Hello there! It’s been awhile. Almost four months in fact. The last post I wrote was a sunny account about how life was getting back to normal after our lives were turned upside down by my husband’s sudden illness in March. Back then, a month after we took him to the ER to find out that the stomach flu we suspected was actually a case of septic shock and kidney failure, I was still running on adrenaline and thrilled at our good fortune at his incredible turn-around. I wish I could tell you how to avoid septic shock, but we still don’t know what caused it and probably never will. It’s a medical mystery. As his health continued to improve, we edged back into our previous routines of work, school, and kids, initially happy to be doing even the most basic of tasks.
Having never experienced a health crisis like this before, I didn’t realize how complicated the aftermath would be. There was the initial drama, when your life suddenly is unrecognizable, and then the immense relief and euphoria upon the full recovery and the impatience to get back to “normal”. Yet what I wasn’t ready for is the subtle PTSD (not sure how else to describe it) that comes on after “normal” is achieved. Suddenly, three months out, we were back in the old routine – jobs, work, kids – during an especially busy June, a month that can test a parent’s patience under the best of circumstances. But things weren’t quite the same. A friend, who had been through something similar with her daughter warned me about this saying, “you’re supposed to be happy and grateful all the time, but in fact you are exhausted and irritable” which turned out to be true. It was hard enough to get through the workday, let alone take on all of the projects I had been excited to do before this all went down. Summer vacation couldn’t have arrived at a better time. We got out of town, spent time with our family, rode lots of bikes and had lots of picnics.
With all the extra time on my hands, it seemed about as good a time as any to have a blog-related identity crisis. While shirking all but the most essential domestic duties and not writing much, I had lots of time to think about Domaphile. What is this online endeavor about anyway? It’s not really an “urban homesteading” blog. However fascinated I am with the idea of churning butter or growing food in my Windowfarm, I am merely a dabbler when it comes to those kinds of activities. It’s not so much a cooking blog, either. Though I love to share recipes, there are much better places to get your food inspiration online. Mommy blog? Nope. Not that either, although I have written about my children from time to time. Once you exclude those identities, you are basically left with…. composting. Is Domaphile a composting blog? That would certainly narrow down my readership! Really, it’s really just my online diary. A place where I can explore all of those topics through my particular lens of being a working-parent in a small apartment in a large city. But still, with a full-time job and two children, why bother to keep a blog at all? Isn’t that so 2008? Shouldn’t I just throw out some tweets and call it a day? This is what I pondered while sitting by the lake and doing all sorts of vacation-type things. None of them particularly domestic.
Summer is an interesting phenomenon. You can’t really assess whether or not you are “having a good summer” until it’s nearly over. Now that it is coming to a close, I realize that we did, in fact, have a true break from the machine that chugs along from September through June, giving us a chance to shake off some of that post-trauma ennui. And in the end, I realized how much I missed the community of writing and posting. So here I am again. Ready for a new year and some new projects. Domaphile, I just can’t quit you.