07 March 2011

I Want to Remember

"I do, like many of you, appreciate the comforts of every day routine -- the security of the familiar, the tranquility of repetition. But in the spirit of commemoration, thereby those important events of the past usually associated with someone's death or the end of some awful bloody struggle, a celebration of a nice holiday, I thought we could (take) some time out of our daily lives to sit down and have a little chat." 

Stepping back into the Blogosphere is a little unsettling. I mean, I'm not really stepping back in, since I still blog. I just do it for a salary now. But over the last five-plus months, I've neglected my baby here. I've been so busy worrying about work that I forgot what I love. I know; heavy stuff, right?

About a week ago I decided to get back into the ring with my baby, Growing Up Kaitlyn. But I really didn't know how to do it. You see, after you make promises and don't keep them, it's not easy to swallow that pill and come back. It's easier just to let the ball drop and not pick it back up.

Problem is, that would work if I didn't have the most perfect reminder of why I started this in the first place staring at me each and every day. With that, I knew it was time to get back into the game.

And so here I am, to go through (again) the hopes, the fears, the dreams, the snot and the frustration that is fatherhood. Sometimes it's all rolled into one. Sometimes, it trickles out. Much like the snot. One minute, you're wondering where all the time went. Like, say, the last five and a half months.

The next, you're stuck in a moment that will never seem to go away. Like when your daughter asks you to dance with her Cinderella Barbie to "Teenage Dream" sung by the cast of Glee. Not that that's ever happened or anything.

I never appreciated those moments more than when I was writing Growing Up Kaitlyn. Because each moment is its own story, something that should be shared and experienced and remembered. But if we're just going moment to moment without taking them in -- or, even worse, without the ability to remember them because they are moving by so quickly -- then we are lost.

I don't want to be lost anymore. I want to remember.

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