What I love about reading blogs, is the moment when a complete stranger hits my nail right on the head. This is what life would be like if I had social contact more than twice a week.
Following the links this morning lead me to Slugs on the Refrigerator, and entrepreneurial Kat Goldin's comment, "what I love about a blog is that it gives you something at the end of the day that shows you existed". Oh my goodness - what she said.
Honestly, there are some days with the kids - love them, bless them, treasure them (especially when they're asleep) - when I can't remember in the afternoon what I did in the morning. The Husband comes home that night and diligently enquires, "how was your day?". "Erm, I don't remember". I'm not being facetious. I really don't remember. Some things happened and then some other things. It was fine, but I don't remember any of it.
Like Descartes searching his senses for irrefutable evidence of his existence, I look for signs of life: a trail of squashed grapes means there was eating, from the sodden jackets by the back door I deduce there was sledging, and the way that my slipper sticks to the floor in the kitchen suggests there was playdough. Ah-ha, all is revealed...
We're just pack animals at heart, of course. My pack is spread far and wide, which is normal these days, but inconvenient when you want to pop round for a play date, a cup of tea and a reminder that you still exist. And for that, we have blogging.