I was in middle school when I realized that writing had a true place in my heart. Bitter about a circumstance, too young to fully grasp the reality and too angry to see past the situation. I remember my mother telling me to write a letter to the person. Tell them everything, how you're feeling, that your angry, tell them why. But, she said, you won't ever actually send it, it's just for you.  I didn't give it a second thought, I went to my room and I wrote and wrote and wrote. I wrote with reckless abandon, I knew my mother had said I wouldn't actually send this, but in my heart I believed I would. I imagined the person opening the letter and reading my thoughts, my heart … [Read more...]

I hear a good bit of chatter in the blog world that accuses blogs like mine of not being real enough. I want to blog about our life and all of the fun things we do. I want to tell you when I'm sad that she's growing up so quickly. I want to share my heart with you. Sure, I could blog about messy kitchens and overflowing laundry rooms but you won't find my heart or any piece of me there, in those places. In a world where I'm not certain about many things I am certain about this one thing: In twenty years, I won't wish I had written about the dirty dishes. I won't long for the piles of laundry. I won't regret that I didn't spend a little more time mopping the kitchen floor or wiping … [Read more...]