The good news is that I am so lucky to be living with my brother's family so that I get to be the live-in-but-with-her-own-apartment-in-the-basement Aunt Rachel (and don't even try to compare my life to Family Matters, because I always hated that show. And it wasn't even necessarily Steve Urkel that was the worst - I mean when he turned into Stefan Urquelle, he was pretty darn smooth. It was the dad and even Laura. They were always so rude, but I digress . . .) I get to enjoy a little slice of heaven daily and I love it. I don't even mind changing diapers as strange as that sounds. It's just nice to be part of the important work of nurturing. So when you're having a hard day with your babies (no matter how old) just think of your friend, Rachel, who is working daily to keep her faith and hope alive that she will get to be just like you someday.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Ok, so I feel I should clarify something after my last (actually my first) post. Married people are cool and being married is the bomb (I have inside sources). These are truly feelings that I espouse. After posting I realized that my opening statements may have come off sounding like I look down on married women and especially stay at home moms. Nothing could be farther from the truth. I am, in fact, extremely jealous of them. Their life is exactly what I want and what I expected to be doing by now. The problem is that I often have a hard time relating because I feel like I have been single my whole life . . . oh wait! I HAVE BEEN SINGLE MY WHOLE LIFE! Thirty years and 223 days to be exact. Which . . . is . . . kind of a long time (especially when you start liking boys and dreaming of marriage at an early age). Anyway, I don't mean to sound desperate, cause I'm not. But I really wish I were in their shoes. Because even though changing diapers isn't always fun and trying to get kids to pay attention to what your saying sometimes feels IMPOSSIBLE, at least you know why you're doing what you're doing. You have these amazing gifts from God to bring up right and teach them to be caring human beings and contributing members of society. Your purpose is so clear. I have been preparing my whole life to do that. And instead of fulfilling the purpose of my creation I'm floundering trying to figure out what to do in the meantime. I know I should probably be starting a non-profit or something, but all I really want to do is comfort my baby when she cries or teach my little boy how to read. And watch in amazement as their personalities develop and one day I'll wake up and they'll be adults. Also, I would really like an awesome man who loves me and with whom I can make decisions and share my hopes and dreams.
Friday, October 22, 2010
I never thought I'd have a blog. Blogs are for married people. Moms with kids who want to share recipes and homeschool ideas. Women who feel disconnected from society because they are so busy wiping noses and making dinner.
Of course there are other kinds of blogs. There are the blogs that photographers use to post their work. The ever so famous blog that Julie did in homage to Julia. Last year or so, a girl in NYC did a blog where she was looking for 30 first dates in 30 days culminating in a second date on Valentine's Day (there was a subsequent appearance on an important morning show). But all of those blogs have a purpose, some kind of gimmick/goal. I don't have a gimmick/goal.
On top of all that, I am not a good writer. Sure, I can write an ok persuasive essay or conclusive paper, but I am a pretty bad story teller. If you don't believe me, ask my 10th grade English teacher, Mr. Lippman (who would presently die if he saw how wordy this is - he always used to say to cut the "dead wood"). He may not remember the occasion where he told me I was failing (at which point, I broke out into tears), but I recall it with perfect clarity. I should note that, in the end, I scraped by with a C (but that may have had something to do with the tears). Anyway, the point is that I always hated writing. I used to avoid it at all costs, reverting to cleaning my room, etc. (there was no Facebook when I was in high school - let's be honest, I was barely even aware of the internet at that point). The point is, I stink at writing.
So why am I starting a blog, you ask??? I don't have any kids of which to share adorable photos with all my friends and family. I'm not on a mission to circumnavigate the globe on a dingy or lose 100 lbs (10 would be just fine, actually). And I am not venting amazing creative writing ability to bless a loyal readership.
Yes, I wondered myself why this silly idea of writing a blog came into my head. And this is my answer:
- My journal writing is sporadic at best and I really should be recording my feelings/experiences for my posterity (we're exhibiting faith here, ok) no matter how boring/bitter they might be. And perhaps having some kind of accountability will motivate me to write often.
- I am hoping that by exercising my writing muscles, perhaps, they will increase in strength. Just knowing others will be reading my journal should get me to proofread and edit before I publish. (I know what you're thinking, "This girl uses 'I' to start too many of her sentences." This, in fact, is true. But I'm just getting started so give me a break! I'll be bench pressing my weight in words before you know it.)
- After a couple weeks of following a friend's blog, I found myself drafting blog entries in my head, which must be some kind of sign, right? This one came to me while sitting and waiting for my car at the Toyota dealer yesterday - a subject that will be discussed later (*uuggh*).
Ok, so that is about it. I warned you that I was a bad writer. Which probably means that you won't come back :( Oh well. There's always posterity, right?
Ehh . . . unless my writing skills chase away the spirit of Elijah at some future day.
*Did I mention that I might be a shopaholic? Self-diagnosed. Think about it, it's an excuse to get out of the house and see people (unless I'm shopping on the internet, which has also been known to happen). But after reviewing my shrinking bank account I decided to put the kibosh on the spending ("stop the bleeding" if you don't mind gruesome medical analogies). As a warning, there may be side effects - i.e. coveting of new fashions that I can't have - on here.