I’m not really sure what I’m doing with this blog. I have this notion that I like to write, but now that I have a blog, I have this stupid stage fright. I don’t think anyone has even read anything yet, but I can’t get the potential reader out of my mind. Blah.

Also, it just seems wrong that there aren’t more hours in a day. I just read someone’s post where they said that writer’s read a lot, all the time, really, and they write everyday.  Well, how do I do that when I’ve got an 8-year old that wants to play soccer or Clue or anything with me so he won’t be bored, a toddler who wants to punch every single button on the computer keyboard, a dog who scratches at the door every time I sit down to read or write, and a brain that comes up with so much minutia that just has to get done right now that I’m not sure why it hasn’t exploded. I really wish I knew how people do it. I guess that’s why I started this blog in the first place–to help me get off my butt and just start writing, even though it’s not always easy to find the time or the words that sound right.

Okay, here’s something I wanted to write down. It freaked me out at first, then I had to laugh. My son, Evan, who’s 8, has a loft bed just like a lot of college kids have. It’s like a bunk bed with only a top bunk, and he loves it. He’s been sleeping up there for over a year now with no incidences (while sleeping anyway). Well, the other night I’m rousted out of sleep by yelling coming from Evan’s room. I stumble down the hall and enter his room to see legs and belly dangling off the side of the loft. Somehow this very skinny child had slipped between mattress and guardrail up to his rib cage! I pushed him back up and he just scrambled over to the safety of the wall side and sunk back into sleep almost immediately. All was well for a couple of hours until I’m pulled out of sleep again, only this time there’s no panic in Evan’s voice as he calls out, “Mom? Mom? I’m stuck again.” I sent Kyle to get him that time.