When Michael Jackson died I was pregnant with Lincoln. I remember thinking, “Damn. My baby will never know the king of pop.”

I thought about how sad it was that he’d never get to experience Michael Jackson. Little did I know that as long as there was money to be made, Michael would still be delivering post-mortem hit singles .

This is a minor worry, of course, after thinking about all the things that are dying off or getting lost as the years go by.

I always ask my parents about the 50s and 60s. I’m fascinated by what they’ve lived through: technological advances, firsts like the moon landing, the evolution of cars (which have become way less cool than they were then, in my opinion), bomb drills, etc.

I’ll be able to tell Linc about when cell phones and the Internet first came out and when video game characters were make of little blocks or the experience of being around for 9/11. That stuff might be interesting to him.

But, what about the stories my parents have that I find much more interesting? Will they be lost?

I don’t know much about my grandparents’ lives. It’s my fault that I only now just realized I should have asked more questions, but I was busy growing up.

My parents are moving and as I’m going through bins of old photos, I’ve got no stories for them. I don’t know relatives faces or the story of why my grandma took 100 photos of some house I don’t recognize. My parents don’t either.

I’m thinking of creating some kind of book that tells the stories of our lives: good things, bad things, childhood memories, etc. I want to include our parents’ and siblings’ stories, too. I’m sure some of those can be life lessons to our children and some just cool history and funny stories.

How do you preserve your family’s history?

This picture is of my grandma in 1955 in the Nabisco factory in East Liberty where she eventually retired from in the '90s.

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Erin Hill is a first-time mom to Lincoln, who was born in January 2010. She's learning as she goes and is experiencing everything a new mom goes through while seeing the humor, irony, and enjoyment in her adventures.

Erin is a full-time technical writer and features freelance writer in her "spare time." She lives in Plum with Lincoln, her husband, Adam, their dog, Roxie, and five (yes, five) cats, Nirvana, Gary Roberts, Elvis, Talbot and Forrest.

I am by no definition an expert on having or caring for a child. I don’t believe anyone is since all kids and situations are different. Experience accounts for credibility, but not expertise in my book.

Friends of mine just had a beautiful baby boy last week. Today I was talking with the new dad and dealing out all kinds of helpful (of course) advice.

Where to get the deals on diapers, breastfeeding encouragement, tips on how to help the new mom go back to work (12 weeks from now), etc. I was talking like I was never going to talk to him again—until I stopped myself.

Did he ask for this advice?

I couldn’t remember.

Was he listening?

I couldn’t tell through instant messaging.

Has he heard it all before?

Most definitely—100 times.

AH!  For those 15 minutes I was one of those moms who thought I knew it all about the first week of THEIR baby’s life.

I spent another 15 minutes apologizing.

Who do I think I am?

I’m a believer in not giving advice until it’s asked for, but I also believe if you know something, tell someone because you’ve already done the legwork. Why make them do all that research you did, right?

It’s a fine line to walk, though. You feel you’ve got information they need but they’re not asking for it. What do you do?!

Lesson learned today: Go back to following my rule of not “advice-ing” until asked for advice, and be a little easier on those random moms who offer me unasked-for advice (as long as they’re not you-know-what about it—you know what I’m talking about!).

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Erin Hill is a first-time mom to Lincoln, who was born in January 2010. She's learning as she goes and is experiencing everything a new mom goes through while seeing the humor, irony, and enjoyment in her adventures.

Erin is a full-time technical writer and features freelance writer in her "spare time." She lives in Plum with Lincoln, her husband, Adam, their dog, Roxie, and five (yes, five) cats, Nirvana, Gary Roberts, Elvis, Talbot and Forrest.

I talked before about the urge I have to keep things tidy around the house and follow everyone around picking up what they put down. Now, I’ve become a purger of the crap.

I want to get rid of everything we haven’t touched in years, months, days, minutes—anything that my husband doesn’t stop me from getting rid of.

I used to hang on to old high school notebooks and college papers, clothes that will never fit me again or that have holes in them, things I accumulated from my Grandpap’s house after he passed away, almost everything I felt I had some connection with. I recently decided, though, that I’d never revisit my tenth-grade thoughts on “Of Mice and Men,” NEVER wear a tube top again or use my Grandpap’s blender from 1980-something.

It’s time to get rid of this stuff because, in the end, it’ll make our lives easier and give us more family time together. We won't get lost in the clutter.

I don’t know if this is a “mom” thing to do, but my mom does this—usually throwing away my dad’s stuff without him knowing. Do you do this? Did it come about after you had kids? Maybe I just have sping-cleaning fever.

There’s a need in me to have things simpler—a place for everything and everything in its place, right? Well, the place is not in a box in our basement, that’s for sure.

Everything will get a proper home (garbage, charity, goodwill, etc.) as I keep moving through all that we have. Keep your eyes open for a big garage sale in Plum the next few months!

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Erin Hill is a first-time mom to Lincoln, who was born in January 2010. She's learning as she goes and is experiencing everything a new mom goes through while seeing the humor, irony, and enjoyment in her adventures.

Erin is a full-time technical writer and features freelance writer in her "spare time." She lives in Plum with Lincoln, her husband, Adam, their dog, Roxie, and five (yes, five) cats, Nirvana, Gary Roberts, Elvis, Talbot and Forrest.

Sunday was my first Mother’s Day. Confused? You should be. Lincoln is 16 months old after all.

I’m counting it as my first because last year I was still in daughter mode forgetting the day was for me, too. I’m sure it’s expected—I’ve been celebrating my mom on this special day for 30 years. It’s a hard habit to break.

Last year we took my mom to the Aviary. We’ve done that for at least five years. My mom enjoyed herself, but it wasn’t until all the hubbub settled that I realized I didn’t have a good day. Sorry, but I didn’t. I hate birds. HATE them.  I’m glad mom had a nice time looking at them, but I. HATE. THEM.

I took here there, though, because she likes it and, after all, it was Mother’s Day. You do what the mom what’s to do. But, what do you do when you’re the mom, too?

Mom didn’t mind we didn’t go to the Aviary. Like me, she just wanted to be together.

I wonder if it’s hard for her to give up the day that was just once for her, though. We’re not selfish people here, but we do like our “special” days. I mean, we work so hard every other day, right? It’s nice twice a year (Mother’s Day and our birthday) to say the day is for ME.

This year we hit up an excellent brunch buffet and went to the park. After my mom went home, Lincoln and I snuggled on the couch—my idea of a good time. I think we created a new tradition.

It was still hard for me to not focus completely on my mom. Should I have still? Should I have gone to the Aviary? (Remember, we can go there any time.) I’m feeling guilty.

Was it difficult for you to switch out of daughter mode for your first Mother’s Day? Is it still?

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Erin Hill is a first-time mom to Lincoln, who was born in January 2010. She's learning as she goes and is experiencing everything a new mom goes through while seeing the humor, irony, and enjoyment in her adventures.

Erin is a full-time technical writer and features freelance writer in her "spare time." She lives in Plum with Lincoln, her husband, Adam, their dog, Roxie, and five (yes, five) cats, Nirvana, Gary Roberts, Elvis, Talbot and Forrest.