This blog looks a lot like my journals..

All of them, the many journals I’ve started in my life fully intending to write everyday, thinking that even when I didn’t have something to say I would just make a habit of writing down a few sentences until I got in the habit.

I never got in the habit though, and my journal would sit on my desk looking at me accusingly sending "Tell Tale Heart" type communications to make me feel guilty “write something, write something, write something” like a demented journal metronome. And as the voices got louder I would go to write something, but realize, “holy cow, it’s been three weeks since I last wrote, and how would I even begin to catch up on all the terribly exciting things that have happened?”. What if I forget something really important? What if I already forgot something really important, that could have saved someone’s life in the future if I just wrote it down? What if I get hand or mind cramps trying to remember all the stuff I need to write down? How will I ever have the time cover three weeks when I can't even describe 3 minutes in less then 10,000 words?

So I wouldn’t write anything until I had time to sit down and wrack my brain on all the many things I missed from one entry to another. But I never do, because well 100,000 words is a lot, and I'm incapable of brevity. It's one of my more endearing traits (or so I'm told although I suspect that it's by people that just say that after they are jolted out of the boredom coma).

What usually happens next is that I move the journal from the top of my desk, or from the place where I will see it all the time to remind myself to make entries, and bury it a drawer somewhere so I don’t have to listen to it telling my how badly I suck (as opposed to the actual “Tell Tale Heart” my version only speaks to me when I can see said accusing journal) as a diarist. Thus why I have like 50 journals in boxes in my garage, with maybe 10 entries each.

As is fairly clear from the above, I’m a bit neurotic sometimes (which will be even more clear if I actually remember to make some entries), but I really don’t want this blog to go the direction of my other attempts to chronicle my life.

So instead of deleting this blog from my favorites so I can pretend I never started it, I’m going to try this again.

“Hi, my name is Michelle, and I suck really badly at writing about my own life, but I’m trying to improve, starting now.” We may have to try this a few times before it sticks.

So once again, this is my life, such as it is…

Since I last wrote, we have been busy doing our normal family activities. Jake is back in pre-school full swing, as well as soccer and swimming lessons. We’ve had at least 3 or 4 family parties, and spent a couple days at mom and dads taking care of Grandma Great. Jake loves all of it, all the hustle and bustle and being around people all the time, he just thrives on it.

I’m not sure how a deep introvert that sometimes borders on extreme social anxiety, with a few (not to subtle) misanthropic tendencies managed to pass on super duper social genes to her offspring, I suppose it's Murphy's Law of parenting. "Whatever would make you most uncomfortable as a parent will be the dominate personality trait of your child". I figure the social gene comes from Rob, although I'm not sure where he's hiding it. Jake loves to be around people, esp. kids, all the time, all day every day if he could. I have to admit that I’m glad Rob is in charge of Jake’s social calendar, because really it exhausts me just hearing about it. Plus, honestly I fear that if I was the one home with him, he wouldn’t have any real friends, just imaginary ones that mom invented, to keep things interesting but not interesting enough to require we actually talk with real live people.

Their voices would sound eerily like the ones coming from a big stack of unfinished journals in the garage…