I can still feel the cloth cover of my first diary. The blue cloth was printed with teddy bears and hearts. I was so proud to have it for Christmas at the old age of 5 years. I wrote in my "dairy" religiously for a few days, then lost it for a little while. I continued to write in it, until at the age of 8, it was full and I was ready for a new one. I was sure that this pocket sized diary would be with me forever. I wanted to hand it down to my children to read. I wanted to give them the memories that I grew up with. Now as a mom, I am rethinking that one, especially the ones I wrote in as a teenager. Scary!
Today I thought of my little diary when my daughter at the age of 8 decided she needed a notebook to write her own story in. She had money burning a hole in her little pocket and wanted to spend it on something. What did she do? She picked up some chapstick and a notebook. On the way home she told me how to write a story. It has to start out happy, then drama, then sad, then happy again. All the stories have a happy ending. She has learned this from all the movies she has watched.
I can say that I am proud of my daughter. She is finding her place in life and doing what she loves. She is more of an artist than I am. She can draw and paint and create, more than I ever could. While she may not want to be a writer like her mom, she likes to write and draw.
It's moments like these that I think life is too short. The children grow up too fast. It wasn't long ago when she was singing like a rock star and not making any sense at all. It was no time at all ago that I was changing her diapers. Her brother is closer to college than he is to kindergarten. I have to remember to cherish these moments. To remember the times that will too quickly pass. Memories are all I have to hold onto.
Today I thought of my little diary when my daughter at the age of 8 decided she needed a notebook to write her own story in. She had money burning a hole in her little pocket and wanted to spend it on something. What did she do? She picked up some chapstick and a notebook. On the way home she told me how to write a story. It has to start out happy, then drama, then sad, then happy again. All the stories have a happy ending. She has learned this from all the movies she has watched.
I can say that I am proud of my daughter. She is finding her place in life and doing what she loves. She is more of an artist than I am. She can draw and paint and create, more than I ever could. While she may not want to be a writer like her mom, she likes to write and draw.
It's moments like these that I think life is too short. The children grow up too fast. It wasn't long ago when she was singing like a rock star and not making any sense at all. It was no time at all ago that I was changing her diapers. Her brother is closer to college than he is to kindergarten. I have to remember to cherish these moments. To remember the times that will too quickly pass. Memories are all I have to hold onto.
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