This blog is simply a selfish endeavor in which I plan to put down all the stuff I don’t usually write because I’m busy wiping butts and feeding faces (and in the unfortunate days visa versa).  Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely LOVE being a Mommy….oh I guess I should correct that.  I love being a “Bobby.”  My son began calling me this when he was about 17 months old.  He can say “Mommy” and does when he REALLY wants to get my attention (he is now just a little over 2).  It’s a pet name he has given me and I have to admit, I love it.  I assume that his little sis (just a month over 1 year old) will call me Bobby as well.  (Thus “THEY Call Me Bobby”).   But, so far, I’ve yet to hear anything out of her mouth in reference to me at all.  “Dada” gets all the glory around this house.  That’s fine with me.  I’m a big fan of him too.   So, my reasoning for doing this? 

Today my Mom called and said she had found a manila envelope with a bunch of my writing in it.  It was a portal to the confused college days of my life.  She read them to me and I laughed but also thought, “I forgot how much I enjoyed writing.”  And although it was written from the point of view of a young woman confused of where her life was headed, it wasn’t too horrible.  I know many rock songs, great rock songs, that were inspired by the angst that is teenage and 20 something age.  This was by no means that good, but it was ok. 

One thing she read was from January 2000. I had yet to meet my husband.  I had recently broke up with a guy I had dated for 3 years seriously.  My family loved him.  My friends loved him.  Strangers took to him.  He was “Mr. Good Guy.”  In my writing I wonder why I couldn’t love him.  My head told me he was a good guy, “Supported me, Loved me, treated me great, didn’t drink or smoke.”  But, I just couldn’t ignore my heart telling me HE ISN’T THE ONE.  But at the time I was scared, no petrified, that I would never find that love that I had read so many times about.  What if that “good enough” feeling is all that was out there?  That meant I had just thrown away a “good guy.”  Mr Good Guy was, in retrospect, in “real” love with me.  I now look back and have a new found sadness for him.  I can only imagine if once I had found my now husband, and felt the way I do about him, how it would have hurt if he didn’t reciprocate the feeling.  But, I am so glad I didn’t settle. 

Just a month or so later, I met the man I now call my husband, Jim.  But, the writings of the girl that day were a scared girl, lost in her life, feeling as if she was spinning her wheels and would never be satisfied or happy. 

The last sentence of that particular entry my Mother read to me said, “I hope when I’m like (I used to say LIKE a lot-very illustrative of the place I was in my life) 28 or 29 I can look back on this and read this and laugh at my immature confusion.”  And I did just that.  I am so glad my life turned out as it has. 

My writing skills have defintely rusted over the years but my hope is that with time and practice I can get the ol’ machine cleaned up and with some WD-40 on the squeaky gears.  This is what this blog is for.