Worst Blog Month Ever.

Well, it is SHOCKING that March is almost over. And after writing my weekend posts for the other blog tonight, I waltzed on over here and realized that I have posted TWICE this month. That is my worst clio confidential record ever.

I think about this blog almost every day. I write content for it in my head. I think about all the things that are going unrecorded. I struggle with whether this is a good thing or a bad thing. I know that I won't give up on this blog, but I also know that I need to figure out what I want it to be now. (This is not the first time I have talked about this struggle, I know.) It's no longer my main creative outlet--love your space is. That blog is about decorating, sure, in the way that this blog has been about parenting, but it is also about writing. I mean, I know it's not "real writing" (Dave!), but it's about expression. Storytelling. Sharing my voice.

At the same time, starting a business and design blogging daily is fairly all-consuming, and I have moments of sadness that I never seem to be completely in any one role at any given time. I wonder if I was more present with my girls if I might be more present here on their blog.

I can say this, though. All of a sudden, these last few weeks, I look at my girls and I see miracles. We were lucky in our easy, quick pregnancies, our healthy children (Dave, yes, I'm knocking wood), yet there they are, miracles all the same. I look at them all the time, but these are the moments where it feels like I see them. I tell myself that having that feeling in that moment is more important than capturing it for the future.

I was organizing their memory boxes the other day, and I found myself thinking about what we keep and what we throw away. It feels, in a way, arbitrary, the things we think to treasure. And I wonder about this with our memories and stories, too. I saw Lizzie today, at the school we both attended, where she now works, and she was saying names and mentioning traditions that each brought a vague and hazy picture to my mind, unreliable visions that may or may not have anything to do with what she was describing. She told me of the high school seniors standing in white gloves and silence for flag raising, and I wasn't sure if I remembered doing this, nearly 20 years ago. Part of me wanted to go look it up, but the truth is, the picture, if it exists, likely does not convey the feeling of that moment, may, in fact, take something away from it.

These are the things I think about when I record too much, or not enough, of our lives. There probably is no good balance, is there.