Thanks to the lovely and generous Anna Towns, Ben and I got some quality time in the hills of Southwest Virginia last weekend. There is much to love about an old house at the end of a long road with a stream in the backyard.
The too short time was filled with hikes, naps, horseback rides, outdoor showers, good food, laughs and some quiet 'me' time. I'm one of those extroverts who enjoys some solid peace and 'don't talk to me' quiet every now and then. When I get it, and I try to sneak some each week, I usually spend some time with my journal. I've kept a journal since college, sometimes more reliably and religiously than at other times. Now that I've got Ben there's so much I find myself wanting to write about. I'm not diligent enough to keep a baby book, but I'm keeping a journal for him. I started when he was about three weeks old. I call it my Bournal (you know, Bennifer and Bradgelina - bad joke but that's what happens when you're seriously sleep deprived. You think you're funny.) Anyhoo, I spend some time each week writing to him and telling him what he's doing new, how the week went, about our first trip to the swimming pool (not such a success), that he likes to dance, I how feel about being a mom. I wonder if he'll ever want to read it.
Sometimes I opt for that true blue moleskine to get my through my need to navel gaze. To celebrate Ben, I wanted something a little more spectacular. A little more razzle dazzle jazz hands. No seriously, I wanted hable construction. I wanted a pretty thing that made me exhale when I look through my jammed bag. I put a slice of vintage ribbon in to mark my place. And I use my all time favorite pen, the AG Spaulding capless roller ball, to ink my thoughts for better or worse in that sweet book.
So if you're thinking about the experience of recording your thoughts, I say just do it. But do it with some jazz hands.