What remains behind is not what is engraved on stone monuments, but what is woven into the lives of others.
I started writing this blog in July of 2005 when Sean was a year and a half old.
On that particular day, in July of 2005, I was searching for something on the internet and saw an orange Blogger button and I thought, “What is that?” Five minutes later I had a blog and had written my first post. So of course, I immediately emailed my mother and said, “Hey! Take a look at this!”
Blogging turned out to be a way to capture my daily adventures as a late-in-life mother, all the sweet and tart, all the triumphs and tragedies, all the ordinary and extraordinary and even just the random. I once wrote about a piece of lint on the rug.
God has wired me to need to do something creative everyday — to write, to take photos, to paint and draw, to design, to envision, to make something. With a baby in the house, and only nap time to do anything creative, blogging filled that hole perfectly. Much to my surprise, Antique Mommy found an audience, much larger than I would have ever dreamed. Along with that came some wonderful opportunities. I’ve been published in Good Housekeeping several times, included in a couple of anthologies and various other magazines and done several speaking engagements.
Since 2005 the blogosphere has really changed. It is no longer little neighborhoods of moms telling their stories, but it’s about SEO and personal branding and monetizing and traffic and give-aways and conferences. I dipped my toe into that pool for awhile but it’s not for me. I’m an introspective writer, not a self-promoting marketer. My goal was always just to tell my stories and hopefully encourage and edify others along the way. That’s all.
I no longer write here but keep it in place just in case someone is wandering around lost or broken down on the information highway and in need of a laugh or a word of encouragement or just to feel like they are not in this alone.
I hope that these words that remain behind from that sweet but oh so brief season of motherhood might weave a tiny golden thread of goodness into the lives of those who come here to read.
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