A blog... but why?

     I have started a blog to have a written record of the pandemonium that is my life.  I want my children to know a little bit about what I was thinking and feeling while chest deep in the chaos of diapers, homework, potty training, orthodontic appointments, teething, and nightly basketball practice (and that was just THIS week!).  I manage this while working part-time and trying to honor the commitment I made to my husband... for better or worse, or as we facetiously like to say... since we are now stuck with each other FOR-EV-ER!

     In truth, I have a terrible memory and I am sad about that.  I remember some hightlights (and lowlights) from my past, but very little of the nuanced day-to-day dealings of my life.  So, I am afraid that I will forget what I hope to remember about my children.  I have often asked my own mother to tell me things about my childhood and usually hear three standard things... that I was "shy", I folded my own clothes when I was two, and I picked out a toothbrush as a first gift for my baby brother when I was four.  From these tidbits, it seems I was an insecure child with OCD and hygene concerns.  I wish I knew more.  To be fair, my mom raised five children herself and for her, too, I think it all became something of a high precipitation "fog" of the mind.

     So, this blog is for my children.  When they ask me to tell them about their childhood, I will be able to have them read about themselves and our family through the kaleidescope of my perceptions.  So to start, today... I want M. to know how much I admire his thoughtful treatment of others, J. to learn that I adore his creative mind, A. to know that he has taught me how to be a better person, H. to hear about the pure joy he brings to each day, and E. and J. to know that I am waiting eagerly to learn about who they are uniquely meant to be.

   Honestly, I am regularly SHOCKED that I have six children and I don't feel adequately mature enough to be entrusted with the responsibility of watching over their little hearts and minds.  I am such an imperfect mother... I am domestically unskilled, often anxious, rarely on time, and hopelessly tangential... but hopefully, my children will understand one thing about me through my writing... that I tried really hard to parent them well.