Sigh.

I hate being too busy to write.

But, it seems that in an effort to be a responsible adult, writing of any kind has become a luxury. I've made some tasty meals lately. But haven't written about it.

Jonas has been super cute. But I haven't written about it.

Life has been interesting in various ways, but I haven't written about it.

It's just not right.

And that's just blogging. I'm not even talking about the beginnings of a novel gathering dust. Or that series of children's books I keep talking about. Or some other crazy idea that my sister and I have come up with in response to seeing the kind of stuff that actually gets produced/published these days.

It's all so sad.

But now, as I look at my little guy pulling his father's hair and attacking his face (it's his version of giving you kisses) I figure its not SO bad.