I put into blogging:
A bit of myself and my family
A whole lot more time than I thought I would
Experiences, ramblings, passions and always more than a little hope these will resonate with someone (anyone?)
I get out of blogging:
A better sense of myself, as though to find my voice I needed to stop, think and write
A wider sense of inclusion, in that the window our far-flung family and friends have into our lives has become a little bigger and more colourful
A sense of community and of perspective - there ARE other people out there also grappling with the bewildering beauty of parenthood, who hate snot-suckers as much as I do, who laugh in the face of crusty patches on their shoulders and wee in their shoes
And then there’s a sense of humility. Many of the blogs I read carry similar stories to ours, of endless laundry, sleepless nights and toddlers obsessed with brooms. But I know, we all know, that there’s more to the story of parenting than snotty noses and wondering what to cook for dinner.
Fears creeps up and settles in our gut or sticks in our throat. Fear that we are not good enough, and that no matter how hard we fret and furrow our brows and contrive to avert disasters small and large, one day we’ll be caught off-guard and ‘something bad’ will happen. And sometimes it does. Totally undeserved and out of our control.
So, although I almost didn’t do this for fear of gatecrashing someone else’s grief, I made an origami daffodil for Freddie, a little boy who didn’t stay. His mummy associates daffodils with Freddie, and appealed to other bloggers to help her craft daffodils in whatever way we could think of and help remember him on what would have been his 4th birthday - 2 April.
I don’t know this mummy and I never knew this boy, but I think - I hope - it doesn’t matter. And, in a strange way, making this daffodil for this boy I don't know made it even more obvious than the list above that I get far more out of blogging than I put in.
A bit of myself and my family
A whole lot more time than I thought I would
Experiences, ramblings, passions and always more than a little hope these will resonate with someone (anyone?)
I get out of blogging:
A better sense of myself, as though to find my voice I needed to stop, think and write
A wider sense of inclusion, in that the window our far-flung family and friends have into our lives has become a little bigger and more colourful
A sense of community and of perspective - there ARE other people out there also grappling with the bewildering beauty of parenthood, who hate snot-suckers as much as I do, who laugh in the face of crusty patches on their shoulders and wee in their shoes
And then there’s a sense of humility. Many of the blogs I read carry similar stories to ours, of endless laundry, sleepless nights and toddlers obsessed with brooms. But I know, we all know, that there’s more to the story of parenting than snotty noses and wondering what to cook for dinner.
Fears creeps up and settles in our gut or sticks in our throat. Fear that we are not good enough, and that no matter how hard we fret and furrow our brows and contrive to avert disasters small and large, one day we’ll be caught off-guard and ‘something bad’ will happen. And sometimes it does. Totally undeserved and out of our control.
So, although I almost didn’t do this for fear of gatecrashing someone else’s grief, I made an origami daffodil for Freddie, a little boy who didn’t stay. His mummy associates daffodils with Freddie, and appealed to other bloggers to help her craft daffodils in whatever way we could think of and help remember him on what would have been his 4th birthday - 2 April.
I don’t know this mummy and I never knew this boy, but I think - I hope - it doesn’t matter. And, in a strange way, making this daffodil for this boy I don't know made it even more obvious than the list above that I get far more out of blogging than I put in.
