"I'm gonna start a website!"
"Good Luck with that," I reply without looking up from the book I'm reading, thinking the idea of a website was just a need to do some Sunday morning crafts.
Although the rest of the week and even into the next month or so, she is frenzied, looking into blogs and websites, companies and tumblrs.
"Why do you want to make a website?" I ask and she looks up from her newest find, Mommy Blogs.
" I don't."
"Right now, I want to make a blog."
After three years, it seems natural for my mother to occasionally slip away to a secluded part of the house and type away willy-nilly about anything she deems fit (or more often just in front of me).
But recently, as I start to filter through her thoughts from the past year, looking through the records of my life from her perspective, I start to see the little cracks and chips in memory that any normal person is bound to make. A sketch pad instead of a book, wood instead of plastic, the wrong age or time, or moment.
Thus from my point of view I seek to de-scramble these blogs into something that fits into my own memory as most people do normally. Looking at a picture or video of an old party or vacation, everyone has their own account of the same thing, all told differently.
So I look at this as my side of the story. Not something completely original, but something, totally and most defiantly my own. And you can bet, I'll tell it my own way.