I know, I know, I know.

Fourteen days. No post.

I mean, going a few days or even a week is usually acceptable, because, hello? You people have a life and have better things to do than check for new posts in this little bloggity spot. But almost two weeks without a post and the emails start coming in.

“Um, are you okay? Are you gone? Are you sick? Are you going ever going to post again? Are you even ALIVE?”

That would be a yes. To all of the above.

You know, writing blog posts is a funny thing. It’s kinda like… well, my brain’s too far gone to think up a good analogy. I have no clue what it’s kinda like. But I’ll tell you what it IS. Fellow bloggers, you’ll know what I’m talking about.

You go a day without posting. In my case, no biggie. A day or two between posts is typical. Then, you’re sitting there doing laundry and have ten million thoughts running through your head, all begging to be put to paper screen.

Better write a post today, you think to yourself.

Then you smell a dirty diaper, the phone rings and the toddler wakes up from his nap and, since your mommy-brain can’t hold more than ten million thoughts at once, you reach overload and forget about the post.

Two days later, you’re packing to go on a ladies’ retreat and it suddenly hits you.

It’s been four days since I posted. And now I’m going to be gone. Better write a quick post.

A few hours later you stop before walking out the door, grab your laptop and tuck it into your bag, needing it for something non-blog-related that weekend. You think to yourself that maybe, just maybe, if there’s a chunk of down time one afternoon, you’ll toss up a post saying that, hey, I’m gone.

You drive down to a beautiful old hotel on Coronado Island, get in your room and open your bag. A friend catches a glimpse of your laptop and says, “NO! No blogging for you, missy!! You’re on a retreat!”

So you spend a few days breathing salty air, enjoying amazing fellowship with precious close friends, building relationships with new friends, running on the beach at 9pm–the little waves lapping at your feet, being encouraged and challenged and changed by God’s Word, riding beach cruisers all over the island, and doing so much talking that you wonder if it’s possible to run out of words.

And you almost forget you even own a computer.

Then you come home. Your toddler runs to you, shouting, “MOMMY! You’re home!!” and your one year old won’t let go of your arm. Your husband kisses you and tells you thank you for everything you do to keep your home running. You hear about their fun times, books read, park trips, junk food eating, games played.

Within a half-hour of coming home, you’re right back into real life and loving your little family. But there’s your laundry to do, church stuff to launch into, dinner to think about and always diapers to change.

That unwritten post? Still unwritten.

And here’s where the clincher comes in on the bloggity front. Now, NOW, you’ve gone over the one week mark. NOW you can’t just come off with some post about whatever. You can’t even just pull out a half-written somethin‘ out of your drafts. NOW you need to say something about where you’ve been. Or what you’ve been doing. Or why on earth you left up a post about the Marine Corps Birthday for a week. The only problem NOW is that, you know, it would require thought–a commodity in rare supply these days.

So the snowball starts rolling.

As soon as you get some sleep to make up for the late nights of the retreat, you’re on your last load of laundry, and you think you might have actually made eye-contact with your computer again…

You find out there have been two deaths in your extended family, you start practicing the piano for a funeral, you put any and all computer time into a blog design on which you’ve taken too long already, your kids get sick, you realize you aren’t going to be able to make it to the funeral after all, your brother turns 18 and you go to a Southern Gospel concert with your family–leaving the boys with your amazing cousin who tells you to bring them over even though they’re sick–getting to bed that night at 3:30am, to be awakened by bright-eyed kiddos at their usual time of 6:30am. Oh, and then it’s time to change a diaper.

The post?

Still unwritten.

SO. It is now Sunday morning, and I’m on the couch with my little sickies instead of at church.

And here’s a post.

You know what John said when I came home from the ladies’ retreat?

I asked him if being home with the boys for a couple days was what he expected. Easier? Harder? Exactly what he’d thought it would be?

“You know,” he told me with a slightly puzzled look, slipping his arm around my waist. “There was just a lot less time in a day than I’m used to. It was like one minute we were waking up, and the next it was bedtime. Just like that.”

Yeperdoo. Just. Like. That.