Dear Hannah, Sonja, Isabella, and anyone else who derives great pleasure from chocolate, movie nights, and spontaneous dancing,
I haven’t caved and created a tumblr. No, I’ve done something much more dangerous. I’ve decided that one day, when we’re incredibly old and Sonja’s knitted her way through all the yarn at Michael’s, we will want to remember everything. The heartaches, the heartbreaks, the heartthrobs. The exact number of takeout orders. The study dates accompanied by numerous cups of coffee, and the ensuing hyperactivity. When we’re consumed with families, careers, and life at its most frenetic, I want to find a moment’s sanity in recalling our insanity.
So here it is. The blog. As I endeavour to document our lives as grown up college girls, please forgive my spelling words with ou’s, teasing you (it comes from a place of love, I promise), and know that anything you wish to remain completely secret will never surface here.
I want this to be a place of warmth – like an old, worn sweater, if you’ll forgive the capriciousness of that statement. Come here for a reminder of all things us and be comforted by the quiet of friendship, the stability in sisterhood. Here’s to baggy sweatshirts and fuzzy socks, Taylor Swift and Michael Buble. Here’s to us.
~Amy (Yoda, Shmamy, Aims)