The Wombat File Is Yours to Keep

I just wanted to make one of those mandatory blog posts where the blogger writes about why s/he doesn't blog anymore really even though s/he maintains the illusion of having a blog that requires blogging software and pushbutton updates and email notifications and RSS feeds and a new beta thing from google that you build out of lego and recycled styrofoam using specs you download via text message and attach a bluetooth headset to it and then every time your favorite blogger describes his lunch it scuttles across the room and writes the first four sentences of the blog post in the accumulated dust and if you clap your hands then it does the rest of the post by squirting out shaving cream in a manner that is slightly naughty-seeming if you've got that kind of a sense of humor which lets face it you probably do.

And I just wanted to mention that although the exhaustion factor of parenthood is only slightly more universally noted than the fact that Ann Coulter is a bad person, I am exhausted on account of my parental duties.

And I want to make all sorts of foolish promises about making this blog better and a repository for reflections on the Nathan Englander novel riding around in my bag which may or may not get read in 2007 and the CSA vegetables rotting in my fridge, or the enormous bloody what-have-I-done headache of working on aforementioned CSA yet expressed mind you in a compelling and amusing manner that yet does justice to my real pride in actually working on something for the community however over-taxing.

And I also want to mention that I'm not getting any real writing done these days either and somehow feel better for having admitted that here and by writing this entry make a vow to myself and everyone indulgent enough to have read this far that somehow I can turn that around starting now.

And in addition I'd like to find a compelling and engaging way to tell you that Imogen has started talking a little and is pulling up a lot and will probably be walking soon and both girls have a virus and are a little sweaty in their beds tonight and I really wish I could do more to make them more comfortable and I went again to the carousel with Helena on Sunday and omg there's really nothing, nothing, nothing in the world so exactly on the nose of perfect like riding the carousel with your three-year-old.

And I think that's where I should probably leave it.