Every time something happens to a family member or friend that could be construed as being even a tiny bit embarrassing, looks dart in my direction and voices command me, "DO NOT blog about this."
So you don't know even a tenth of the stuff I COULD be writing, although I do manage to write about some of my friends and family anyway by disguising the person enough so that anybody outside the family won't know anything, which makes blogging completely pointless. (You can read more about that
HERE.)
But I ramble.
So imagine my surprise when one of my granddaughters, Sarah, said, "Grandma, how come you blog about so and so and so and so, but you never blog about me or my brothers?" I don't remember blogging about her sister, either, but the fact that she left her sister out means I must have, but I have forgotten. I'll have to look at all my blogs to find her.
In my defense, I'm hardly ever with her brothers and sister or her and her family, so it's hard to write about something WHEN NOBODY TELLS ME WHAT'S HAPPENING! Also, EVERYBODY LIVES TOO FAR AWAY!
And yet – I do remember blogging about one of her brothers
HERE – it was my first (and only – so far) video blog. Maybe Sarah missed that one.
(Use Ellen's voice here)
anyway, I decided to blog about Sarah. You see her above with her husband and daughter. Sarah looks like her mommy (my oldest baby – who just celebrated her 40th birthday – I wrote about her
HERE), and Ayla, Sarah's daughter, looks just like her mommy. All three of them are so much alike in so many ways, in fact, that I call them the Clone Heads.
OK, I really don't call them the Clone Heads.
And now to relate a Sarah story to you: Once upon a time in a tiny village waaaay south of Chicago, Sarah's grandma bought a trailer in June the year Sarah was born. Sarah, who was born that following December, and her mommy and daddy (before her three brothers were born), lived in an apartment in Chicago.
When Sarah, who always saw everything as food, was finally able to articulate her thoughts, she looked intently as we drove down the street and asked, "Why do we live in a cracker house and you live in a hot dog house?"
And I wanted to say, "How come you see everything as food? Do your parents never feed you?"
But I didn't. So we went to my house where I fed her crackers and hot dogs.
The truth is I wish blogging had been around when they were little, because now, when I remember things that happened, I don't remember who they happened TO. For instance, was it Sarah in this scenario:
I always tickled (still do) my grandchildren and said things like, "You silly little goof ball." And then one of them – was it Sarah? – said to me once, "You silly little football."
Now that I think about it, it couldn't have been Sarah, because a football isn't a food item.
