It’s been so long since I’ve done this, I almost don’t know how to start. Whew! It’s Adam and Sarah’s fault. This morning they came into the kitchen each carrying one of my journals. A flash of pure panic as I remembered all the intimate things I’d written. For five-year-olds they’re both great readers. They must have picked up on my alarm. “What’s wrong Mommy?” they asked. “I was so surprised to see you with my journals,” I told them. “I’d all but forgotten them.” “What’s journals?” they asked. I explained these were books where I wrote down things about what was happening each day and how I was feeling and what I was thinking. What I was dreaming. “But they’re empty, Mommy,” they said. I realized that these were journals I hadn’t begun yet. I was so relieved. At the same time there was a twinge of disappointment. “Can we color them, Mommy?” they asked. “Of course you can,” I told them. “Sit at the table and I’ll get the crayons.”