On June 26, 2007 I wrote my first blog post. My kids looked, roughly, like this. Though it was summer, so with less parkas.

Now they are 15 and 18 and my daughter is getting ready to go to college. And, I am left staring at the same cursor that I’ve stared at a thousand times. It won’t quit blinking. I can’t stop blinking.

If you had asked me in 2007 where I saw myself in 10 years, I would have never answered that I’d be a single-mom with a career in social media. Neither of those would have seemed a remote possibility. I sure didn’t anticipate that I’d be dating the cute guy from my ninth grade history class. Sometimes, though, life is a series of fortunate events.

This space was built on good timing, networking and comedy gold in the form of my children, but I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the life-changing opportunities BlogHer gave me. I will be forever grateful to them for expanding this blog’s reach, providing sponsorship, and for handing over their Twitter account to a part-time lunch lady who used to tweet from her personal account after taking Ambien. If you think that’s a run-on sentence, you should have seen what I used to tweet.

If I had more time, I’d write a lot more and maybe even finish the novel I referred to in my first post – the one I started writing before blogging was a gleam in my eye. But, even if I can manage to finish that book, I can’t imagine not always having this space to return to. I’m sure I’ll appreciate it when I’m retired and traveling around the country in my RV. Wait until you hear those stories.

Forrest Gump was way off. Life is like a series of blog posts. Some days are funny, others are filled with immense pain, but mostly I’m just happy to be breathing and still in this space watching the cursor move forward. Thanks for blinking along with me.

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I was looking for a picture last night. Not like the old days when you would pull out a photo album and flip the pages over – looking through, maybe, 50 images to find the one you wanted.

No, I was looking for a specific photo and couldn’t find it on my phone. It must be on Facebook, I thought. It wasn’t. I scrolled through thousands of pictures, but the one I wanted wasn’t there.

I cursed and moaned about technology. No one needs this many pictures! Why are they in all different places? My iPhone, Flickr, Facebook, Twitter…ohhhh, it’s probably on the blog.

So I came here to look, but what I found when I got here was not what I came looking for.

I haven’t been her for awhile and what I found as I scrolled through the categories were post after post that I don’t even remember writing. There are unbelievable memories here. I was laughing at witch penises, and how my son used to insult me, and how my son used to threaten animals. And, a whole lot of other things my son did.

I was reminded that children grow A LOT in nearly a decade of blogging. My daughter is getting ready to turn 18, for crying out loud! Also, I was right about this. I was also reminded that her talents are limitless.

What I found is almost 10 years of life documented. I found something I’m still passionate about even though it feels harder to write these days. I can’t write all the things I want to and that’s awfully hard, because I have a lot to say. My life, however, does go on. Beautifully, in fact. It’s time to start documenting that again.

I never found that picture, but I take back all the cursing and moaning I did about the technology in which it’s buried.

Long live this blog.

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Don’t feed the trolls.

It is the first rule of blogging. Don’t engage with the haters. Don’t let them get in your head. If someone leaves you a nasty comment, you move along without reply, because they are not worth the anger, frustration and, most of all, your precious time.

I haven’t written in five months because I let someone tell me that no one cares what I write about and people who read my posts are actually laughing behind my back.

So I haven’t written, because what if they were right? What if my content has been one big joke to the Internet?

Years ago I was in an abusive relationship and I can assure you that the names he called me hurt far more than any slap in the face. No bloody wound feels as bad as being called worthless. Five months ago, that’s exactly how I felt.

Today, though, I suddenly woke up and realized that as much as I love my readers and the people who have surrounded me through blogging, I don’t write for anyone but me. If you don’t want to read these words, don’t read them. I don’t really care. Now the troll can say I’m selfish. So be it.

I am going to write again. I’m going to write because it’s my creative outlet. I’m going to write because it clears my head. I’m going to write to prove to my daughter that you can’t let someone control you through their hate. I’m going to write because I am better for it.

This is my start.

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