Enmeshment

One of the few things that lodged in our memories after my husband and I took our marriage prep inventory is the categorizing of our families of origins. I can't remember what his family's label was, only that it was the diametric opposite of my family of origin, which was given the title "chaotically enmeshed."

This is obvious when my cousin calls from 500 miles away to ask if I'm pregnant before I've taken a pregnancy test.

Or, like a couple nights ago, when my husband asked if I had a blog. He heard it from my dad who heard it from my sister (who tends to be entangled in many of these grapevines). This was after I had made one post. He was worried I was trying to keep it secret. I was worried about having anything to say. Why did I want to blog?

I admit, I was very anti-blog the first time I heard about them, which was about 5 yrs ago, when a friend told us about his friend's blog. So I logged on and read it and was infuriated at wasting my time and at his semi-illiterate, profanity-laden comments criticizing some girl on the El for reading The Brothers Karamazov. Blogs seemed like the place for ego trips and mommy updates. Neither one did I want to read.

And, sorry, this one will probably be little different: I want to make note of the things I find myself forgetting which I want to remember and wanting to make a story out of the experiences we're going through. And a place to write done what I'm reading - if I can remember.

Plus I don't scrapbook.