The memories of my childhood are still vivid in my mind. Pictures sometimes help bring back certain memories, as do certain scents, or places. My grandparent's apartment in Greece, a home-cooked meal by my mom that I loved to eat as a child, and the smell of my father's cologne all take me back, instantly.
I remember happy, carefree days, and of course, regular days of family dinners around the kitchen table and rushing to the family room to watch Today's Special. I remember favourite t-shirts, my old bed, eating chocolate chip ice cream for the first time with my great-grandmother in her backyard, and snuggles with my mom late at night.
I look at my children now and wonder what they'll remember when they look back to their childhood.
All the laughter?
The brotherly fights?
The tired sigh from their worried mother?
There is so much I want them to remember, and some things I would rather they forget. Like hospital visits, or when I yelled at them to go to bed.
I want them to remember a mom who would lay down beside them every single night until they fell asleep, a mom who read a dozen books before bed time because they were all requested.
I want them to remember parents who had some rules, but didn't live by them; I want them to remember the love, and the hugs and the kisses. I want them to remember the "I'm sorry, I love you" as soon as I would raise my voice.
I want them to rememember how much I loved them, even when they piled on top of me and almost broke my back.
I hope they remember how every morning I smothered them in kisses and hugs, no matter how tired I was.
I want them to remember how proud I was of them for the small things, like bringing their dirty dishes to the sink, and brushing their teeth, how even running towards the soccer ball without even coming close to scoring a goal made me jump up and down with happiness, while clapping my hands.
I want them to remember the day they sat on the stairs eating 24 little chocolates from the advent calender in 10 minutes and how I laughed with them, instead of scolding them.
I want them to remember the fun of travelling together, the joys of an airplane ride, and how I put on a brave face even though I was secretly suffering an anxiety attack in the air. I want them to remember the first time they swam in the ocean, and how happy they were with each sea shell they found.
I hope they remember when they had ice cream before dinner.
I want them to remember always feeling warm and cozy in bed because I would would wake up throughout the night to make sure they were still covered.
I want them to remember the car rides, the family road trips, the craziness, the laughter, and even the fights. After all, it's what makes us a family.
I want them to remember how every question asked was answered as honestly as possible, how much I loved to play at the park with them, and our evening walks after dinner in the summertime.
I hope they don't remember me always on my phone...
I wonder if they'll remember my threats to drive to the police station when they were misbehaving in the back seat of the car, or when I simply walked outside during one of their fights because I didn't want to hear them bickering anymore?
I hope they remember how happy they felt the days I was the volunteer in their classroom, and I hope they remember the happiness of running into my arms after school.
I want them to remember that even though I was not the greatest cook, every meal was prepared with love. (And maybe cooked a little too...extra well done.)
I want them to remember a childhood filled with wonderful, happy memories... of laughter, encouragement, and excitement. I want them to remember a mom who was always there, who said yes more than no, and who went with the flow.
I want them to always remember that they're my entire universe, always and forever.
I was inspired to write this post after reading a lovely, similar post over here.