Musings on blogging (Anna)

The thing you need to understand about us is that we're both introverts. So we both have a lot going on in our heads, only some of which is manifested in the outside world.

What that means for our blog is that there are many more posts that we have written in our heads than actually appear here. We think about blogging, but don't actually do it (and occasionally forget that there's a difference).

In the blog within our minds, we tell you all sorts of things. For example, we told you all about our two weekends away recently - a night at Whistler, and two nights at Harrison Hot Springs - and what a good mood Emma was in. We told you about going out to dinner as a family...and then dessert because she was so well-behaved, and about giggles and splashes in the pool, and about long walks by the water. And how, when Caroline was sprawled out on the bed reading the paper, I said to Emma, "Emma, can you go and convince Mummy that it's time for us to stop reading the paper and go out for a walk," and she went over to Caroline and started pulling on her feet saying, "Pliz, Mummy, come." And our blog posts in our mind perfectly capture the tenderness and love of that moment.

And in this fictional blog, there are lovely photos of Emma dressed for all kinds of weather, playing all kinds of games. There are videos of her dancing, and singing, and playing with her musical caterpillar, and talking to us, and racing up and down hotel corridors and going up and down stairs. And there are photos of her cuddling us and nuzzling us and family photos of all three of us and even some photos of Emma's friends and our friends, and some photos of special occasions, and...well, you get the picture, so to speak. Our inner worlds are full of colour and life.

So it's sometimes with a bit of shock that we realise how little we post, and how long we can go without posting crucial things like photos and videos. This post being yet another case in point.

Having said that, some photos and videos do actually exist. Possibly we will organize them before Emma is old enough to hold a grudge, or possibly we will simply hand her the 21st century equivalent of a shoe box full of photos - a memory stick - and say, "Voila. Your childhood."

Emma, I very rarely write to you directly on this blog because I can't quite get my head around writing for an audience that not only does not, strictly speaking, exist yet, but that will also be heavily shaped by what I do between now and then - and it's only in some weird space-time continuum warp that you are old enough to be an audience for this. But if you're ever reading this at some point in the future, I want you to know that our hopelessness in keeping up with the blog, and our occasional hoeplessness at taking photos of you doing fun things, is not a reflection on how much we love you or how wonderful you are, or how in love we are with your wonderfully cute antics, or how crazy we are about photos and video of you. And it's not a reflection on how much we care about our extended community or whether we think that they should have regular photo updates (which we actually think does matter, even though our actions don''t support this belief).

You need to know that you are no less loved than those fabulously organized parents who maintain yearly photograph albums - neatly labelled and in perfect chronological order (done at the time, no less, and not just on the eve of an 18th birthday party!)

It's partly because we're a little bit hopeless and disorganized. And it's a lot to do with the fact that we're tired and trying to do a million things at once. And it's mostly to do with the fact that we make choices to do other things. Sometimes, when we could be uploading photos, we are curled up with you reading a book. Sometimes when we could be blogging, we are curled up together protecting the relationship between your parents. Sometimes, when we could be recounting the beautiful things you do, we are working on our own projects and dreams, and sowing seeds for the future, while simultaneously keeping ourselves sane enough to be able to continue to juggle a million things. And sometimes, we are having too much fun in the moment - chasing you across the grass, or turning you upside down and tickling you, telling you stories about the world, or putting on silly voices - to remember to bring out the camera and capture the fun. (Oh, and, ahem, sometimes our camera is out of batteries because your Mumma, once again, got distracted by the moth-like flitter of a passing idea and left the camera on all night. Possibly something that will drive you crazy when you are older. Or maybe you will just take it as an endearing habit of your dear ol' Mumma).

And for those of you - surprisingly many - who still loyally turn up to the read our blog despite the lack of visual aids or commitment to post regularly, bear with us. We'd like to be different people. But we're not. Just imagine the lively, humorous, insightful and fully-illustrated blog posts in our heads, and you'll be fully up-to-the-minute with our daily lives.