Sunday, December 12, 2010

Sweet memories

This morning I was struck by a strong memory when I heard my coffee pot brewing.

Odd thing memories.

I was talking about this same thing with an older man at work recently. He is still grieving the loss of his wife and we talked about how just walking down a hall you are suddenly struck with a memory eeither from a sound, a word, a smell, memories that you had forgotten, but reappear so quickly with no warning.

We were having company for lunch so I got up early trying to get a head start on the day. I was standing there chopping up vegetables when my coffee maker started and I was immediately transposed to a much younger age in my bedroom that was across the hall from the door to the kitchen, hearing Mom and Dad having breakfast with their usual cup of coffee, and Dad listening to the radio.

And with this memory it brought back what was important in my childhod: it was not what we had or had not, it was that whole sense of security knowing that every morning my parents would be in the kitchen enjoying a cup of coffee while eating breakfast and listening to the radio. And they were there if I needed them. I loved this so much that I would cry at night dreading when things would change. OK, I was a weird kid.

In one of my recent posts I wrote quite candidly about my concerns that my girls seemed ok and really was worried about what we faced in the future.

Many of you wrote to tell me not to worry about the future and while that is easier said than done, the memory recalled this morning brings home the point that not everything has to be perfect to make for a good childhood. Mine was not perfect, but it was secure and I know that is all I can offer my girls, the rest takes time to realize.

Another thing that happened recently was Annabel's 2nd ever Christmas concert. Her group's participation last year was really short and well, it was their first concert, so you know. But this year they have really improved and I was so proud of her and all the other students that I was clapping until my hands hurt, and that's when I looked around at all the other mothers. They too were clapping, as hard as they could, trying to make sure their children knew how proud they were of them. It did not matter that the Christmas songs had nothing to do with their religion or their heritage, it was their children and they were proud. I love the school my girls go to because of their ethnic diversity and it is great to see that moms are moms no matter what!

I'm not promising that I won't worry about the future for my girls, because I also know that is part of being a mom, so know I am trying but I can't guarantee anything.

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