Chop Wood, Carry Water

Why do I write?

Obviously not for money. Not for a career or an aspiration.

Sometimes it is for my mind. To clear it or organize it. Sometimes it is to avoid cleaning. Yesterday I couldn’t think of a thing to write about so I had to clean.  While cleaning I found an old journal of mine from many years ago. A specific entry has stuck with me and I can’t stop reading it. I’m going to type it here, but I want to warn you that there is absolutely no way to write in a journal without sounding like a teenage girl. I promise, I have tried and tried again. It is what it is.

October 11, 2009

I remember the heartache of losing my first love. It felt like my self would literally break in two. My mom told me that some day somebody was going to come along and make me forget all of that pain. I waited for years. Waded through fake relationships and waited some more. He never came. I think I was looking for the wrong person. It wasn’t a he. It was a she. Two shes. Sweet, spunky, and lively- my blond babies. Thank you for making me forget. Thanking you for making me remember. Thank you for being my growth and power in all of this crazy life. I will not always be good at what I do, but now I have a reason to perpetually improve. My lifetime relationship is with them, this I now know. Everything else will always be uncertain, but this, and these things I know to be true. 

Evan is feisty. Maybe more so than me. But she is also sweet. She loves people so much. And laughing. Her temper is so intense that she can’t contain it. She gets so angry that she hits everything in sight. Like a blond tornado whirling through a room. A performer, like her daddy. A lover, filled with love for everyone. 

Lulu is a charmer, winning people over with her toothy grin and hilarious dance moved. She loves music. Can’t hold still when it is on. She is my girl, for sure. She is so attached to me that she clings on to my legs when I walk. Clingy is the understatement of our first year together. She is an intense baby. Happy means she is ecstatic and upset means she is livid. 

It was a difficult last year for me. I hope someday I can share some of it with them, without burdening them. I hope I can share it so they will understand why they didn’t have the exact childhood I, or most, would envision for their children. But I hope that no matter what is in store for us we will always have fun. That we will laugh endlessly, cry together, and love conditionally. Always. Always. My true loves.  

I had to catch my breath after reading it. Those words I used to describe my children, just babies then, are exactly who they are today. Some things never change.  But the person who wrote it was sad and exhausted and I don’t recognize her very much anymore. Some things definitely change.

So that is why I write. To chronicle this narrative that we’re constantly weaving. To document the static things as well as the shifting ones. To always remember where I’ve been.