Do you have really vivid memories as a child? A few that really stick out as defining moments of your childhood?
Sitting around a bonfire with my sisters and dad out in the back of our property, watching the sun sink behind the cornfields, the willow trees, and my dad says, "remember this girls, this is what memories are made of."
Lying in the field behind the barns, staring up at the blue summer sky, tall grasses on either side of me, listening to the buzz of insect life in the field.
The moment I first saw my baby sister through the hospital glass window. How tiny and wrinkled she was.
Crouching in the dirt of my mother's giant garden, hidden by the giant brussel sprouts, and pulling up the tiny (forbidden) carrots and eating them, dirt and all.
Nature. Family. Peace.
It occurred to me the other night, as we sat around a bonfire after a busy weekend, watching sparrows flit in and out of the barn that these are the moments MY children will remember. Especially little man. We are creating those memories for him now. And I found myself wondering, how will he filter them in his head? Will he remember the sparrows circling after bugs, the screeching sound of their babies calling them back to their nest? Will he remember the glow of the embers as dusk settles around the edges of the sky? Or will he remember the stress of a busy day? How he cried when we told him two marshmallows was PLENTY?
Do you think about this? The memories you are giving your child?
I want them to have memories of family. Love that stretched around them like a blanket, comforting, secure.
I want them to have memories of connecting with nature. The feel of an earthworm in the garden. The taste of peas warm from the sun. The refreshing joy of a summer breeze over a lake on a hot day.
I want them to have memories of peacefulness. A mama who rolls with the punches. Who happily packs up a snack for a late afternoon trip to the lake. Parents who hold hands and lovingly support each other in parenting. Who laugh and joke and read stories under blanket forts and suggest ice cream cones in the afternoon just because. A mama who watercolors on the deck for hours. Who provide support and encouragement and solidity when the world around them is in flux. Who they can come to when they have questions or worries.
And it makes me wonder who I am to them, who they will remember me as. Then I feel insecure.
But I brush it off and kiss my boy on the forehead and get off the computer and cuddle the baby waking up and tell the kids to go get their suits.
We need to get to the lake.