Bone and Bird,
School is over in twenty-five minutes, so I have only ten minutes to write something I have been thinking about forever. Mulling over. Debating the best wording for. I have made promise after promise to write each of you letters (each week, each month, on your birthday -- whenever), and I have made promise after promise to take more pictures (on Christmas, on Easter, on any day) -- but something always stops me. Laundry, fuzzy and unfocused thoughts and words, perfectionism, lack of photography skills, a new episode of Revenge, crying, a LEGO alligator shattering in Bone's bedroom. But I want to write you. I want to save memories somewhere other than my mind. Somewhere other than your minds. And this matters to me. It really does. It matters so much.
I want to share stories with you. I want to share life lessons, photographs, recipes, the hissy fit you had because you couldn't watch a certain TV show at a certain time. So I am done trying to snap photographs that look professional. I am done trying to make eloquent sentences about love and motherhood and raising a growing (too quickly) boy and a brand new baby. I am just going to write. Even if there is laundry to do and an episode of Revenge I haven't yet watched. I am going to write and photography anything and everything that matters (when I can) to me (and will hopefully one day matter to you). I want, more than anything, to give you a place to look to for answers and for memories as you grow older. I want to give you a place that will make you smile and laugh and remember.
I love you both more than goat cheese. More than the smell on the morning after a spring rainfall. More than margaritas. More than anything.
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