Living Book

It’s past Valentines Day. I have come to realize this fact with sorrow. Not because the holiday is over, because I didn’t make my deadline to deliver the Living Book to y’all.
Remember that?
It’s coming, I’m working on it currently. I won’t be publishing a deadline though because you just never know how crazy life gets with an ankle biter and butt slapper. Oh, and a 4 year old.
Just to refresh your memories, I’m compiling a book that will continue to be published with new content as it comes on memories. Specifically one memory per year of life. I collected memories from readers from the ages of 7-11 but any time frame and any amount of them is fine.
If you find yourself wanting to submit more of them – feel free to send them to me.
Photos of this time frame in your life are also recommended. Jpg or RAW files please.
Here’s a few recent ones from my life for your enjoyment:
Age 19: The year of change in my life. Freedom. Moved out of the parents house and bought our own house, engaged and married and news that my step-dad was dying. A heavy year. Celebration of life in all forms. Pivotal.
Age 20: A reason to stop sucking in, WE’RE PREGNANT! Love grew in so many places that year. Death. My step-dad dies the day before our one year wedding anniversary. Love was growing, but death was killing the rest of me.
Age 21: Birth, we have a daughter. We name her Jessica in the delivery room – she was going to be Onalee or Oliver. Moved into our second (and current) home. Renovations. Quit my job to be a mom. Started our business in earnest. On paper, life should have been scary but I never felt more taken care of, sure of life, secure.
Age 22: Adjusting to life with child. Life was easy, good. Carefree. Husband quit his job. Here we go!
Age 23: Summer wine tasting tour with friends. Unforgettable times.
Age 24: Days before my birthday, on my step-dad’s birthday, we find out we’re pregnant again. Tears. Lots of tears. Of joyfulness. Of signs, magic and healing. Instantly I just KNOW we’re having a son. Life grows and something inside me wakes up.

Props to Heather Armstrong, AKA

That’s right, a whole post giving props to the writer I simply admire most. I would, someday, like to throw reckless abandonment to the wind and write as freely and openly as she does.

I hold alot in when I post because I know certain people are reading my site, and certain people could be affected by what I write, or even offended. But at the same time – although I want to respect certain issues, while they may be issues for some of my readers, they’re not an issue for me – I don’t want to have to hold back.

I’ve been a faithful reader of for over 3 years now. It’s almost impossible for me to be online and NOT check her site. Dooce has given me alot of help in being comfortable with exactly who I am and what I believe in.

Right now the way Heather Armstrong is taking care of herself and her family is so admirable. She’s being honest with herself, her family and her fears, hell; she’s being honest with the entire world.

I myself have struggled with depression, a serious disease, of a different sort than dooce, since I was 14 years old. I’ve seen many a counselors and I’ll probably see many more. I look forward to revisiting some of the dooce archives after child birth to get some perspective on postpartum depression, I might even email her myself and ask for some resources.

The point is people, I support wholeheartedly regardless of her swearing, and despite her obvious disgust with mormon religion. From where I stand, she’s taking better care of her family and daughter in exploring her options for better health and mental well being and that’s a gift too many of us forget to give.

So if for some reason, dooce/Heather and or Jon, you stumble on this post – I completely admire your honestly and what you’re doing. I hope you’re on the road to a better and happier life and I’m thinking of you.