Did you hear the one about the stay at home mom and the lightbulb?

A lightbulb burned out in my kitchen today. It will be the 5th lightbulb I have replaced in my kitchen or family room in the past month alone. There are 10 high hats in these two rooms, and I buy approximately 70 lightbulbs a year to keep them all burning bright. 70 lightbulbs a year. And each one comes in a package promising me 20 months of light. I was no math major, but if I'm going through 7 bulbs a year in each socket, I'm not getting any 20 months of illumination.

I finally read the fine print on that 20 month promise today, thinking the lightbulb industry owes me a boatload of restitution here, and I found the problem. That guarantee is based, they say, on an average 4 hours a day of usage. 4 hours a day. I think I probably use mine about 15 hours a day. Who the hell only needs to see things 4 hours a day?

The answer is obvious, of course. People who have jobs and lives require only 4 hours of light in their homes a day because they are out doing interesting and important things the rest of the time. They do not require floodlights for three year old dance recitals that look suspiciously like rodeos featuring small horses in tutus. They have no need of illumination to show their 20 month olds for the gazillionth time how to fit the triangular block in the triangular hole. There are no art projects being created at their kitchen tables that will necessitate bright lights to ensure all of the glitter glue has been scrubbed off their surfaces and children after certain chaos has ensued. They simply leave the house in the morning and go do what they've gotta do. And when they come home, maybe they flick on the lights for about 4 hours, but really, I don't see why they need to because hell, it's not like they're likely to trip over Legos or Little People if the room's a little dark.

My brother wondered aloud yesterday why I haven't shared this blog with him before, and I pondered the same question myself after reading his comments. I'd have felt a little awkward saying "hey, come read my narcissistic ramblings," and that's part of the answer, certainly. But the larger answer is that I simply find it hard to see how this, the minutiae of my life with small children, could possibly be all that interesting to anyone not currently going through the same crap I am. I remember how boring it was, pre-kids, to listen to parents prattle on ad nauseum about the cute things little Suzie and Joey were up to. I remember how self-absorbed they seemed and I recognize in myself now many of the same qualities I always abhorred in those people. And I hate the fact that I often simply don't have that much to say about that many things other than parenting these days. So sometimes it's easier to say nothing. I know that my brother is interested in his niece and nephew in the abstract, and I imagine he'd like to know my kids better than our 3,000 mile distance allows for at this point in our lives. But he's still using his lightbulbs the way the manufacturers intended. And until you're burning bulbs 'round the clock, you just don't think too much about lightbulbs. (Have I killed this metaphor yet?)

Dan, thank you for saying you came to know us all a little bit better through this blog. It made me feel good about what I've written here, like the hours I've spent recording this snapshot of our lives was worth it. I hope that some day, reading this blog will give my kids insight into their childhood and will give me a nostalgic walk down memory lane. It's hard to feel significant sometimes, when your days are spent screwing in lightbulbs. When I take a step back and write things down, sometimes I can find the hidden value in what I'm doing here. And on the days I still can't see it, when someone comes along and leaves me a comment like you did yesterday, well, at least I know I'm not sitting alone here in the dark.