Inhibited

It has been a long while since i posted and I smirk what I posted on last.

Our family has had a very hectic few months for sure. Our second child had his first day of school, I went back to teaching at the university on top of a full time job, changed that full time job, p-man out to extend himself, grandparents newly solo.. things here and there. I might write of those things another night.

Really it has been this while since I have been off cavorting around you my friends. Tossing my words about in other 'spheres' as we like to say. Testing the ideas of identity, brand, conversation and so on that began here. Wondering how I can tend it's end now. If that's what's in order. I am out and about on work blogs, and tri-twitter feeds shy to gather the threads or at times writing myself some bigger, more self conscious story of how I really have 'good' reasons to plug up the channels between.

Funny that in light of the name.

It was the descent into family that was the ink in my print. Why has the run out has broken that chat rather than brought it out? Honestly it is that you do feel inhibited. First by the simple math of the life, writing soooooo much by day anyway. Fun though it may not have been. Then there was the cross over and the uncertainty of ever exposing my family to my other sphere there... and exposing what that is/was to what troubled me too much.. why trouble you...

Well anyway, was off, yes. Am back. yes. Will drop in some of the thoughtful on life after schoolwork, on my soc. media diet for 2012 but also leverage the support here whilst we crash from our overindulgence in bacon this holiday season, the What about Santa? fodder of family blog, the state of the cats and so on... Maybe a book or two...

Will give it a go.

Teeth falling out

Babes in arms. I would give anything for babes in arms. The mental separation of self and the unitasking of physical need. Now that I live with this 6yo girl andd 4 yo boy it is all existential. I type here and am AWAY. And, I measure away. Sometimes I ask their permission to check my blackberry or use the computer for my writing activity. But really it's not like nap time or the separation from a baby. That first set of growth if different before the teeth fall out.

But time is out. We struggle between my limits on their TV screen time and theirs on my laptop time. It is mostly that they wonder, I am sure, what am I making? Is it some sort of digital cookie?? Do they want one?? Is it their business, and I can't say no. What if she read it?

And that is one more reason why it seems sensible that these are my last posts. I have always admired the exceptional bloggers who can write a digital story in their posts, and I am not one. I drift more to the reportage of stories of others as I lack the art and alchemy of words you will find in the faithful memorists like bon or Nora or Claraor... -- see blogroll.

At six I give first my girl and then my boy -- give back -- their story.

Reading this post last month from bon I never felt closer to encapsulating the gratitude I have for discovering this communications space back in 2005. To have intersected the dialogue to help me through instead of books or kaffeeklatsches.

I wrote on that blog post this comment.
Six.

With that — and the teeth, like you say, all the stuff of babies’ and their human making falls through fingers. At six the squeeze of babes we were so responsible goes away somewhat to a more horrible frustration of the independence we crave so long for them. It has been a tough, aggravating year… The sort of year I pined for a time when my arms ached for hours of feeding and calming and unending latching of me and her (then him). I was so tired then. I thought this would be the dream, something easier. Let them walk. Feed themselves. Tell their stories. But wrong I was.

Weaning and teething -- I have been known to harp on my friends. When they fuss about the right pre-school, or daycare space or sleep routine I remind that these children will be our children all our lives. But that said from a certain age their stories are no longer our stories. And when I watch these children make their stories unfold I am glad I do it on the foundation of parent storytelling.