For a long time, I loved blogging. I wrote stories about my little family and it was good. But then I started to watch the stats, and I got a little excited, and then I got a bit consumed. I started to get blog envy (a truly terrible thing). Not long after that, I went to a dark place, and blogging became a bit of a lifeboat. Slowly the darkness was edged out by the light. But then I didn't know what to write anymore. I didn't quite know how. And so I stopped.
I think I would like to start again. I want to write more stories. I want to write down the memories. I've been reading back over old entries, and remembering. My writing invokes my memories like nothing else. I don't need to be the best, or the cleverest, or the funniest. I just need to write, for me and mine. And even though there is still struggle, and more often than not, there is limping from one disaster to the next, occasionally there is running, and hopping, and skipping. And it is glorious. So, I'm going to try again. Because these moments need to be memories.