““Who cares if no one reads this mom! Just read it to us, we think you’re awesome!” ”
Monday morning, I sat and typed out a quick blog post about my new computer. Little did I know that it would lead me to read a few of my blog posts from years past, to my curious children. Posts I wrote about our family, making childhood magical, open letters I wrote to them on their birthdays, and even a post I wrote last Christmas that I never shared. By the end of it all, the girls were all crying and Jonathan was really feeling all in his feels about how much I love him. Three children, who read 2-3 chapter books a week, boosted my ego by telling me that I’m actually a really good writer, even if I might not always believe in myself.
Could I put this all in a written journal? Sure. Am I going to? Probably not. Do I enjoy typing and incorporating photos to go along with those words? You Bet I do! Here’s what I didn’t expect to really enjoy, re-reading my random thoughts and ramblings and revisiting my brain. I’m not generally one to whine and complain about my husband and children, especially on the internet for all to see. (That’s not to say that I don’t get annoyed or frustrated with them on occasion… I just don’t air it in public) But I was pleasantly surprised to read that there was no whif of griping, just a common theme of “JORDANNE PUT DOWN YOUR PHONE, YOU’RE MISSING IT ALL!” You’d think by now, I’d have learned, but what’s that saying about the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing over again and expecting different results.
I sat there at the dinner table, Monday night, reading more posts aloud to Ryan, most of them he had never read, because the man doesn’t do social media. One in particular, was the post from 10.14.16. I could barely read the words aloud through sobs and whimpers. “I WROTE THIS?” I just couldn’t believe that my brain, the same brain that walks into a room and has no recollection of why I’m there, a sleep deprived mom brain, could sit down and form words and sentences, so raw and beautiful. The post I’m referring to was me pleading with God to give us another baby. We struggled with unexplained infertility for our first two babies, and even had a miscarriage in between and I was feeling very exhausted from the struggle. I found out a few weeks later that I got pregnant shortly after writing that.
As I’ve said before, this has always been an outlet for me, back in high school and my livejournal days. Back when I separated every thought with an ellipses and my daily mood was always some Taking Back Sunday song. Even if no one reads this. I’m going to write, because I feel I need it.
My mom, now in her early 60s, loves to sit and chat with me about my childhood (her early motherhood). I would bring up amazing things she did, or adventures we went on, projects we made, songs we used to sing, memories I have that she doesn’t remember. “I’m so glad you remember all this stuff, because somehow I don’t remember any of it! I was in survival mode with five kids.” I’m not sure how she couldn’t remember, she was the most present and attentive mom around, but in the same vein, I look back at photos from the past 11 years and there’s blank spots in my memory! Usually during hard or difficult times, I remember the traumatic thing that was going on, but not the beautiful memories that continue to play out even through the struggle. I wonder if thats the same for her.
I think about this past summer, as we honored the life of my cousin, who was taken from this world way too early. It was a hard, unimaginable weekend, full of tears and grief. But even in the midst of all that, my kids made memories with me and Ryan. Happy, joy-filled, core memories. So maybe it’s kinda like that. We don’t get to pick and choose what our kids remember, but we are responsible for how we make them feel. The trip was hard, but we made sure to make it an adventure, as we always do. As moms, we need to take that job seriously.
