telling stories

I’m a story-teller.

I like to tell stories of things that happened to me.

True stories.

I’ve been telling you stories here in this space that I call Sluiter Nation for almost five years.

In fact, this is my 1,000th story.

Some people may see that number as huge.  I can assure you my family is not stunned by that number.

They have been listening to me tell stories for far longer than the five years I have been writing them down here.  Publicly.

In fact, my parents had listened to so many of my stories, that they started tuning them out.

My brothers don’t listen to a word I say anymore (nor do they read this blog) because they have story-overload from all the years as kids that I talked non-stop.

I once dated a guy who said, “Kate, if I listened to everything you ever said, I would do nothing else with my life.”  While everyone in my “real” life agrees this guy was a total douche bag, they also agree that this may be the most accurate statement ever uttered.

Which is probably part of why I started Sluiter Nation so long ago.

It was a place to collect the stuff we did and share with those who wanted to “listen”.

I started taking this blog pretty seriously once Eddie was born.

I’m not from a family of storytellers at all.

Finding out what my mom and dad were like in high school or as newlyweds (they were married for five years before having me, the oldest) is next to impossible.

It’s like pulling teeth to get my grandparents to talk about the past.  I get head nods or “oh, I suppose,” when I ask about their lives.

And I know there are stories to be told.

Both of my grandpas were in the service and served in wars.

My paternal grandmother drove across the country to California to marry my grandpa before he was shipped out.

My maternal grandmother (who has passed) raised four daughters on welfare and taking in other people’s laundry because my grandpa was no where to be found.

My maternal grandfather has battled alcoholism and womanizing and has been fairly absent in my mom’s life, but is now facing his mortality.

No one talks about anything.

No one tells stories.

Once I found a few pages from a steno pad that my mom had scribbled a few funny things I did and said.  It is all I have from what it was like to mother me in my first years of life.

While I was good about putting together Eddie’s baby book (ok, more than “good”; you should see the thing…it’s EPIC), it is really just a collection of pictures and statistics.  Don’t get me wrong, I’ll do the same thing for Charlie, but this blog became something that no baby book could house.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about why I blog and for whom.

And I’ve noticed a lot of other bloggers have been writing about this question too.

I started this blog for me.

So I could talk without interruption or my family rolling their eyes or turning away and starting their own conversations.

I continued this blog because people started reading…they were listening voluntarily to my stories.

When I realized people were reading, I lost sight a bit of why this blog existed in the first place.  I let myself explore sponsored posts and giveaways and reviews.  None of it felt right though.

Not here in Sluiter Nation anyway.

No, this space was not for profit.

And since announcing that I have thought long and hard about what this blog is for…why is it here…and whom it is written for.

I would be lying if I didn’t say I wrote for readers.

It’s not my primary reason for writing this blog, but since getting regular readers, I do keep you in mind.

I have found over the last two years that I can be an honest voice for things like motherhood, depression, anxiety, miscarriage, and other loss.

I have noticed when I look at my stats (which admittedly is not often), that I get more “hits” on days where I confess something or bleed something difficult out.  Days when I am happy and at peace and sharing the cute and cuddly stuff?  Not so much.

But I don’t adjust my content based on stats.

This won’t turn into a “depression blog” or a “loss blog” or a “miscarriage blog”.

If, for whatever reason, you all start to leave me one by one, I won’t stop writing.

Because ultimately, I started this blog for me.

But I keep going for my boys.

For my family.

For those who will come after me and find my words when I am nothing but a name on a family tree.

I will write about the happy, the sad, the painful, the mundane, the funny, the poignant, the messy, the ugly, and the lovely.

I hope you will keep reading, because I do so love what you have brought to my life.

But know that if you leave, this blog shall go on.

Because it has to.

Someone has to tell the stories.

Someone has to be the story teller.

Someone has to preserve the memories big and oh so small.

I have decided that someone is me.

So here’s to 1,000 posts.

And hopefully there will be thousands more.