I keep journals. Days go by and I can't find the time to write in my journal, and I don't beat myself up over it. I do it when I can. And sometimes, I do it every day. One of the things I like about journaling is having a record of my personal life. For example, my boys are almost teenagers, so when I read about their early years, it gives me much to consider. Here's one I ran into the other day: “I ran water over the cereal bowls, with bits and pieces of cereal already hardened on them, and the sippy cups, smelling like grape juice. Sweet, sickening smell; and the stickiness drives me mad. After I finished placing the dishes in the dishwasher, I looked out the window and thought Yes, that’s there I’ll plant my hummingbird garden, in that corner. Just a small space at first. Nasturtiums along the fence. Foxglove, Cosmos—and what else did Bea tell me? Hmmm. Dahlia. Oh yes, I love Dahlias. I'd love some red Dahlias. A nice bright little red feeder in the middle of it all.”
I can't tell you when the last time my boys drank from a zippy cup. In fact, I took a great deal of joy in pitching them years ago!