More than a Preschool Teacher

It's true.  I have read many blogs and all of them at some point have said something about quitting.  Not writing.  Deleting the history.  There is a pressure to write.  Not just to write, but to write something worth reading.  To not waste the reader's time as you have many other important life happenings to spend that time on.  To provide an escape for the reader.  Or to assure you that your life isn't that bad, or that it is, but so is mine. 

I started this blog about a year ago because I write.  It's what I do.  It's who I am.  Most people think that I'm a preschool teacher, and that is true, but I am more than that.  I teach preschool Monday through Friday and sometimes on Sundays.  I plan lessons.  I read preschool magazines (the lesson planning kind, not the geared for preschool kind...although sometimes...).  I have a song for just about any life experience you can think of.  But there was a time when I was not a teacher, and there will be a time in the future when I will not be a teacher anymore.

But I have always written.  From my very first scribblings in my pre-writing developmental stage, to learning proper letter formations, to those happily ever after celebrity fairy tales I've told you about, to research papers, to a blog--writing is what I have always done.  It is what I do when I am stressed.  It is what I do when I am ecstatic.  It is what I do when I have tears pouring down my face.  It is what I do right when I'm on the brink of sleep and a poem pops into my head that pushes all those promising dreams out of my mind until I get the words on paper.  I am a writer.  There has never been a time when I haven't written, and there will never be a time when I am not a writer anymore.

So here's to blogging--whether regularly or not (which is most often the case).  And to writing--the outlet that allows me to pour everything inside of me onto a page, into words, for all to read.

The Beginning of a Blog

Normally I don't believe in birth"days" but rather embrace the idea of the birth"week".  This past birthday though I would have preferred nobody knowing.  I spent the day driving to the coast with some friends (which of course meant everyone knew it was my birthday).  Everything, except getting carsick and a headache, was delightful--from having breakfast with my mom and sister; playing with an adorable toddler before his parents were ready to leave him; lunch at Chipotle which I didn't even know exsisted in Oregon; arriving at the beach house and just relaxing; and Tom Yum Kai for dinner reminiscent of a past birthday spent in Thailand.  It was a trip of introspection however as, like I said, I was not happy about it being my birthday--for the first time in my life.

And then I got my present.  A beautiful glass pitcher with glasses to match wrapped in bright tissue paper and nestled in a white basket, all specially chosen by my friends knowing that I love having people over.  The real gift came in the card though.  A friend wrote that she hopes I have a year worth writing a book about.  (Actually two friends wrote that which ended up making everyone laugh when we found out one friend copied!)  She has reiterated numerous times since then that I should start a blog.  Which, of course, I have now done.

So, here's to the beginning of a year worthy of writing a book about.