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Sunday, February 11, 2018

snippets of remembering

I don't know if I am feeling sentimental these days, with baby turning two soon and my little man close to eye level with me, retreating to his room as moody preteen life kicks in. Or maybe its just I am overwhelmed enough that my mind is trying to escape? In any case, but I have been having so many moments of flashbacks lately. All of a sudden, vivid images of things I have done, places I have gone, years ago, all forgotten until a sudden flash brings them to the surface.

Isn't memory a funny thing?

And as a mom, a precious thing too.

One, I have felt and lived and seen and done and experienced so much more before this #momlife I now live. It's almost fascinating to remember snapshots of that world. I was that? Really?? 

Two, these babies of mine are slipping into childhood, preteen, teen, adulthood years so quickly, like beads spilling off a snapped necklace. To catch a bead or two as it falls, to find it under a rug, forgotten, hidden, is like a gift.

Sitting in the living room, watching Wall-E for the first time in awhile with the kids. Remembering little man, when he was actually little, waking from his nap, cuddling up to me as we watch the robot show, his round little head heavy against my chest, his little voice asking questions, chirruping a constant stream at me.

The sunshine at the end of the long day, hiking up the hill, my girlfriends behind me, finally catching our breath as we get to the top of the hill, the tall trees, raking their branches against the evening sky, and then coming up onto the plaza, the tiles and statues and the glowing golden dome taking center stage as the city of Florence comes into full view.

Ice cold water, splashed against my face, my new husband and I huddling against the blowing wind at the campground, tucking my hands back into my orange LL Bean windbreaker, the woods of Maine crisp and sparkling with the new day behind us. Feeling so ALIVE.

New baby, my first daughter, pulled onto my chest, the fire burning in the fireplace, letting off a glow behind her head, my husband's breath on my shoulder as he peers with me at our new girl. Her full lips, her squinted eyes, slits opening to take in the world. The ache of my womb, missing her, yet my arms so fulfilled.

The hazy sky of Baghdad, a browning golden gray as the sun sets, the tall prickly date palm above me, as the bats begin to swoop in their nightly hunt, the smell of burning in the air, dust settling with every footstep as I walk to my room, the sky fading to black behind me.

Pulling over in my minivan on a rural gravel road in the middle of Wisconsin. Baby screaming hysterically in the background, carsick and overheated. A toddler and a five year old perplexed as mommy breaks down into tears. Thinking how can I do this I am not this strong what is my life now.

Each bead glistening. Its own scent and feelings attached.

Reading Lord of the RIngs to not-so-little-man last night, him cuddled up to me, the chapter where Frodo is in Rivendell, recovering from the wringwraith's attack. He and Sam sit in the Room of Fire as the elves sing and tell stories and the images wash over them with the words connected with the feelings of the songs and stories, colors dancing and pictures of the elvish history from long ago and I think is that what happens as we grow old, and stay open to our memories and let them fill our hearts and we smile a little knowing smile as a song from our highschool years comes on the radio, washing dishes in our little kitchens and we turn it up and sing loud and even, to the astonishment of our babies/embarrassment of our preteens, dance a little, remembering another self, sixteen years old, daddy's big red car, the dry California air blowing long blond hair, scent of eucalyptus sharply in the evening wind, stripped down to a halter top after a class of tennis at the local community college, driving up and down and around the huge Central Coast landscape, the same song comes on, we turn it up, and smile, and drive, the whole world in front of us, ours for the taking, all is so very possible, and back in our kitchen, dish rag in hand, we smile at that girl, all is so possible, so good, girl, you dont even know.



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