Reflections...

Lately I have been feeling a longing to write again.

Part of it started when Jeffrey chided me this week for carelessly discarding a program from Mia's STEAM performance at school.  "Don't you want to save it for her 'baby book?'" he queried.

"Nope," I flatly replied.

"Well, at least our kids have a dad who takes a lot of pictures of them, even if we don't do anything with them, so they will have some evidence of their childhoods."

"Yep, they're lucky to have you." I remarked and quickly ended the conversation and the guilt trip.

Then, I had my dad comment about how he used to enjoy reading all my writing about the girls, back when I blogged-- you know, back in 2008 when it was THE THING to do.

Now, I moved on to 2015, and I no longer blog.

I think most of my friends who I used to follow and enjoy their posts and anecdotes and keep up on their mommy lives have given it up too.  Everyone moved on to Facebook and Instagram and Twitter and other technologies that I have never really used.

And, that was good.  It freed up some time and space.  But, it also ended a source of creativity for me.

And, it brought death to the one record I was keeping of my family life.

Sure, I write in a journal, but that is NOT a record of family life, nor something that should be read.  That is therapy.  I pray my children never turn to my journals to assess what life was like when they were growing up because there would be only one rational conclusion:  mom was a basket case!

And, while that may be a very valid part of the story, it is not the whole story.

My blog (like most individual's blogs) was also not the whole story.  I always tried to be authentic, but the recorded times tend to be the highs, and some lows, less of the doldrums of daily living.  But, at least it was another window into my world, into my heart.

And, so, today I am feeling rather nostalgic.  I am wondering if I could write again.  Just for me,  and for my girls.  I no longer care if anyone else may read my ramblings.  But, I think I may care.

Can I look back and recall these days?  This era of living?  Will I remember what it was like to be here, now, at this stage of life in even just a few years?

Because as much as I think I will remember, I forget.  And, time passes me by, and I wonder if I have relished the moments enough.  I wish that I had written more of them down.  Little things:  like trips in the evenings to the community pool in Boise or hikes in the foothills.  The miracle of buying our current home.  The days of doubt and fear.  The months of Mia's anxiety, followed by break throughs.  Homeschooling lessons in the park that were like magic, and homeschooling lessons at home that were like hell.  Moments together and little funny things that were said.  Connections.  Joys.  Pains.

I wish I could take these days and seal them in a jar, preserve them for times when the interruptions, hugs, noises, quarrels, and laughs of children will be long gone.   Then, I could lift them from a shelf, twist them open, and savor them by the spoonful.

And, maybe, just maybe, if I take up writing again, I will have a few more memories to store.  A few more days that will stay vibrant and alive in my pantry rather than fading into a muted mass.