My mom has a box somewhere with a beautiful Baby Book she made for me. I've even scrap-booked myself, making an album for my sister as a maid-of-honor gift.
Yet my kiddos have nothing.
I have boxes of little saved things and for my eldest, a calender with notes on it about many special little things. And if you gave me a few days I could probably find them. I think. I know I have a whole mess of photos and a bunch of little videos ... I even have some blog posts (ahahahahaha). At least we all know my babywearing life is well documented. But they don't have baby books. I was busy with my home business, they were challenging little bundles of joy and life took us down a few years of bumpy roads that made just remembering to wear pants a victory.
I journalled through all of my adolescence and young adult years. Sometimes I did it with a fancy fountain pen ... I even used a dip pen and India ink for a time in college. Somewhere in our attic is a wooden wine box completely filled with pages and pages of angst. Oddly enough, when I met my husband I stopped journalling. I tried but, well, I was happy. There WAS no angst to document and I could only wax poetic on our blossoming romance for so many pages.
I was at Target this week with my mother and a very impatient five year old and I thought it would be fun to start keeping track of the goofy stuff they say/do by writing down little tidbits on index cards and storing them in a cute little box. Target had no boxes but they had really lovely journals ... and I realized I had something to write about again.
So tonight I started books for the girls and contentedly tucked them next to the computer. And I'm happy :)
No comments:
Post a Comment