I used to blog because it was a necessity.  I had to.  It allowed me to translate the routine of nursing, diapers, and baby babble into adult language – giving tangible meaning to a largely quiet day from my mouth.

Today – being creative {quietly in front of my computer screen} is a luxury. 

A luxury.  A craft and connection that my fingers and my mind misses.

My words are formed in quickly edited pictures on Instagram instead.  They say a picture is worth a thousand words.  While my pictures aren’t quality, thanks to my obtuse Otterbox, and having an hackneyed iPhone, those dark photos capture my life . . . moments of my day. 

The meaning.  Meaning that I don’t see until I look through my IG stream.

Instagram is my stream of consciousness.  Much like how blogging initially replaced journaling.  Instagram has replaced blogging.

Longingly I spent way to much time on my Instagram friend’s blog, One Simple Red Stitch, recently.  And for the life of me, I was baffled as to why her blog drew me in.  Not that there is anything bad about her blog – like I said I was sucked it.  I genuinely like her blog.

But hat compelled me to . . . linger?  To look at multiple posts?

And it hit me. 

Life.  Pure life.  Family.  Kids.  Life. 

What do you look for in a blog?  What sucks you in like a baster (we did just have Thanksgiving)?  What do you hope to see?

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