I write this blog about my once tiny twin boys. Who reads this blog, you ask?
Below are selected search terms that have led people to my site in search of…something.
- street price for an ounce of smackaroo?
- boobs stream
- bloody birthday cake
- is this “stream of consciousness” talking typical of 4-year-olds?
- are we done here
- boy bully poop
- saving daylight zombie
- lockdown lollipops
- hide and seek, grown up style. wanting to hide needing to be sought
- stream of consciousness ” on and on and on little boy name wilford
- puking pirate
- nicu sucks
Well, that last one makes all the sense in the world.
Last week I attended BlogHer 14 – the 10th annual conference for women in the blogosphere (and anyone else interested in attending). Continue reading
Duffy from SureD It’s All Good tagged me in a process post. (She called me one of her favorite bloggers – teehee!) Duffy is a kindred spirit, and mother of two preschoolers of her very own. In a rare divergence from poop discussions, she asked me if I’d be willing to take part in a “blog tour.”
This is basically where writers geek out with one another and talk about the who, what, when, where, why and how on our interpretation of the written word. So prepare yourself for a ride through the rabbit hole that is the wonderland of how my mind works. Continue reading
Today I realized this little blogging endeavor of mine has been going on over four years. My sons’ lives have quite literally been blogged since birth. In no way has my story ever arced the way I expected – I guess that’s partially what keeps me writing.
Thank you for being part of my journey, and for reading the highlights behind the headaches and hilarity that Search and Destroy bestow upon their ever expanding world.
In honor of Stream of the Conscious’ fourth blogiversary, I give you a few of the more memorable comments I’ve actually heard myself saying. Continue reading
The little boy was afraid of the dark…
Years ago I brought two tiny babies home from the hospital. Turns out, the constant flicker of fluorescent lights and unceasing beeping alerts from monitors conditioned these small people to distrust the dark. (What – you mean like my womb where they were supposed to stay?)
Not to mention that after three months planning the great escape, followed by three months in baby jail, there was a lot of the world to explore. So I told my newborns a bedtime story.
Every night the bedtime stories are read. Teeth are brushed. Good nights are said. And 30 seconds after the lights are dimmed will be the pitter-patter of little feet.
No matter how tired the parents are – those little ones never want to go to sleep. Continue reading