My blog is my indulgence. I love to write, but mostly I am a gun for hire, writing what other people commission me to, some of it is interesting, some of it isn't, but it pays the bills which is the main thing. My blog on the other hand is my place to write about whatever the hell I like. If people read it, it gives me a warm feeling inside, but if they don't I still enjoy the process, so it's a win win situation.
Of course this probably means my blog will never make me a penny, but never mind. It also means that my blog tends to be shoved to one side whenever a paying writing job comes along, which is why it's pages have been rather blank of late. As a freelance journalist you have to take work whenever it comes up, and sometimes that means you are faced with many deadlines all crowding around you for your attention. Of course these are the good times, as when you can't see a deadline for dust you know you are in trouble.
I suppose that means my blog is a bit like my mother used to describe my sister, it only hears from me when I am in trouble! That's not strictly true, but in my ideal world I would spend far more time blogging and far less working, but until my lottery numbers come up it will have to take it's place at the back of the queue.
But one of the main reasons I try to keep my blog up to date is to keep a record of my growing boys, and to that end I must report on a development on the movement front. My twins are pretty slow to get on the move, which as I am terrified of the havoc they will wreak once they start perambulating, is no bad thing. But twin one has now developed his own unique means of transport.
He has taken to dragging himself along by one elbow in the manner of a wounded soldier hauling himself off the battlefield, hence his brand new nick name of commando. Despite looking most cumbersome he can get around using this strange motion and now follows me around the kitchen seeking out places to injure himself. Last week he was sporting a real shiner thanks to falling head first into the fire place, which was hastily hidden by a cushion after he pointed out it's potential for danger in such a dramatic fashion.
I think his rule of thumb is that if it has the potential to maim or kill it must be interesting. Toys are swept aside as he shuffles off towards a lit oven, muddy shoes, the cat's bowl and the cleaning cupboard and if you have the temerity to try to save his little life you are met with wails of frustration. I think it will be soon time to instigate a twin cage (otherwise know as play pen) so when I can't keep my eagle eye on him, I can lock him away from harm.
His brother is still contentedly sitting down playing with toys, looking on with detached amusement as his twin struggles around. I think he's like my eldest who spent months pondering movement, before simply starting to crawl and walk perfectly, so one day he will just appear at my heels without all the ungainly shuffling and struggling suffered by his more thrusting double.
Both the twins are now well into the separation anxiety phase, so every time I leave a room I am followed by a cacophony of disgruntled screaming as they are convinced I will never return. Surely they should learn that the more the scream the more likely their prophecy is to come true?
So now the exploits of the twins Commando and Sitting Bull are committed to memory and my blog I must go back to work once again.