When I was a child, my paternal grandmother was my greatest pen-pal. We would exchange letters back and forth between my home in Washington and hers in California - discussing everything from my constant irritability with my brother to my angst over 'girl drama' to advice about what to be when I grew up. I wouldn't say I'd forgotten the time I spent writing those letters, but my recent discovery of a stack of correspondence from my grandmother (that I'd somehow managed to save for more than twenty years) brought back a flood of memories. I could almost hear her voice through her typed letters on thin blue paper, always signed 'Bernice' and never ever Grandma, correcting my grammar and spelling mistakes. (You can blame her for my pet peeve of bad grammar - this blog not included.)
I must have interjected a lot of guilt for not writing more frequently or promptly upon receipt of her letters quite often, because in several of her letters, she reminded me to never apologize for not writing. Rather, she told me to share an interesting story versus bemoaning the overdue time between letters.
So I won't apologize for my lack of writing on this poor, neglected blog. (Even though I want to.) I won't go into the nitty gritty details of why I've been too busy or occupied to write (although if you've read long enough - I'm sure you can figure out why.) Rather, I'll tell you that despite single parenting, sick children (including an allergic reaction to a virus - a stinking virus - in Jack), and a whole lot of crazy, I still managed to get all of our grant applications out in a timely fashion - and for the first time in our company's grant writing history - we did NOT have to drive to the airport for the 9 o'clock UPS flight.
I'll tell you that I've been up to my eyeballs in my children - and that I have a whole new respect for single parents who have to do this job in perpetuity. I'll tell you that I managed to make it through Thanksgiving without too many tears shed from missing my parents - and that the holiday was one for the record books - including a raw fried turkey, a caramel cake that was an epic failure, a vomiting Anna, and an allergic-reacting Jack.
I'll add that I'm starting to think that our house will never sell and the kids and I will never actually move to Virginia - even though 90% of our belongings are packed away in the POD (including every single stitch of Christmas decorations) in anticipation of the move and 'house staging,' and that keeping our 2,600 square foot home tidy and clean 24 hours a day in the hope of a showing is making me even more neurotic then I ever thought possible.
Someday - somehow - I will actually catch up the stories that are drifting around my head - and add in some photos of the kids, their recent activities, and our makeshift Christmas. But for now - I won't apologize for the lapse in time (I heard you loud and clear Grandma), but I will tell you I've missed writing and filling up my little corner of the world.