I don’t have time for this.

How’s that for a compelling start?

But, really – I don’t. I’ve been thinking about this blog for months and months now. I labored over the name and even coerced my fabulous talented friend, Sarah, to create me a logo. I paid WordPress. And then what?

“I started my blog!” I told my husband excitedly.

“Great!” he replied. An then, “When are you going to have time for that?”

I hate (like really hate) to admit when he’s right, but…well, he’s not wrong.

I have an almost two-year-old son who is busy leaving sticky fingerprints everywhere (mostly on my glasses) and demanding I drop what I’m doing to play with his choo-choos (who can say no to Thomas?).

I have a load of laundry in the washer that’s been there for over a day that will need to be re-washed. And two other loads waiting on deck. And three others that need to be folded. (Who’s wearing and dirtying all these clothes?!)

I have a dishwasher that perpetually needs to be emptied. A rug that hasn’t been vacuumed since Christmas (I’m still finding pine needles everywhere).  And trashcans that need to be dragged to the curb because it’s Tuesday.

I have a full-time job. And a freelance job. And like three inboxes that ping (all. day. long.) with messages of increasing urgency. I have a desk covered in post-it notes and an electronic to-do list that I hate to look at (maybe if I ignore it, it will go away).

I have the world’s greatest husband whom I love to the moon and back so I occasionally cook for him to keep him, you know, alive. I have an insanely emotional dachshund named Moose that likes to drop his red ball in the toilet when he’s not getting attention and then howl at the injustice of being unable to reach said ball.

The point – as I’m sure you’ve gleaned – is that I have (like you) too many things that I have to do. Because I’m 36 – almost 37, but that can wait 12 more days. I own a house. I have a family. We have bills (more than I’d like) and appointments and errands (we live at the grocery store) and just stuff we have to do. So much stuff. Too much stuff.

But, it’s January. And people love to make resolutions in January. I’m on the fence when it comes to resolutions. I’ve had good success with them in the past (because I’m a crazy completionist) but finite things also gives me anxiety. It’s a weird space to occupy. So I haven’t made an official resolution or goal list for 2018, like I’ve done in the past. Instead, I’ve decided to make time for a little fun.

How weird does that sound? Like, really weird.

It sounds like something someone I hate would say. Like a really thin mom who is Instagram perfect with well-behaved children. “Oh, you know,” she says, casually flipping her professionally blown-out hair while sipping her latte and pushing her $1,000 stroller, “we’re really just focusing on having fun and living our best life. You should really do that too. And maybe brush your hair. And your teeth… See you at the PTO meeting!”

I don’t really hate moms like that. I want to be them. Obviously. I’d settle for the well-behaved children. Or, really, the latte.

But back to fun. I’ve decided this year to focus more on fun. And things that make me feel good. Less “have to’s” and more “want to’s.” I mean, look – the have to’s are still going to get done. We’re down to one clean folded towel and Visa’s not cool with me not paying my bill. Those things will happen. It’s more about finding time – making time – to be creative and have fun.

So, I’m planning to write more. Hence this space. I don’t know exactly what it’s going to turn out to be. Probably mostly a memoir about my failed attempt to have more fun and jokes about people I envy (see above). And if that’s the case, so be it.

I’m just a girl, sitting in front of her computer, typing mindlessly and hoping someone will read it and enjoy it. And if you don’t, like, fine. Just move on. Don’t leave a nasty comment or anything. Just go.

Until next time…