I recently read that the ratio of internet users to bloggers is roughly 1:1. Of course, once that happens, people look to other forms of entertaining themselves (monkeys!, knitting!) and the novelty wears off. I knew the end was near when I started this one, way back in '07, so I gave myself a little direction: never use the word "blog," don't make the focus me, and keep it about Dylan and the ranch. By doing those small things, I thought I could singlehandedly topple Facebook and MySpace and bring blogging back to its rightful place at the top of internet supremecy. And here I am, breaking all the rules.
There are worse things than struggling to come up with a fresh idea to write about. For example, toxic mushroom ingestion, bloody noses, and overflowing diapers -- all topics that can fill pages, but not exactly what one hopes to write about. This week, I've waited for an event ... a new tooth, first steps, an original musical score. Nothing. And it would be easy to assume that, in looking for the forest, I'm missing the trees. But trees here at casa de Eastside are spread pretty thin and I've realized that's what this "assignment" has provided: a chance to notice what I might otherwise have overlooked.
These last two weeks have been dull by Dylan's standards. No ER visits, no hallelujah moments. But they have been full of hungry Hulk growls and pee-you diaper giggles, three second hugs (a record!), and small snuggles. I've dwelled on these moments and tried to memorize them. Moments worth sharing? Hardly. They're pretty much standard fare in the canon of fatherhood, but they are the moments that matter and what make being a dad, even a clueless one, so cool.