The idea of writing about my day to day life has long been one that intrigued me. I have another blog-thing, but it's mostly for keeping in touch with a group of folks who, while being dear friends, lack that certain something in the parenthood department. Namely, children.
I'm not sure why, but it's hard to pour my heart out about the things that really matter to me and hear the echo of an empty room. I don't blame them for their inability to relate, but I need to either just write for my own self or have some kind of feedback. I'm choosing the former, and possibly the latter if I ever decide to share this with other people. But mostly it's for me.
Now back to that intrigue thing. I believe it comes from the simple fact that as I age, I can't remember what I had for breakfast - never mind the little moments in each day that make me laugh and keep me sane. Like my babies, who are rapidly growing independent, these moments slip away a little bit at a time. Somehow the idea of losing them forever is more than I can handle if I think about it too hard.
I'm adding some posts from my other journal here, and backdating this one so it appears at the beginning.
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