The Memory Game

This weekend I was talking with my mom about my perfect childhood. You see, in my family, as I suspect in many of yours, there is this perpetual myth that my sister and brother and I behaved nicely. All the time. Every day. Since our birth.

So every now and then I question my mom about it to see if I can stir up some repressed memories.

"You really don't remember any of this stuff?" I'll ask, while juggling my fussy son on my lap trying to appease him with any object within reach, my shoulders drenched in tears and my patience wearing thin.

There had to have been some tantrum or fit out in public that she remembers. But no, in her memory, we were perfect children. She said "in those days" children just didn't whine like the kids today.

I beg to differ. I have plenty of memories from grade school (and later) that involve lots of mischief and a few potentially lethal objects being hurled through the air during sibling-rivalry fights, but this isn't really what I'm getting at with these questions. I'm more curious about the toddler years.

But alas, I give up. Who can blame her for not remembering a bunch of little moments from 37 years ago? I can't even remember what I ate for breakfast.

Later on that day I thought about it and realized that's the way it should be. When you reflect back on your life you should just remember the good stuff. What's the point of remembering all the exhaustion of sleepless nights and whining and crying over spilled milk?

We all know that if our memories were that keen, we'd never choose to give birth again after having experienced it once. Except for those of you ladies that thought the whole thing was magical and mystical, and that nothing could be more pure and powerful than giving birth.

In which case I'd say that someone must have slipped a little something into your IV.

So that night, while I was readying my son for bedtime, I had a "moment". I realized that I will definitely remember his wonderful smile, the same one that he gives me every single time I put him in his crib as he is snuggled up on his belly with his blanket under his cheek.

And I will always remember the way he starts (almost) every day. His sweet embrace as he leans in for hugs, resting his soulful head on my shoulder, wanting nothing more than to be loved in return.

I will remember that he is active and strong and loves to be constantly in motion.

These are the slices of time that I will take with me.

And I will very likely forget all the frustrations of skinned knees and toppled chairs, not to mention the bouts of arm wrestling through the grocery store.

Generally speaking, if it's not written down, it's a distant memory, soon to be buried underneath new ones. Even as I strive to keep wonderful memories close at heart, the list grows longer still.

For that reason, this blog is my memory keeper, of both good and bad. It will serve as my storage back-up drive for all the memories that my mind can't quite see anymore.

I can't wait to read back on them in 37 years.