“woof” squeaks our vibrant girl who I brag never barks. I cringe at the reminder that it’s 58 degrees out reluctantly retrieving her at the front door. I can see that she’s feeling the chill on the pads of her shifting paws.

“You know what Mom? I am getting rid of this keyboard!” says tiny and big all at once.

I return to my morning spot at the kitchen table. Stacked next to me are my two active journals, one old journal who carries a story outline I have been blindly staring at and praying over this week, an NIV life application Bible, My Father’s World Teacher Guides, a 20% off coupon for Children’s Place Online to remind me, my 55mm lens (what is that doing there?), and my favorite UWGB kelly green pen that I won for not stealing.

The laundry room light is on, which proves that my husband of 10 years today, is alive and well. The round fronts of the washer and dryer peek out of their white louver doors. Gazing at me. Another reminder. My inexpensive way of gifting my husband on his anniversary commits me to the task of personal dry cleaner for the day. I will be emptying his closet completely, sorting, discarding, keeping, ironing, straightening and replacing everything spotless and without a wrinkle. One of his favorite surprises.

I scratch my head for about the 10th time since I sat down. A reminder that I do need to wash my hair today. aka: dry it out and hate it until tomorrow when it looks nice because I won’t have to strip it’s natural oils and cute panked style under soap and water. Yes, spell checker, I know that “panked” is not a word. My Mom made it up, but there’s really nothing else.

Yesterday, one of my favorite people shared with me her reoccurring discomfort with her often "happy" blogging. And this morning I am reminded as I write this... could my own often happy blogging, hopes to be grateful, or positive perspective seeking be misleading or even off-putting?

It is true that I find love and happiness in the heartbeat of my cold morning, barking dog, disgruntled keyboard user, wasted electricity, untouched story line, daunting laundry tasks and dry fluffy unpanked hair.
It is mine and it is beautiful, to me.

So I question, if we didn't think this was real-life-beautiful would we write it down?

Would we even see half of it for what it's worth if we didn't take note, catch it in still frames, turn it into love letters and lifetime memories for ourselves and our little ones?

My Dad says we don't miss things that we don't miss out on.
Could blogging just be a reminder to look?

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