Sometimes You're the Windshield, Sometimes You're the Bug

            Some months when I come here to write my blog, the creative juices flow so well that I have to bring a cork to stop from flooding the entire room. Other months I struggle to find something to say or strain to find my sense of humor about whatever I’m writing about.

This month is one of the struggle months.

I don’t even know why. I’m rarely at a loss for words and I always have an opinion on something. If you don’t believe me, ask my husband. We are two opiniated peas in a pod. Yet this month the words have dried up faster than a glass of water in the Sahara. Trying to force this blog this month is like trying to have a bowel movement after eating an entire wheel of cheese. (At least I imagine so, never having eaten an entire block of cheese in one sitting.)

But that’s life right? Sometimes you’re the windshield, cruising along life with a clear view and a goal of where you are going. Other days you’re the bug, flying along and having a pretty decent day until WHAM! A windshield jumps out in front of you and now you’re a bug sandwich.

(Quick verbal detour here: WHAT is in bug guts that makes it impossible to clean with my windshield wipers and washer fluid? I am using Windex and literal squeegees, and this stuff is like cement. What’s worse, sometimes it smears. So now you have cement bug gut lines across the window. It’s maddening.)

Being the oldest daughter, Generation X, a people pleaser (pick any or all reasons), I loathe letting anyone down. Even if it’s the 9.5 people who come here every month to read a quirky anecdote from my life. (Why .5 you ask? Because I’m sure that at least one person finds themselves here accidentally and leaves without finishing the post. Or a Gen Z finds themselves lost to all my antiquated references. Or someone just finds me abrasive and not their cup of reading material. So half.)

So this is really just a lengthy apology letter. To all 7 ¾ of you who may visit here monthly looking for a small chuckle or a glimmer of hope that your kids will grow out of their d-bag phase. (*Still 50/50 odds there, sorry.) And for any of you who may feel the need to get their monthly quota of mayhem, well, I guess it’s a good thing that I’ve been writing this blog for over a decade now. Go back and binge some classic mayhem from the early days.

I was probably funnier back then anyway.

Well, probably less tired at least.

            Until next month my amigos. I’m sure I’ll have plenty to say. And if not, I’ll make up something believable. You know, kinda what I do every other month!

 

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I even remember to post on Instagram occasionally  (@modernmommayhem)

Want to share your mayhem? Send an email to modernmommayhem@gmail.com.