My father chose to heat our house with a wood stove in the basement, rather than the conventional American heating method. I know — you and everyone else thinks I was Amish growing up. Other than the belief system part of it, you wouldn't be that far off. Using a wood stove, however, meant that every summer my family spent a lot of time down by our shed chopping logs for the winter months. Man, the more I type this and start throwing out phrases like "winter months", the more I'm starting to think we really were Amish.
Yesterday, my mom brought me all my old notebooks from college to help clear some space in their basement. Most of them are just full of notes and homework assignments, but there is one notebook I'd like to keep for sure. It's the notebook I first started recording memories in. I have 51 recorded memories in it, some filling only a few lines, some multiple pages.
I've never paid much attention to my dreams, except for the short phase in my teens when I was having nightmares of people trying to kill me using various — let's just say "interesting" — methods. That was an odd stretch of time, and fairly inexplicable. I wasn't that much of an angsty teenager I don't think.
I had a plan form almost immediately after learning that I was pregnant. The following night was my husband's and my date night, and I decided to wait until then to tell him. I know, I know - millennials, amiright? But I wanted to surprise him in a sweet way — something he could hold on to, like a gift.
My husband and I weren't trying to get pregnant. We weren't opposed, but we had no intentions of doing so either. That was something that would happen at some point down the road....who knows when. No solid plans. I was at work when I found out.
My parents actually turned out to be much different people than I ever knew growing up. The parents I knew growing up were constantly — and I mean constantly — working. They had eight children together, and with that many kids I suppose it's difficult to get any free time.
First I'd like to say it wasn't my idea. A group of my friends were having a "sleepover" of sorts (do you still call it that when you're college age?) down in PA. The following day we'd all be starting our second year as counselors at the camp I've mentioned in one of my previous posts. The last time we'd seen each other the summer prior, one of these friends had had a thing going on with a guy who worked with us.
Did any of you ever think that the first person you dated would be the one you'd marry? And then how many of you are forever and always grateful he or she was NOT the person you stayed with? Raise of hands please. Oh, everyone? Welcome.
I'm beginning to realize just how long it takes to build a successful blog. I have this goal to build up a community of people who share stories together; every time I imagine it, it really seems like such a grand thing that many people would truly enjoy and look forward to. The problem is I only ever see what it looks like a year or two down the road.
Today marks one week since I started writing prompts. Should I host a blog party yet? Ha, just kidding!....I'm totally waiting till I have 10 followers before doing that ʘ‿ʘ. But seriously, I'm really enjoying this a lot and looking forward to when some of you join me in my story sharing. Just respond to my writing prompt on your own blog and share your link in my comments! Bonus will be my faithful loyalty to your blog forever <3.