My ghost child haunts me less and less these days. They used to be around all the time, but now they only slip their hand in mine in random places. I can go months without seeing them. Sometimes years.

A person delivered old advice she got from Carolyn Hax back at her in her column when Hax was giving advice to a person who was upset that she never had another child. She wrote,

We long for this imaginary alternative past where we focus on the happy details — so it feeds the notion we missed out on something, but in reality, anything could have happened. Who knows what would have been if you’d had that second kid/moved abroad/taken that job? It could have been great; it could have been terrible. Maybe that’s simplistic, but it’s worked for me many times.

A third child could have been wonderful. It could have been terrible. But my brain chooses to only focus on the sunny side. I let the ghost child subtract sometimes in the way any additional small child subtracts as you have to navigate their schedule. (“We couldn’t have done X if we had a baby in tow.”) But I don’t let them subtract with fictional tantrums or marriage stress. The ghost child is perfect.

And maybe I need to do that; to remind myself that it is also detrimental to focus on those happy details. To daydream about a ghost child who never has to prove themselves because I don’t know the story at all. Or if I’m going to daydream, to do it honestly, imagining all the possible versions and not just the hoped-for ones.

I am an overpacker. I am a maybe-I’ll-need-this person. I’m a well-I-have-room-anyway person. Someone who brings a few extra books and an unreasonably large collection of unnecessary socks. (What if my feet get cold? Then doubly cold? Then triply cold?)

Vox tells me that “a person’s packing style — whether they pack light or pack heavy — is a distinctive personality trait.”

Yeah, that fits. Because I’m also a we-should-probably-save-this-empty-jar-because-what-if person. And I carry a few extra books on me even when I’m just going to the grocery store. (What if something happens and I’m stuck in the store for so long that I finish the first book? And then the second book?)

But I’m also (if I do say so myself) a smart packer. I pack all of the bags in our house before big trips. Everyone leaves their stuff in the living room, and I divide it up into the correct piles and then slide things into the suitcase accordingly. And then we play musical suitcases as the trip progresses, consolidating clean items together in carefully marked bags so everything remains organized.

And Vox’s point that we’re trying to carry familiarity with us while we’re in the happy stress of travel, absolutely.

What is your packing style?

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.

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I spent my life putting two spaces after every period. One space after a comma, two spaces after a period. Four publishing houses were unable to break me of this habit. I wrote my manuscript with two spaces, then did a search for two spaces throughout the document, and changed them to one space, as per each publishing house’s stylistic rules.

I don’t know what made me change, but a few months ago, I switched to one space. It was hard at first, but now I don’t think about it when I get to the end of the sentence. I just tap the spacebar once and move on to the next thought.

Sometimes I think to myself that I don’t have it in me to change. But I proved myself wrong this year. I went from two spaces to one. Though you won’t get me to change my mind on the Oxford comma.

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Are you also doing #MicroblogMondays? Add your link below. The list will be open until Tuesday morning. Link to the post itself, not your blog URL. (Don’t know what that means? Please read the three rules on this post to understand the difference between a permalink to a post and a blog’s main URL.) Only personal blogs can be added to the list. I will remove any posts that are connected to businesses or are sponsored post.

Immediately after my grandmother died, I called her number knowing she wouldn’t pick up. I just wanted to dial it one last time before the number was reassigned to someone else. I still keep her contact details on my phone because I like to scroll past her name.

So this article about a woman who emails her dad after he dies resonated with me. She works through her grief by telling him about it: “For months I transcribed the hostile anguish in my head into emails to my father, which I would then seal off with the addition of his email address and save in my drafts folder.” Until the day she accidentally sends one.

And then another. And another. What started as an accident becomes a purposeful action, telling her father’s old email account what is happening in her life. And then she receives a response.

She writes,

I shot the signals of my mourning into space for months, fully expecting them to die unreceived. And when I least expected it, someone sent signals back that said, “You are not the last living witness to the relationship you had with your father.” Our loved ones take so much history with them when they go. The death itself is never the only loss we’re mourning.

It’s really an incredible piece.

Almost 20 years ago, I went on my first date with Josh. The anniversary is coming up this week. But right now, we are in the period of time between when we set up the date and when we actually went on the date; seven long days. Somehow I forgot that fact – how long he made me wait – until this year. I mean, sure, a week doesn’t sound like a long time. But I had a crush on Josh for months prior to setting up that first date. Seven days was a long time to wait.

I bet he’s going to complain when he reads this and say, “But I married you! Isn’t it enough at this point that I married you?”

Yes. But also no. But more yes.

I love Joshua. I am so glad that the universe aligned and brought us together. Happy 20th.

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Stop procrastinating. Go make your backups. Don’t have regrets.

Seriously. Stop what you’re doing for a moment. It will take you fifteen minutes, tops. But you will have peace of mind for days and days. It’s the gift to yourself that keeps on giving.

As always, add any new thoughts to the Friday Backup post and peruse new comments in order to find out about methods, plug-ins, and devices that help you quickly back up your data and accounts.

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And now the blogs…

But first, second helpings of the posts that appeared in the open comment thread last week. In order to read the description before clicking over, please return to the open thread:

• None… sniff.

Okay, now my choices this week.

The Road Less Travelled was prepared to be miffed by a song’s refrain she heard while out and about, but a deeper dive told a different story about the lyrics. As she says, context is everything. Click over to read the story and hear the song.

It’s Inconceivable writes about the power in the word, “No.” Infertility made her feel different from the people around her, and it affected her flexibility. She writes, “I already felt like a square peg in a round hole because my life was so completely different to everyone else, so I pulled out all the stops to fit in with other peoples plans and I’d accommodate everyone else at the drop of a hat.” I love her lists.

Lastly, Inconceivable has a post about the recent PTSD miscarriage study but points out another facet of it that I didn’t notice the first time I read about the study: The sole focus is on peer support. She explains, “There’s very little about better helping women connect with mental health care or how the medical care of these conditions might change.” As she points out, there needs to be more done than just talking to one another.

The roundup to the Roundup: 20 years with Josh. Your weekly backup nudge. And lots of great posts to read. So what did you find this week? Please use a permalink to the blog post (written between January 24 and January 31) and not the blog’s main url. Not understanding why I’m asking you what you found this week? Read the original open thread post here.