A funny thing happened on the way to the....
I feel like that line is my life: I was going to wash the dishes, but got distracted when a funny thing happened. Or, I really need to fold the laundry, but I'll do it soon because some funny thing just happened...
I'm great at procrastinating. Especially when something funny grabs my attention (and it usually does!). This past week was no different.
My sister called me a couple of weeks ago and asked me if I remembered when her (now 17 year old) daughter first began talking. I sort of ignored her question for a while, because who can remember that far back! The more I thought about, I realized that I might have her answer in one of my old diaries.
During one of my fly lady flings, I came across a stack of diaries. I was stuck. Do I throw them out? Or keep them. I definitely didn't need them, but I really didn't want to get rid of them. I called my born-organized sister for help. She said, if it's something that you love so much that you will always be upset that you got rid of it, then keep it. So I kept my diaries from my childhood.
Now, when I needed to get some information from 15 plus years ago, the diaries, I hoped, would prove to be helpful. I was wrong on two counts. One - I never wrote when my niece started talking so I wasted my time. Two - I was very entertained because so many funny things happened, so I wasted A LOT of time.
As a kid, I loved writing in my diary. I wrote about my friends (and enemies) in school. I wrote about different life events - both significant, and inconsequential. I wrote about dating, and even had some foresight to write pieces of advice to my kids (who surely would read these down the road). I wrote and wrote until one day, soon after I got married, I stopped.
I don't know why I stopped. Was it my perfectionism? Did I think that I was too grown up to keep a diary? Or maybe I was too afraid to write things that people might read down the road? Maybe it was because now I can blog, so diaries must be for kids while blogging is for adults.
An interesting and completely random thing occurred two weeks ago. My mother in law bought me a present: a diary. I couldn't believe it. Maybe this was the world's way of telling me that a diary is something for me -- if I enjoy it, there is no reason I should stop doing it.
People today are always searching for help. Whether it be in therapies, self help books, or even flylady. We turn to friends and family to talk things through. And some people write in their diaries.
I love my blog, and, like my diaries when I was a kid, I wish I wrote more often. But my blog isn't a diary. It's not about my friends, and my family. Its not about my personal thoughts, or dreams. My blog is in some ways a motivation for me -- to help me be the best mom and homemaker I can be. On the other hand, my diary is for me. I don't have to choose my words carefully, or try get the reader's attention. It isn't there for anyone but me. It doesn't have to be perfect. And maybe, when I finish the diary I'm writing in now, I'll buy another one - one with a pretty lock and key. And I'll feel like a kid again.