Last year I made a wreath for each holiday. Nesting, my mom called it.
In fact, my mom and I made this Valentines wreath together. Then this year I pulled it out at the end of January and proudly hung it on the door to my house.
At which point the ribbon un-tied and the wreath fell to the tile floor and shattered.
I was sad. Not horribly sad, because, well life just happens. But I put it aside and ignored the problem since I didn't know what to do and didn't want to think about it, there it sat. One day I came home from work late and Zeb was already at school and I walked into the kitchen to see it looking just like this! Beside it sat a love note from my amazing husband.
You would never even know it was broken!
Now when I look at this silly wreath, I think of:
A- my mom's visit
B - how crafty I am
C -how much my husband loves me
It means the world to me this silly wreath. It's the best valentines I've ever received (even though it was weeks before valentines). I have always had a wonderful valentines day, even when I was single. But this one, this valentines day is my very favorite so far.
In other news, I have been contemplating what I want to do with all my old journals. I've actually re-read them, and they are quite silly and juvenile. I don't want them sitting around for my kids to read, and my family to read when I'm gone. But those silly stories are a part of me and I can't just let them go. Silly that I've been thinking about this for quite awhile right? (Like since 2-3 years before I even got married). I'm thinking about using them as a reference and quoting from them as I write my life history. A private book for me so I can keep everything honest. The whole story, but with the hormones and teenage drama taken out.
Have you ever written your life history?