I'm sitting here on the chair with my family all quietly tucked into the sheets, fans blowing in the windows for these hot summer nights. James was up twice after I laid him down - we are working on obedience - and Indigo was exhausted after a long day of only three 15 minute naps. Life is a funny thing. Yesterday, I was driving home the back way, and some song came on the radio that reminded me of elementary days. I recalled picking blackberries at a friend's house, painting our nails with the iridescent blue nail polish, and the look on my friend's face when she told me that her favorite singer, Selena, died. Those things are all just moments - minutes passing in time.\
I remember my first grade classroom having weird smelling bathrooms, and that every story was about some kid named Carlos.
I remember being in a panic because I wrote my piano practice time on the paper on the piano and dented the wood on the other side.
I remember peeking into the open Christmas bags with my cousin in California to see the dolls from Grandma.
I remember cutting morning classes my senior year of high school because my heart was sad, and I'd drive out to the lake just to sit by the water and listen to the bugs and the waves.
I remember being so excited to get a plum cropped sweatshirt to go with my wide legged jeans because I thought I looked super cool.
I remember driving home the first summer from college with the windows down, stuck in horrible Seattle traffic, but I didn't have one single care.
I remember watching my then fiance sob uncontrollable tears at our wedding, and then upon getting the phone call that our precious Graham wasn't quite right - the only two times I've seen those tears from him.
I remember the water glinting off canoe bow as we paddled around the lake on one of many dates thatfirst only summer of dating.
I remember birthing our three children, and holding them after shocked at the love and mess.
All these moments - did I realize I was recording them then? Did I know they were making marks on my soul? Memory is an incredible thing...our memory plays such a huge role in who we are. And its so personal. My memories are different from what my siblings have written on their childhoods. When I die some memories will get passed on, but most will not because they are my experiences and belong to no one else. It is such a strange thought. Maybe I've been thinking about it of late, as my and Brad's grandparents are getting older and memories are fading. It must be a scary thing to forget. To forget what you've done, or where you've been, or what you walked in the room for. A frustrating thing to fade in and out of what you know and what is a mystery. I'm a documenter - always have been, always will be. And so as I think about fading memories, I found myself trying to squeeze every ounce of memory out of my children's lives. Can I remember...? Can I remember? It gets stressful to think about. I suppose that actively trying to make a memory won't really work anyway because who knows what my mind will hang on to. I hope this little brain of mine keeps the good with the bad, the triumph and the struggle. And so I'm left tonight wanting to pick the brains of my elderly family - what memories are they hanging on to? What left a deep enough mark to stay? What will my children remember? I don't have a nice little bow to tie on this...just streaming some thoughts. So good night.
I remember my first grade classroom having weird smelling bathrooms, and that every story was about some kid named Carlos.
I remember being in a panic because I wrote my piano practice time on the paper on the piano and dented the wood on the other side.
I remember peeking into the open Christmas bags with my cousin in California to see the dolls from Grandma.
I remember cutting morning classes my senior year of high school because my heart was sad, and I'd drive out to the lake just to sit by the water and listen to the bugs and the waves.
I remember being so excited to get a plum cropped sweatshirt to go with my wide legged jeans because I thought I looked super cool.
I remember driving home the first summer from college with the windows down, stuck in horrible Seattle traffic, but I didn't have one single care.
I remember watching my then fiance sob uncontrollable tears at our wedding, and then upon getting the phone call that our precious Graham wasn't quite right - the only two times I've seen those tears from him.
I remember the water glinting off canoe bow as we paddled around the lake on one of many dates that
I remember birthing our three children, and holding them after shocked at the love and mess.
All these moments - did I realize I was recording them then? Did I know they were making marks on my soul? Memory is an incredible thing...our memory plays such a huge role in who we are. And its so personal. My memories are different from what my siblings have written on their childhoods. When I die some memories will get passed on, but most will not because they are my experiences and belong to no one else. It is such a strange thought. Maybe I've been thinking about it of late, as my and Brad's grandparents are getting older and memories are fading. It must be a scary thing to forget. To forget what you've done, or where you've been, or what you walked in the room for. A frustrating thing to fade in and out of what you know and what is a mystery. I'm a documenter - always have been, always will be. And so as I think about fading memories, I found myself trying to squeeze every ounce of memory out of my children's lives. Can I remember...? Can I remember? It gets stressful to think about. I suppose that actively trying to make a memory won't really work anyway because who knows what my mind will hang on to. I hope this little brain of mine keeps the good with the bad, the triumph and the struggle. And so I'm left tonight wanting to pick the brains of my elderly family - what memories are they hanging on to? What left a deep enough mark to stay? What will my children remember? I don't have a nice little bow to tie on this...just streaming some thoughts. So good night.
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