In The Beginning...

Dear Diary, how trite is that? From about the age of 13 I've kept a diary or a journal.  My dad bought me my first one. Believe it or not HE kept a journal.  How often do you hear of a grown man doing that?  He was an avid reader and liked to write his thoughts down.  I LOVED having my own journal. He promised that no one would be allowed to read it. I have no idea if any of my siblings or my parents read it, but I always felt secure that it was secret.  It was mine alone, to share my secrets. You know, stupid boy crushes, highs and lows.  Grumblings about parents, family or friends.  It is a great sense of freedom to let it all hang out.  Write your deepest thoughts down on paper.  Work out your problems and make sense of your thoughts.  Just the act of forming looping letters is soothing in some way, even when rambling about nothing in particular.

So here I am now at the ripe old age of 30 still keeping a journal. I don't usually make a concerted effort to hide it from my husband or kids. I supposed since my journals have always been private property it's never occurred to me that they would read it. Although kids being kids, and curious by nature I should probably stop leaving them out in the open. There are things that I write that I would never want them to read about.  Isn't it human nature for you to want your kids to think you are better than you really are? That you aren't wrapped up in pettiness and vindictiveness sometimes?


The baby is down for the night.  No more screaming.  I don't know what the deal is with Portia lately but condor screeching all day long can drive a woman batty!  It's almost time for the boys to go to bed.  Nick and Adrian are outside playing. They should be worn out and ready for bed shortly.  Shower time, story time, bed time. I think Mark will be playing Call of Duty tonight, so then it'll be quiet time for mama.  How I look forward to the quiet time!