Meat, a Reprise (OR: Histrionics Will Get You What You Want)

A while ago, someone in this household had a mild fit ofhistrionics. Now, I’m not naming names or anything, but I will say that she’s the only female in the household of voting age. Anyway, magically within days of this episode, a major gift card to Fogo de Chao appeared in our mailbox. The note with it said just, “Merry Christmas!” Wow, I felt so loved. Plus, meat!

So that was several months ago. And finally this past week, we went! (The reason it took so long was both slackerliness and the effort to coordinate schedules and have me not freaking out about leaving a baby at home with someone else.) It was so lovely to go out to lunch with my delightful hubby and leave all the kids behind. We dressed up a little, we talked about whatever we felt like, and we could focus on just a single conversation instead of three or four (which always feels like such a luxury).

There was guarana (a Brazilian soda), Antartica brand (the best). There were cheesebreads (essential at a churrasceria). There were sticks and sticks full of meat. Meat. MEAT! (I promise, by the way, that I am not always this obsessed with meat.) There was filet mignon wrapped in bacon. Filet mignon wrapped in bacon. Did you know that filet mignon does, in fact, have a different, softer, more fabulous texture than regular chunks of meat? I did not.

So the food was lovely, and the only real drawback was that they did not have sticks of caramelized pineapple that they carried around (sigh, Braza Grill, sigh). Fortunately, they did have caramelized pineapple on the dessert menu, so even though we were both stuffed and bursting at the seams, we still ordered dessert. After we ate, we pretty much had to waddle back to the car (at least a block’s walk--sheer gastric agony).

We really enjoyed our Fogo de Chao meal. Truthfully, we probably won’t go back except maybe for a rare occasion. It’s just not in our usual price range. But that’s the fun of trying something new and extravagant--it’s an experience to savor for its novelty and fun.

When the server came to show us the dessert menu, he asked if we were there celebrating anything special. Brice said something about an early Valentine’s Day, and I kind of mumbled something about not having our kids with us. But after he left, we realized this is how the conversation really should have gone:

Server: Are you celebrating anything special?

Me: Meat.

Brice: And also . . . meat.

So, to the anonymous benefactor who sent the gift card: We thank you! We celebrate your thoughtfulness. And also . . . meat.

This used to be fun.

It’s been almost four years since I started writing on our blog. I don’t remember exactly the process of deciding to share my now-infamous Mother’s Day thoughts here, but I do remember how wonderful it felt to write it all down and hit that “Publish” button. It didn’t matter that maybe only one or two siblings would read it. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t pretty. All that mattered was that I’d thought of something and wanted to put it here, as a record, almost a public journal.

It continued to be that way for a long time. I would write sporadically, whenever I came up with something that I thought was funny or silly or thought provoking or interesting. Confessional: That time I admitted that I’ve used my babies as napkins. Frustrated: That conversation with my hair stylist about motherhood. Assorted: The animal antics, the sartorial experiments, the food! And, honestly, who could forget the six geese-a-laying?*

But somewhere along the way, I started thinking about numbers. And pictures and readability. And making sure every post mattered somehow and was totally representative of the important things in our lives. And was complete. Was worth posting on Facebook. Deep, meaningful, worth advertising to friends and family. Blah blah blah.

I got so concerned with curating the blog perfectly, making it just so. So now every time I think about blogging, I think about all of this stuff.

And it’s just not fun anymore.

And because it’s not fun, I’ve missed out on sharing things I really wanted to share—big things like Coriel’s epic Muddy Buddy obstacle course race that we held in our yard last year, little things like the time I broke out into uncontrollable laughter when Koa peed on his own face.

So ptui! on all of that. I want this to be fun again. So, from here on out:

~ I may or may not notify the world of Facebook that I’ve written something here. Sometimes yes, sometimes no, depending wholly on my own whims. If you actually want to read my posts, you’ll just have to figure out how to follow me from the blog. Or figure out how to get carrier pigeons to bring you notifications.

~ There may or may not be pictures.

~ I will make little-to-no attempt to present a complete picture of my life here. For my foo who live far away, sorry. I’d love to say that I’ll try harder to keep you up to date on our lives, but that would be a bald-faced lie.**

~ I will continue to write sporadically—I mean, really sporadically—but I will no longer feel guilty about it. If you want to hear from me more, I write equally sporadically at Callooh Callay Callay and fortnightly-ish at MMW (and here’s a handy link to just my posts).

~ I will not apologize for occasionally being badly edited or long-winded or whatever. Because it just takes too much time sometimes, and I get all perfectionist-y, upon which I spit!***

And I think that covers it. If I sound cranky, it might be because I slightly am. I don’t like that I have let blogging turn into drudgery. I want it to be fun again!

On that note, I will leave you with this: (It is most amusing if you flip quickly back and forth between the two pictures.)

* The answer to that question, I am well-aware, is everyone on the planet except for me.

** Is that the right expression? Bald-faced? Because that seems ridiculous to me.

*** Okay, if we’re being honest, I will undoubtedly continue to apologize for ridiculous things like missing smart quotes and badly used semicolons, but that’s just how I roll.