Dear Bridget....Love, Me

I started keeping a diary when I was twelve years old. On a tablet of recycled newsprint, yellowish in color and with just a bit of a crumbly texture, this was the place I wrote about school, friends, boys, family, vacations, and the highs and the lows of any given day.

Every entry started with "Dear Bridget" and ended with "Love, Me". Often punctuated with an assortment of frownie faces or smiley faces, this tablet was full of my secret thoughts that I strove to keep hidden from my sisters. I always thought I was successful in this, but really, was I? Hopefully, if they read this now, they won't admit to it. Some things are better left unsaid. 

I continued to journal on and off again through the years, never in a locked diary, but in an assortment of spiral bound notebooks of various colors and sizes. I would often start journaling at the start of each pregnancy, but then dwindling off as my time slipped ever more quickly through the hourglass. Babies have a way of doing that. You know, speeding up the sand so that before you know it, they are 21 and you are wondering about all the moments you missed jotting down. 

I always had good intentions. I wanted to remember each cute phrase, each moment that made me laugh or cry. The good, the bad and the ugly. But Life would happen and it got busy. The notebook would be left unfinished once again. 

In a way, that's good. It meant that life was full. Life was dynamic. Time to write fell to the wayside. 

As of late, that's a little how my life is again. (Disclaimer: Except for the pregnancy part!) Busyness takes ahold and I don't take the time to write. I think it is somehow not as important as the dishes, the laundry, exercising, running errands, going to appointments, meetings, cooking...

But it is. 

It gives me balance and keeps me focused somehow. I just don't like it when the writing becomes lumped into the same place as the dishes, the laundry, exercising, and running errands. I don't want "write the blog" to become a chore on the lengthy "to-do" list. 

But I miss it. 

I have scraps of paper with ideas, thoughts, and moments to remember. I just don't have time. Unless I don't do the dishes. 

Wait. I like that idea. 

Love, Me