
Sometimes getting started is the hardest part. For me, this has certainly been true. Starting a workout, starting a project, starting a blog…. I’ve talked about and thought about it for years. I’ve journaled off and on my entire life. I have no less than 10 journals with a few pages of writing and then an abundance of blank ones. I have notebooks I’ve kept solely because one day I wrote down something I didn’t want to forget. Forgetfulness…..yeah, that’s a thing. I can hear my mama saying to me when my kids were toddlers and they did or said something funny, sweet, insightful……”you better write that down so you don’t forget.” Uh huh. Sure. I’ll get right to that in between naps, and laundry and cleaning, and baths, and dinner. Time. It’s a gift and a curse. When I have no free time, I think of all the things I would do if only I had more time. Yet when free time occurs, I rarely do all the things I said I would do. Writing things down….I tended to put that off. I mean, what he/ she said was so funny, so sweet, so thoughtful…..there’s no way I would ever forget, right?! Unfortunately I must admit what many of us figure out when we get older……my mother was RIGHT! I cringe at all the sweet moments I failed to record. Now as my kids are getting older, they will ask me questions about what they were like as a baby/toddler/kindergartner. Sometimes, I know the answer and give it to them on the spot while mentally patting myself on the back for remembering. Other times, I begin to answer only to figure out half way through the explanation that I am in fact describing the wrong child. I can see myself as an adolescent rolling my eyes at my mother when she would do something like this: “I think it was Jamie that did that, no wait, maybe it was Brit. Hmmm. It was one of you.” I’m sure my angsty teen self was thinking, “how can she have no clue which of us it was? Wasn’t she there? I guess it’s no surprise since she never finished my baby book. Lots of blank pages. Geez. Being a middle child is like being invisible. I’m just the hand-me-down kid.” Thankfully, my older, mother-of-three self is more understanding. I now offer my mom all the grace in the world for those oversights and my sincerest apologies for my judgmental tone. I stand in awe at everything she did for us growing up. Even more importantly, I have a mother who believes in forgiveness and loves me unconditionally. The older I get the wiser my mother seems. She set the bar impossibly high on what it means to be a good mom. And while I know I’m nowhere near her level as a mom, if I can land within sight of her, I’ll be doing good. So Mama, if you ever read this, I’m sorry for all the things my younger self said or expressed through dramatic body language. You may not have be able to recall my favorite foods or funny moments. You don’t still have my first grade drawings or cherished Cabbage Patch Dolls. You didn’t save many material items from our childhood (except for the 127 wooden Christmas Tree ornaments we decorated with tacky glitter and sequins at the church that one year…I mean, were we the only kids there? We could cover a small forest with those ornaments). But you saved the most important thing you ever gave us. Love. You showed us profound love that was unconditional through every stage of life. You’ve walked beside me at my very best. You’ve picked me up off the ground at my very worst. You’ve been present over perfect. You’ve shown me how to accept love and give love and you’ve taught me that love is infinite. So thank you. Not for the scrapbooks chronicling my childhood. Not for the boxes of keepsakes from days past. None of that could ever equate to the gift of unconditional love.
So today, I’m getting started. I’m writing the very first page. Will this be an outlet for myself to write down all my thoughts and feelings? Or will it be a time capsule of all the big and small moments of my children’s lives? I’m really not sure. I hope its a little bit of both. I guess time will tell. One thing is for certain. Time is passing quickly. The days are long but the years are short. And as time passes, the memories do fade a little. I guess that’s to make room for all the new. But call me a romantic or nostalgic, but I want a place to return to years down the road. Perhaps I’ll be on a front porch looking out at the ocean with nothing but time on my hands. I’ll feel content with my life but will savor the gift I left for myself years ago. For a brief moment, I hope I can escape to the past and remember and reflect on this beautiful, broken, blessed chaos life. So for now, I have started and I’ll see where it goes. I mean the hard part is over right? Now on to the follow through……