Why I Don’t Post More Often (I Blame Peter)

I have a confession to make. Sometimes I miss blog post deadlines. In fact, I’m “supposed” to be posting twice a week, and sometimes I only post twice a month. Oops.

I just missed a deadline. I blame Peter.

You see, Peter was madly in love with Lucy. He loved her so much that he promised to change his name to Jack if she would marry him. True story. So Lucy said yes and Peter-Jack was happy, but Lucy needed a dress.

So I made her one.

It took me all morning to make Lucy a wedding dress with a poofy skirt and poofy sleeves and a veil that went all the way to the floor and a princess crown and a necklace, all out of paper towel, scotch tape, and tissues.

Then Peter-Jack got cold feet, and hid in the van under a blanket with the figs and extra undies. Lucy was devastated, so I hunted down Peter-Jack and reminded him of all the things he loves best about Lucy—her floppy neck, her button eyes, her permanent marker smile, how her insides leak out of her right foot, and the two boingy braids popping right out of the top of her head. She’s a vision.

Peter was smitten once again. Can you blame him?

Peter-Jack and Lucy were married in a quiet ceremony in our travel trailer. It was beautiful. Then they had a lot of babies, in, like, five minutes. In fact, I’m babysitting right now. (Not to make you jealous, but Lucy fit into her wedding dress seconds after those babies were born.)

Sometimes it’s Peter-Jack and Lucy that keep me from blogging. Sometimes it’s a loose tooth or a sliver. Sometimes it’s the words “One more chapter, Mama!” or “I need a snuggle.” Sometimes it’s a phone call from Grandma. Sometimes it’s “Babydoll, what do you think about…?” (Yup, my man calls me Babydoll.)

I blog about simplifying. I preach making life less complicated and finding joy in the simple things.

The simple things:

The laughter of a child. The chatting of a teen. The comfortable closeness of a husband. The fleeting wonder of a baby. Eye contact. The discovery of a butterfly or a new-to-us bird. Playing games. Collecting flowers, shells, rocks, memories. Listening to dreams. Planning futures. Telling stories. Sharing memories. Walking dogs. Connecting across miles and generations. Making wedding dresses out of scotch tape and paper towels. Four-year-old wedding singers in pink pajamas.

Those are the simple things I’m not willing to miss.

I’m not willing to put my kids in daycare or preschool, give up homeschooling, jeopardize our Christian music mission, or hire someone else to take on my God-given role as mother to these children just so I can write about my simple biscuit recipes or how to make baking powder or even the value of a homemaker. I’m not willing to pay someone else to do my job so I can make a little more money online. I’m not willing to take time away from my children so I can write posts encouraging other parents to spend time with their children. It’s a sacrifice I am not willing to make.

I’m not willing to stress myself out, stress my family out, or make every day and every family activity revolve around a blog post or deadline.

And if my blog suffers for it, okay. If it doesn’t flourish, okay. If it doesn’t grow as fast as the other blogs, okay. That’s a sacrifice I can live with.

But missing out on the simple, precious moments with my family, losing minutes, days, years with my loved ones, not being fully there for them, that’s a sacrifice I cannot, I will not make. I will not sacrifice my family on the altar of anything this world has to offer.

I’ve been there, and I can’t go back. That lifestyle’s parenting mantra is “in a minute,” and its reward is regret as those minutes turn to years and the moment is gone forever.

So if you notice from time to time that you are not hearing from me, that my Facebook page is quiet and my Twitter is tweetless, that I haven’t been pinning and that there hasn’t been a new post in a while, understand that my silence is shouting this:

“Nothing is worth more than these few, precious, fleeting moments with the people you love. Don’t sacrifice that…ever.”

I have to run. I hear Lucy and Peter-Jack had another set of quintuplets and they need a babysitter. I’m their girl!

I’d love to hear your thoughts.