Another reason I think I blog...

I don't have many memories of my childhood.

{Insert depressing violin music here.}

Seriously, though, I don't.

I remember a lot about highschool and college, but my childhood memories are cloudy.

James remembers every teacher's name he ever had, every address and phone number where he lived...lots of places, every TV commercial from his childhood along with a tons of family and friendship memories. I have about 4. No, probably more, but I only remember my 1st grade teacher, Mrs. Davis and I think 2nd was Mrs. Strozier. Then no one else's name or face except for my high school principal Mr. Naylor and one really cool teacher, Mrs. Wallace who took us on DECA trips and let us go crazy.

I remember staying with my grandparents a lot because my Mom was single from the time I was about a month old until I was 9 and she had to work 2 or 3 jobs at a time to support us. I remember watching my Grandma chain smoke cigarettes at the kitchen table while she put her make-up on the first half of the day and turn around and take it off the second half of the day, or so it seemed. I remember watching lots of soap operas with her and going with her to get her hair done every week. I remember clipping my Grandpa's fingernails and even shaving his face sometimes for fun. And, I remember that they loved me more than life and tried to make up for all of the mistakes they made with my Mom by being the best Grandparents ever, catering to my every want and need. They loved me unconditionally, as I did them. I named my first born after my Grandma, after all.  

I remember that we lived in the cutest little trailer park just a few trailers down from my grandparents and my Mom wanted to give me the very best life had to offer on a single parent's income. She gave me the master bedroom and took the small one on the other end of the trailer. I had every toy I ever wanted and then some and she worked hard to make sure I had some designer clothes like the girls in school...Until 9th grade, I went to the richest school district in Oklahoma, Jenks. I lived in the one "poor" area in the whole Jenks East district at the time, I think. I didn't know I was poor until I got on the bus in kindergarten and was called "Trailer Trash." I didn't know what to do with that little piece of new information about my character, so I never told my Mom because I do remember knowing enough to know it would hurt her.

I remember playing with my cousin Jay a lot. He was like a brother to me, so I have some of memories of bossing him around and him being the sweetest boy in the world. When his little sister, Becky came, I remember us playing with her like a baby doll and then bossing her around. She was adorable and a good sport.

I remember seeing my biological dad and grandparents about once a year when he'd pick me up and spend the day with me then drop me off at his parents for the night so he could go out and party. I was worth a few hours, but not more than that. I remember wondering why I wasn't worth more than that to him A LOT. I remember crying myself to sleep and wondering what was wrong with me that he didn't want to spend time with me, never understanding as a child that he was only trying to punish my Mom, but he did love me and just didn't know how to be a Daddy.

I remember the excitement over the twins arriving when I was 12 and how much a loved those two. I also remember babysitting when I wanted to but giving my parents a hard time when it was their idea. I remember various situations of turmoil and my own rebellion off and on during that time pretty much until I left for college.

I remember some of junior high, hanging out with the skaters because I could shine in that group and never fit in to the girly girl, "look at me" group. I can't remember if I wanted to fit in with them or not because I never really understood them. I think their shiny bows and perfect outfits and whispers in the cafeteria intrigued me, but also disgusted me at the same time in a weird way.  Maybe it was jealousy, but it felt more like distaste. I just wasn't interested in the same things they were and didn't care to learn their catty games. I was friends with more boys than girls because they were far less complicated. I remember lots of times with my BFF Colbi throughout jr high and high school laying out at her pool, being lazy and talking about everything and nothing all at the same time.

But, even though that seems like a lot, it is only fragments, pieces of memories my mind tries to make sense of. Pictures I see in an album and ask my Mom about that become memories after I hear her retelling...not of my own accord. Nothing is complete, nothing flows, I know nothing of the intentions behind my parents or grandparents actions, nothing of the emotions behind the decisions, just the results...And so I blog.

I blog for my kids and myself and future generations...to record my thoughts, emotions, passions, dreams, and how decisions are made in our house and why. I blog to record a history I want to look back over and I want my kids to have to look back on when they have questions and I am not around to answer or don't even remember myself. I blog to show them how much I love them and I am trying to be a good Mom, the best way I know how.

But those who forget, or those sensitive ones who wonder why...Why did Mom homeschool us for that time? Why did we move so much? Why did Daddy want to work in ministry? Why did we do Christmas different than most people? Why did we live in a huge house in Kansas and as our family grew our houses shrank? Why did my parents always decorate like a flea market booth? Why was Mommy in pain a lot and always talking about food? Why did my parents decide not to use medical birth control after finally conceiving their first? Why did we share rooms for so long? Why did we have so many people come stay with us all the time? Why were music and sports and fitness so important in our house? Why did our home-life and rules look a lot different than most of our friends' lives in a lot of ways? Endless whys... I won't be able to answer them all in this blog, but maybe a few, so maybe my kids won't have so many blanks to try to fill in themselves...or maybe they will because this blog is completely from my perspective, but at least they will know who their Momma was, warts and all, and that she loved them more than life.

I blog for so many reasons...this is just one more I thought of today.

When I am sick, I have time to think because I actually sit down. It happens a few times a year when my body says, "I am not moving any more, so get off your feet," and I am sick today. I have to admit that I did spend over two hours standing and folding laundry before laying down to type this post, but my body gave out. Going to the doctor at 4.