Why do I feel like I have anything worth reading?
Why am I returning to this?
I'm not sure what the answers are to any of those questions. I just have words inside me that are beginning to shout quite loudly. I waste them on comments sections on the Guardian and ephemeral Facebook updates and I should be putting them to better use. I'm not sure what is worth reading about and I don't know yet which direction my renewed blog will go.
I look at the labels that I set up when I began this blog back in 2009: being organised, Cycling, daily hack, discipline, family, Family fun, feminism, God stuff, , maternity leave, night time parenting, pregnancy, the payoff, work conditions, Yummy stuff...
So many of those still apply (some don't, thank God) but I'm a much more private person than I used to be. I won't discuss specific children's issues any more because I'm increasingly uncomfortable with putting their lives online, even under assumed names. We've been through devastating things - deaths, mental illness, physical illness, incredible challenges... all great blog fodder but none of them suitable for me to type out here. Not yet, anyway.
What labels would I put on my life today that aren't already there? Triathlon. Mental health. Jazz. Ageing. Adult children. Money. Balance. Health, health, health.
What labels govern your life right now?
Well, off to write my first blog post of substance. Welcome back, dear readers, if you are still reading.
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