So blogging has apparently become my new journal. Do you know how long it has been since I wrote in my actual journal? I'll take my friend Alicia's advice and print this all out in book form on my birthday I think and make this my journal.
But that's not my confession.
I do not enjoy scrapbooking. I used to. When my Aunt Shirley Ann started working with Creative Memories I pressured my mom into buying all this stuff and then I confiscated it all. I taught scrapbooking when I was a counselor at Lochearn Camp for Girls (fabulous summer camp by the way, incredibly pricey though -- think Parent Trap in Vermont -- yeah). I've scrapbooked various pictures and even did our wedding album -- which I love by the way. Although looking back on that, I think I got more enjoyment out of creating and weaving the fabric cover -- it was a sign! But once I discovered quilting, my interest in scrapbooking DIED. In fact, I find it tedious -- I know, I know -- and quilting's not? I LOVE QUILTING! I even gave my sissors (oh my heck I forgot how to spell that -- hold on -- scissors I had to look that up) and templates and everything to my above-mentioned friend because I never use them.
So why is this an issue you ask? When Megan was forthcoming, I looked at lots of baby books and didn't really see anything that I liked. So instead I decided to scrapbook one. Every month, I write a little blurb about what she's doing and put in a couple of pictures from the hundreds that I've taken (ok that's kind've an exaggeration but I do take a lot). Over the months (and I've only done 4 mind you -- plus the pregnancy and the labor and delivery), my level of interest has sadly fallen. I now use some background paper and then just put the pictures on as they are: no cropping (unless they don't fit), shaping, fancy stuff, etc. Some cute stickers though. And I'm thinking to myself, not only do I have 8 more months to go until her first year is done, but I really should be fair and do all the babies. But I'm not thrilled about it. What can I say?
So this also makes me a hypocrite. My parents have hundreds (literally this time) of pictures from my Grandpa and Grandma Gasser when they lived in Europe during the beginning of their marriage. Hardly ANY have anything written on them and it drives me nuts that we don't know who the people are and what is going on in the picture. And yet here I am, putting extra pictures into a photo album without explanation or story . . .
I will just have to live a long long time and never go senile so that I can tell the stories to my children and grandchildren. I'm a better storyteller anyway.