Did you ever wonder about some aspects of blogging? Like what it would be like when your children read your archives?
My children read my blog, and they are mostly grown. But I did start when they were younger, and long term readers have noticed that the stories change over time. less about them and the cute / funny / embarrassing things they have said and done and more about me. part of that may be due to me growing older and more introspective. part of it is the kids themselves are growing older, growing up (up, up, waaay up) and have their own stories to tell. I have been leaving those to them. (they say I can’t tell them right anyway. )
But part of it has been a conscious awareness of the permanent state of the internet. The once you put it out there you can’t take it back part. The selectiveness of what is said. Of course, I don’t mention the dust elephants in the corner (I wish I were exaggerating) or the fact I rarely get fully dressed before noon, and sometimes not even after that, or I have to sometimes upload pictures carefully so you can’t tell that emma did actually wear that shirt 3 days in a row. huh.
It’s a mental sifting. Twitter is my brain dump and customer service – my work at home water cooler. My blog is my brain’s archive of my life. It is curious, this last child of mine. Her life is entirely documented (well, mostly) online. And while I am reading new articles cropping up at this being the norm for today’s parent, I still remember the small crowd of us starting out.
I think of it being ten years this July since my grandmother died and I still haven’t uploaded those entries. They were when I hand-coded the pages. Maybe this year it’s time.
I think of Emma coming into our office this afternoon, announcing that she heard blogging was dead and being replaced by twitter and facebook. Then we had an actual intelligent conversation about what that meant and if blogs really *were* dead. (not really)
I think of seeing Isabella on the webcam, when it’s too snowy to drive down to see them yesterday, of Addison saying my last blog entry was cute, and it meant it sincerely not sarcastically.
I think of Christmastime, showing Kaytlyn copies of my grandmother’s daily diaries. “Andrea up for Christmas,” it says. I spent my first Christmas at my grandmother’s house. My granddaughter did too.
I think maybe my blog is quite a lot like my grandmother’s diaries. Except not in boxes.
I did quilt a little today. Finished off one the other day, stuck a label on it. Couldn’t find the label I have that were Nanny’s, but I will. And I will take a picture of them together.
This climbing a mountain and turning around is very circle of life, and I am mixing my metaphors now.