I accidentally revealed this blog’s existence the other day. I was sharing the second definition of “apostrophe” as a random fact of the day with a friend and mentioned this blog off-hand. She noticed. It led to the rediscovery of what has become a time capsule of my early twenties, and I’ve been stewing over whether to start posting again.
My last post neglected to mention that I had a boyfriend I was completely smitten with. It was my policy to not name boyfriends (I was single most of the time I was writing, obviously) because the blog was about me, and I didn’t want to have to delete them later. Well, he never got deleted and we’ve been married for over 10 years now, with 4 children, a house, and a minivan.
In considering resurrecting this blog, I’ve been thinking about what I would even say. As a stay-at-home-mom (spoiler alert! I taught Physics for three years before my oldest was born. I’ve tutored online over the years and I WILL get my masters someday to restart that part of my life. I still love teaching Physics!), so much of my life rotates around my kids and my home. I don’t want that for my blog. Can’t I be the main character somewhere?
That’s not fair—I am the main character in our home, in the same way the conductor is the main character of an orchestra (at this point, an elementary school orchestra, so often out of tune, off timing, and in general an adorable train wreck). But I would like a chance to write as an individual, to step off my conductor’s podium and take a stroll with my thoughts. I have zero readers left, so it will be written for just myself—or rather, it will be an aptly named apostrophe.
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