your liver, and we’re not sure what it is.

So, here’s me, a cranky mommy blogger with a mass of something or other on my liver.

Me: But at least it’s benign right?

Surgeon: I’m 99.9% sure that it’s benign.

Well, thank goodness for that.

I figure that surgeons don’t throw out the “99.9% sure” phrase for just anything. He’s got to be pretty confident; therefore, I am confident.

I do feel pretty good about it all – except that it means that I have to go for more testing next week to get some specs on the I'm-sure-it's-benign mass.

Surgeon: We’ll just need to get a good look at the tumor to clarify exactly what it is. Then, we’ll have you repeat the test next year to see if the tumor – well, it’s not really a tumor, I shouldn’t call it that – to see if the mass has gotten smaller.

Me: If it’s not really a tumor, can we not call it a tumor?

Surgeon: Oh, of course. It’s a mass. Sorry about that.

So, this is how I take control of a situation. I word smith it.

My coping is phenomenal.

But I truly am feeling positive and fairly un-worried. I will feel better, however, after the test results come back verifying that my liver may have lumps but none of them are cancerous.

Now, if I could just get rid of this pesky gall bladder.

5 Reasons I Blog

Sue tagged me earlier this week with this topic, so I wanted to take a crack at it. I will admit to being a bit sidetracked with awful medical procedures and illness (both Zane and I have had a nasty cold), but I do believe that I can find five reasonably convincing lies about why I blog.

Hence, the five reasons (no really, these are truth) that I blog:

Reason 1 – A Record for Zane.
As much as I want to believe that I will not forget anyone of my beautiful son’s precious moments, I have found that I can barely remember what I ate yesterday. Hence, I thought it might be nice to have a written record that I can use to remember these crazy days of raising a young child before the memories leave my sleep-deprived brain and join my sense of fashion and decorum in a land far, far away.

But I also write this blog for Zane. SRH and I joke that he can just hand his future therapist our blogs, and say, This is what happened to me.

It’s a shortcut for him. He’ll have far less explaining to do once he realizes what types of jokers raised him.

Reason 2 – For a Bit of Perspective.
You know sometimes when things stay in your head, they’re become a lot bigger than they should. Blogging lets me take thoughts (my feelings of near-desperation as I ate my 500^th piece of melba toast last month, for example) and inflict them upon an unwitting group of readers.

Thanks for that.

Reason 3 – Work is Hard. Blogging is Fun.
My job – the one I’m paid to do – involves working for gender equity. Sometimes it’s great fun and energizing and rewarding. Some days it’s just hard.

Most days, I get to have great conversations with amazing people, and I feel like my work is important. There are weeks (like the one that just passed), however, when I get tired or dispirited or disillusioned. When my efforts result in bruising and misunderstanding, and I kind of wish I sold shoes somewhere.

Blogging lets me re-focus on the joyful parts of my life (parenting and partnering) and those parts of myself that belong solely to me. Therefore, you will not see my work, politics, or social analysis mentioned much in this blog.

I have deep thoughts, folks, I just don’t put them out here. (stop snickering)

Reason 4 – To Keep in Touch with Others.
I am completely horrible at keeping in touch with people, even people I love a whole lot. The best of my intentions are often horribly unrealized as I promise to call, write, email and then go back to my incredibly narcissistic little life, never to be heard from again.

I suck.

Reason 5 – Writing Practice.
I have a novel inside my head, folks, and it’s dying to get out. I have, however, been overwhelmingly reluctant to write anything that others will read besides job-specific manuals, reports, and articles. So blogging is, in some ways, an intermediate step toward allowing others to read the other pieces that I’m writing. It helps me work with phrasing and thought flow, punctuation, and develop some sort of voice.

Before blogging, I never allowed anyone but SRH to read anything I wrote that was non-work related. So writing a blog began as a challenge for me to risk public consumption of my writing (albeit a small – and apparently very supportive - public).

So there they are. A few reasons that I blog. Consider yourself tagged, if you’d like to take up this topic. I found it really difficult to articulate why I blog, and I’d love to hear what you have to say.