Me…”I like to think so.”
Mitchell…”Are there bugs?”
Me…”I like to think so because they pollinate flowers and butterflies are wonderful.”
Avery…”Can big trees grow in the clouds in Heaven?”
Me…”Hmmmm…I don’t know about trees but I am sure…”
Mitchell, (butting in)…”Avery, TREES DON”T DIE AND GO TO HEAVEN! THEY TURN INTO COUCHES!”
Mountains of North Carolina August 2012
Do you keep the things that make you smile, laugh, think, love or cry?
I don’t mean cars or jewelry.
I mean the everyday quiet blessings that make you say a little thank you.
– An old photograph of your family’s first home they owned, on American soil.
– Did you write in your daughter’s scrapbook the day she lost her first tooth?
– Do you have a photograph of a half eaten coconut cream pie because you want to remember what delicious looked like?
– Did you collect shells when you were on your honeymoon and bring them home?
I send myself an email often, of things I want to remember.
That is how this blog came about. It is how I named it.
By talking to myself I am ensuring my external hard drive keeps the memories that my mind sometimes cannot remember. When I looked back at my photographs I knew I needed to tell the story. My blog was born.
Even the little things are out there floating in cyberspace.
Mitchell (3) & Avery (3) in Michigan chasing Jim at State Park
I even beat myself up when I cannot remember what I didn’t have time to type up on my phone and send to myself while we were shuffling out the door and on our way to school. That really funny thing I told myself to write about later. Memory can be a little temperamental.
Then I remind myself that I have recorded one more thing than my parents did for me. I do not have a baby book from when I was born. When I was twenty-eight I was given my immunization record, but it was only for my first set of shots.
I do not know when I read a book to my parents for the first time, or what we looked like while it was happening.
Peter Reading me a Bedtime Story, for the First Time
I don’t know if my boys will even care that I have written their stories down since they were born, when they are grown men. I do it anyway.
I do not have a newborn picture of me in my own mother’s arms.
I know I was loved. Everyone loves their baby. Their child.
and there probably
were those things…
and with divorce
things get lost.
If it weren’t for emailing myself these little gifts, I couldn’t unwrap them years later and share them with you.
I do it because I love them and I love our life and when memories fade we will have our story, out here, in cyberspace.
What do you do to keep the everyday things of your life from being forgotten? Should we let the moments we forget just be forgotten as they were intended?
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