2007: The Flowers and Boogers Chronicles

I started blogging with the hopes that I would chronicle my life, even quantify moments, which at that time seemed consumed with work and mundane chores. I found that my world was actually colored with joy, wit and yes, life lived in it's attempted fullness. Why flowers and boogers? During every trial I came across, I cheekily vowed to stop blogging, or to only write of flowers and boogers. It appears I failed miserably. Here are some snippets to look back on.


January: This is the inheritance I want to pass on to my children - habits of mind and heart. They are ultimately more lasting than money and a more valuable birthright than gold.

February: She still smelled like a baby, sweet and innocent and a little like the sunshine, if sunshine has a smell. Life was pretty good...until she hurled all over the recliner, her arms and my shirt.

March: One of the mothers of the contestants actually had the poster of the 69 kids in the contest and as each student got eliminated she would scratch out their face on the poster.

April: And, there I stood. Me and my non-blowdried hair, my non Aveeno-ed face, my two minute plastic Hard-Rock-kids-cupped showered body.

May: I think now would be an appropriate time to change the name of the gas card, don't you?





June:"but like, it doesn't affect my memory and also, that stuff about memory? Not me." (uh-huh)

July: Way to go acclaimed poet Sharon Olds, for refusing to attend the National Book Festival in D.C. Here is an excerpt of her letter to Mrs. Laura Bush:

I tried to see my way clear to attend the festival in
order to bear witness--as an American who loves her
country and its principles and its writing--against
this undeclared and devastating war.

August:

FROM NOW ON
I AM ONLY WRITING ABOUT
BOOGERS AND FLOWERS
GO ELSEWHERE FOR INTELLIGENT CONTENT

September: Every once in a while I get letters from an old classmate and still good pal who is currently serving in Iraq. I haven't been too good at writing, but I try to send an email off every now and then to let him know that all of us '89ers are still praying for him and his comrades over there.







October: My mortgage is late, my quarters are in the machine and soon the tell-tale beep marking the loss of three more dollars will reverberate through the walls. I need one stamp, one stamp.



November: "Your 99 cent mood lipstick is turning purple, you saggy old witch"

December: Viola! Success and jubilation. The tree is done, the rash is gone and mommy and Peyton can rest...until next school function.
To January: Bring it on, baby! Don't forget The Great CNMI De-Lurk!
*******
Depending on which stat counter I use, I've had roughly over 12 thousand hits on this blog this year. In one month, I've also had over 900 hits on Breathe. That's interesting.