Why bother?

The trip was not all doom n' gloom, I promise. I am still sorting through pictures - I should have a post tomorrow since I would like to record the fun parts as well. I felt that the incidence with the little boy deserved its own post and should not be intermingled with stories of how my dad absolutely cracks me up. The entire trip was sprinkled with exclamations from my sister and I (Dad! Pop!) Mock outrage, to be sure, because truly, my dad is a one-man show. Crass? Does not begin to explain it. And in one of life's greatest noggin-scratching ironies, he managed to convince one of the world's nicest, most genuine of persons to marry his sorry ass. My step-mom has a heart of gold and hollow legs filled with a treasure trove of patience. The extent of my dad's obnoxiousness is difficult to convey in a blog post. Believe me.

While I was gone, a few things happened or were written that had me thinking.

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The murder of George Tiller absolutely shocked me. I heard about it on the way back from the Ozarks, just as it was breaking and I actually gasped out loud. Tiller's son was one of my classmates at KU. We did not run in the same circles, but had some mutual friends. He may not even remember me. However, when grief has an actual face for you, it does make you think and my heart went out to my former classmate and his family.

Yes, abortion is a dirty, nasty business full of heartbreak and difficult decisions. Ugly options which are legal. However, George Tiller made that option possible for women who had the right to it and he did not deserve to die for it.

Personally, I do not think I could have an abortion. But, how the hell will I ever know? I had two completely healthy pregnancies which resulted in two beautiful, full-formed babies.

Therefore, I do not judge.

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On a happier note........

Today's post title is brought to you by Brit of Running Stitch. Her blog went dead last week and she went through the mental meanderings of just pulling the whole thing down. Her post last week touched a spot with me as she wrote about how she had considered calling the whole thing off. In the back hallways of the blogosphere (aka email), we whispered about it and I tried my best to be supportive by not giving her too much grief if she really decided to quit. But still - selfishly, I would have been heartbroken had she given up her site. Her posts are beautiful and are usually written in a celebratory tone. Life is short and as such, Brit relishes hers with her two boys and husband.

I suspect most bloggers periodically go through the motions of questioning their virtual existence. I certainly do. I will never, ever make Money on this site. I do debate whether I should continue ads, but honestly, I just like being a part of the BlogHer network. Yes, I do receive a check about twice a year, which allows us to splurge on tacos at our favorite Mexican restaurant. But folks, I am not doing this for the tacos and I am finding it impossibly exasperating to get X to understand why I need this silly thing called Rancid Raves. What it means to me. Why I essentially do it for free. How the creative process of writing satisfies me.

Then, Brit hits the nail on the head:

I have always had journals. And to this day I enjoy flipping through the pages of those journals and remember time, place, and emotion.

I feel the same way about this blog. This record of my time as a mama as I grow as a woman and watch my children grow in this world we are creating for them. I enjoy the reflection, looking back at how far I’ve come, at how much stronger I feel, how much more secure in our direction I am.

And when my site flickered back to life on Wednesday I rejoiced. And realized that while I may be writing for myself and my family, that I am also a part of this blogging community. Much like I am a part of my neighborhood and city. And that my time spent here, reflection on this family life is just as important to that life as the living of the life.

Hello World.

Now, if I could just get X to read her blog.