I love moments. Small things. The sound of my sons' soft breathing in the early morning. The north light coming through the slats of my blinds and landing on my husband's face. A raucous noise of laughter coming from any of the boys, including my husband. I stood in the kitchen the other day enjoying one of these moments and thought, "I hope I never forget any of this stuff." But, being who I am, I probably will. So let me make a small record of things I hope to never forget.
The time my two oldest boys were helping me fix dinner, and they put on Weird Al's parody of American Pie, "The Saga Begins," and the three of us were singing along to it. Smiled the whole time. And yes, I know the words.
The day I walked home from school with my middle child, and when we stopped to look at the horses he noticed one of them had an injured eye. He questioned why, and wanted to make sure the horse was okay. When we got home, he drew a picture of the horse with a wounded eye.
Sitting on the couch after a particularly rough morning with my youngest, whose meltdown had finally calmed to sniffles, while he tried to curl into my lap (though he no longer fit inside it).
The way my oldest son looked at me when he was a toddler, with a binky in his mouth and in each hand. He would smile up at me under those gorgeous white curls before going on with his day.
The day I walked home from school with my middle child, and when we stopped to look at the horses he noticed one of them had an injured eye. He questioned why, and wanted to make sure the horse was okay. When we got home, he drew a picture of the horse with a wounded eye.
The time I drove my two youngest sons plus two friends in a carpool and "Rock Lobster" by the B-52s came on the radio, and we were ALL singing along to the words.
The day I drove down State Street after my kids had watched Herbie: Fully Loaded, and my middle son shouted, "Mom, you drive like Herbie!"
When my husband asked my oldest how he wanted his eggs, and he replied, "yellow."
My time alone with each baby, holding them while they fell asleep and their tiny fists would curl against my body.
The time I fixed my son's zipper and he said I was awesome.
Friends, I'm afraid I'm already forgetting some of these moments. Even as I write this I think, "It seems like I'm forgetting something." Time is slipping away. My memory is too. I'm trying to write them now. I encourage you to do the same, no matter who you are. If you're a mother, a daughter, a husband, a wife, record your moments. Your feelings. Your people. Draw. Scribble. Collect things. You will want those memories to come back to you someday, the day when you realize those you love fiercely will grow up. They'll change. You'll forget. Yes, you will.
But that's okay, too. Because then you can go back to your journal, your photographs, your drawings, or your baby's blanket, and then you'll remember.
My time alone with each baby, holding them while they fell asleep and their tiny fists would curl against my body.
The time I fixed my son's zipper and he said I was awesome.
But that's okay, too. Because then you can go back to your journal, your photographs, your drawings, or your baby's blanket, and then you'll remember.
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