I have been wanting to do this, needing to. Put a title to my obsession, clothes it in purpose (focus), declare it, share it. Go public.

Used to be my head was full of stories of girls -- lovely and lonely and resonant with longing. Now all I can think about (write about) is my boys. When my first son was born I thought, "This is the best story I ever wrote, you, you are my best." And so it is with each of them, plot twoists and details I never could have predicted. I'm not making it up anymore, I'm just trying to bear witness. An that's what this is, a bearing of witness to the exuberant crises of life, a mother's journal.

I will attempt to give flashes of context for each entry. Forgive me if sometimes the context exceeds the entry itself.

January 1997