Forgiving yourself.

Dear Mallory,

You're sorry? I'm sorry! In the midst of cleaning and donating and packing and selling and watching other people pack and then move our stuff, it's been a crazy week. And the week isn't done yet! It's only Tuesday! And then we're off. I realized as I started writing this that I have no idea how I'll be blogging next week. Maybe I'll pop in and post a photo or two so you know that I'm still alive? I'll be sure to include some of the gorgeous views we're sure to see on our camping adventure. I know how much you love nature and camping and hiking and all of that good stuff.

But seriously. There are two men in my house right now and they are rifling through our stuff and wrapping it in packing paper and stuffing it in boxes and I forgot just how very unreal it all is; in California we had about 8 dudes in our house and I don't remember being concerned at all.

Can we just talk about regret for a moment? I loathe regret. Regret seems to eat away at your insides and cause you panic whenever it reminds you of its presence and there's nothing you can do about it until you apologize. To yourself. Have you been able to do that? Apologizing to the person or persons who may have been involved is always good, too, but I've found that I am the hardest on myself and, therefore, in need of forgiveness. Constantly. I hope I don't sound like I'm preaching or lecturing, I just wanted you to know that I get it and I'm so sorry. Tell that bitch regret to move on out.

I'm really enjoying italics today.

Seriously. One of these movers is about 7 feet tall and he just packed away my KitchenAid and I am so tempted to tell him to just stop! because I really don't know if I'm ready to move. [I'm ready, I'm just shocked that the day is here already. Also, if you lived closer to me I would recruit you to help me clean this place because [whiny voice] I don't wanna!]

I love that you would go back to Harry's birth day. I won't say too much more here, but I find it interesting how completely different and personal each birth story is and it's always encouraging to hear that not everyone had a horrific experience. Gives us ladies who are forced to wait something to chew on [stupid ovaries].

Where would I go... Hm. Honestly? I would go back to the days of dating Aaron and I would ask him some really hard questions. Don't get me wrong, I am so completely thrilled that we ended up together--I know a lot of people's minds start to wander and wonder. We're good. I love my man. But those dating days were so trying and so "head in the clouds" simultaneously. I think we would have been so much more prepared if we had discussed those touchier life subjects without any sugarcoating--finances, religion, etc.

Some old photos from one of my film cameras! I love these multiply exposed babies.

Another thing I would change is our elopement day. I know I've mentioned this before but I'm going to repeat myself: why didn't I hire a professional photographer?! And: why didn't I ask my dad to videotape the stupid thing?! And: why did we think it would be okay if the siblings weren't there?! Okay. I'm good.

See? Regret. I've actually forgiven myself for all of these things, but those are truthfully the only two things I would change and want to revisit.

Scratch that. Maybe I would go back in time and tell 20-year old Amy to freaking major in something more practical! Art and psychology majors are where dreams go to die! Oy.

Is there anything you would travel to the future for? Or anything that Jon wants a do-over on? Hi Jon!

Futuristically yours [I don't know what that means],
Amy