So here's the thing: I got nothin' ta say. I keep thinking I do, then I sit down to write and, it turns out, I got nothin'.
I worked out an entire diatribe about how we should pay for the wars we are fighting (Victory Gardens, collecting rubber tires and nylon stockings for the troops, war bonds, etc), but decided it was too much work. That was a topic that required thought and I don't want to think that hard.
Then I thought I would tell you all of the ridiculous demands my children place upon me ("You put the peanut butter on the waffle after the syrup and RUINED it!" and so on). After musing over that for awhile, I decided you've had enough of your own people demanding ridiculous things to ever want to read my junk.
My eight year old daughter made cookies all by herself the other day--from start to finish. I just washed the pans when she was done. I took pictures and everything, but decided that was a too close to the annoying "My Child is an Honor Student" bumper sticker and I didn't want your not-cookie-baking child to come beat up my cookie-baking one.
I wrote out an advent calendar that teaches a mini lesson about Christmas from the scriptures' perspective and thought about sharing. I didn't because (1) it may come off a little too NieNie, (2) I'd have to post twenty-four days straight and my children would never eat or wear clean underwear if I did that, and (3) you don't come to me for spiritual guidance (oh, please let that be true!!).
One day I actually started a post about how gross boys are because my husband and his brothers call each other to talk about their . . . well . . . their solid waste. You never saw that post because I couldn't bear to talk about it. It's just too disgusting.
I wanted to write about how I'm having a hard time getting into the Christmas spirit this year. No, I'm not depressed or pregnant or suffering from any other emotionally swinging malady. I finally concluded that it's because I am shopping online instead of in the cheery stores. I'm missing the displays of huge wrapped boxes, mechanical elves hard at work in Santa's workshop, and puffs of cotton snow. (Yes, I am aware some of you would argue that this isn't the real Christmas spirit. I'd like to argue that there are two different kinds of Christmas spirit. You see? This is why I didn't write about it. Semantics would spoil that post.)
People in my part of these Great United States keep making the "s" sound like "sh." They are pronouncing "nursery" like "nur shree" and "straight" like "shtrate." It makes me nuts. If only I never said "acrost" when I mean "across" and "bage" when I mean "bag," I could be more vocally critical.
So, see? There is the proof in the pudding. I've got nothin' to say, so I'll just keep my mouth shut (or my fingers still).