My Waste of Time

I've gotten into a couple conversations lately about blogging. I've been told, ever so sweetly, how it's absolutely baffling how young mothers, like myself, are able to 'waste so much time' blogging these days.

Here's the thing . . .

I have never wasted one single second of my life blogging. On the internet, yes. On facebook, oh heck yes (it's a time-sucking vortex that is ever so addicting). Twitter was such a waste of my time for me that I've already cancelled my account. But blogging, not a single second wasted. If I take five to thirty minutes of my day recounting Annie's latest antics, Ellie's newest milestone, or even my own crazy ranting, I have not wasted my time (yours maybe, but not mine.) I love to write.

Before blogging I was known to send long, rambly emails to my best friends. I'm valued to friends and family afar off as quite the letter writer . . . her first Christmas back after an LDS Mission, my sister Star gave me a giant three ring binder, filled with all the letters I'd sent her on her mission. It's the greatest journal one could ever keep.

I was a note passer in school, and am still known to pass my fair share of notes during Church even now (I know, it's bad). One of my most prized possessions is a little notebook I kept in my scriptures the first year Greg and I were married. At times, I would (being the bad influence I am) write back and forth with him during Sacrament meetings. I would write little love notes for him to find and read later in the book. I love going back and reading it. Captured in that book are some of my fondest, most personal memories of my first year of marriage. To me, written language is an unparalled asset. The ability to share and communicate through writing is nothing short of a gift of God. I love to write. I love to read. Greg's grandfather recently published an autobiography, and I personally think having a 90+ year old grandparent write and publish their own book is the coolest thing I've ever heard of. It makes me wish all of my grandparents were similarly motivated. My sweet husband caught onto my affection for the written word early, and is amazing about randomly sending me his love on a piece of paper (my personal favorite was when those love letters came on green engineering graph paper . . . it was somehow even more touching and personal when the very paper itself was a very visual reminder of the person I married.)

Every month I print out my blog. I add more personal notes, explanations and various 'in hindsight' kinda comments and print it, three hole punch it, and add it my family journal. Before blogging I kept a handwritten journal for my girls. A few times a week I would write and write and write until my hand hurt, catching up on all the amazing things I'd experienced as a mother in the prior few days. Now I can type, a time or two a day in a few minutes what used to take me much longer to hand write, and since I've made it more of a daily habit, I don't forget what exactly was said, or the little nuances that made the situation so funny. I have captured hundreds of little stories and quotes on my blog that would have otherwise been lost. In my mind, it's been worthwhile. And again, I just love to write. Even if I kept this blog completely private, not sharing it with anyone at all, I would still write. I haven't really delved into the realms of the deep nitty gritty on my blog, mainly sticking to the lighter fare of Annie-quotables, but the very act of writing, of recording my family's own history, is cathartic, rewarding and worthwhile in my own eyes. I have not wasted a single second.

(Edited to add: For me, the 'journaling' aspect of blogging is what makes it such an important use of my time. But, if I had a blog entirely about, say, underwater basket weaving, because that was my passion, that would also be worthwhile. I have a cousin who has her family blog, as well as a blog about natural birth practices. I think sharing her passion is probably an important emotional, mental and spiritual exercise that makes her a better, more well-balanced person and mother. Just wanted to qualify my statements, that just the act of writing about what is important, is worthwhile . . . not just if it is a journal of sorts. That make sense?)