I have always had a love for writing.  I believe much have that passion has come from my mother, who before the ages of computers and tablets, would write down everything on little notebooks or envelopes that she kept with her wherever she went.  To this day, nearly 16 years after her death, you can still find remnants of these writings throughout the house she shared with my father – written in neat calligraphy form, even if only using a pencil.  When I was in my early teens, she had claimed that she had written a story about me and had hidden it until I was older, only to have it go missing and ultimately go undiscovered after her death.  To this day, whenever I am at my parents house visiting my father, I will still look for the manuscript, possibly hidden away in an unused drawer and tucked neatly in a box in one of the their many storage rooms.  One day I will find it.

I started writing my blog eight years ago.  At the time, my wife was writing at My Mommy’s Place and it seemed like starting my own blog would be fun to do together.  She would tell you that it was her idea to express my unique views to the world (meaning there was no way in hell she was writing the Pee-Wee Herman Do It Yourself post).  I would tell you that after much pestering and badgering, she threatened to withhold all intimacy until I relented and started my own (although the truth is somewhere in the middle).  When I started writing, I admired my wife because she had people reading her work, commenting on it, and becoming fans of it.  I wanted that – to be noticed, revered as a fun-loving writer living life with one, two, three, a lot of kids.  I was writing what I thought people wanted to read and while that was all fun in the beginning – my life is a curious case of ironic fate – it was exhausting to find what I deemed “good” material because if it wasn’t funny, I wouldn’t post it.

Things are different now.  No, I still haven’t reached that point in my life where I would say I have grown up, but I have learned a few things.  First and foremost, I want this blog to be my story to my children.  Maybe they can get some good use out of it, possibly as an instruction manual of what NOT to do growing up or some kid of survival guide of growing up with three siblings.  Maybe it is raining outside and they are feeling miserable and need a laugh or maybe they just might need some good reading material while using the bathroom.

Many of my old readers may not notice a difference right away, that is if I still have any old readers left.  However, from here on I will be writing to and for my kids.  I am writing so that somewhere in these posts they can find out why Dad is a little “off”.  I am writing so that I can chronicle their childhood so that they can look back and be totally embarrassed and realize that the apples don’t fall far from the tree.  I am writing so that they will not have to spend 20-plus years searching for a precious piece of their past that may not even still exist.  This is my story about them.  This is my story for them.