For some reason, the end of the year brings many memories flooding back. Maybe it’s the holidays. Maybe it’s reflecting on the past year. Maybe it’s in anticipation of what I would like to happen in the new year. But it occurs more frequently. Especially images and thoughts of my childhood. I had a good one. No. I had a great one. A childhood that was drenched in innocence for longer than most. My parents encouraged wonderment, love, and family. With two young boys of my own, I hope that their childhood is just as special. Yet, it is already so different from mine. Divorce and city living. Brotherhood and two homes. Working mom and daycare.
Although my motherhood journey is much different from I ever dreamed it would be, I still am working tirelessly to give my sons the best possible life they deserve. One that is filled with endless memories that are warm.
I hope they remember how magical Christmas time was. The sparkly lights. The brightly wrapped gifts. Christmas carols playing in the background.
I hope they remember watching Rudolph and Frosty every year. Sitting on the couch cuddled next to mom.
I hope they remember driving around and looking in awe at the Christmas lights on houses.
I hope they remember that home was where they were safe. They could always throw the biggest fit, scream the loudest, and slam the door yet know that it was okay. It’s home.
I hope they remember lazy summer days. Playing in the sprinklers. Eating popsicles. Ceiling fans cooling them down.
I hope they remember spontaneous dance parties with me in the living room. In the car. In the store.
I hope they remember that music was playing all the time. Waking up to songs playing while mom got ready for work. Jamming out on Saturday mornings while cleaning. Worship songs. Pop music. Country ballads. Classic instruments.
I hope they remember that no matter what time, they could come into mom’s bed. A spot would be made and a hand to hold.
I hope they remember my smile and eyes lighting up every time I saw them.
I hope they remember playing board games and card games at bathtime. A little one on one time with mom while taking turns cleaning up.
I hope they remember me calling them when we were apart. That everyday they were with dad, I contacted them. Never off my mind.
I hope they remember that I love to read. They would think back about library trips and stacks of books around the house and fondly think of me.
I hope they remember playing. With me. Without me. With each other. Alone.
I hope they remember how being with family made them feel. Cousins, aunts and uncles, grandparents, second/third cousins. Friends that are family. That where ever they are in life, family is and always has been there.
I hope they remember friendships started with their parents. Being with friends. Loving friends. How to make friends. That friends are family too.
I hope they remember how I would kiss their forehead every morning when I buckled them into their car seats.
I hope they remember my love for them. How I would say I love you over and over again. The kisses and hugs for no reason. The I’m sorry. The discipline when needed. The bedtime book reading. The tickles. The butt pinching cause they are just so cute. The hand brushing their hair from their eyes. The hand holding. The morning giggles.
I hope they forget when I cried. When I got angry. When I yelled. When I was too tired to be the mom they needed.
I hope they forget those days where having two homes was hard and tiring. When they didn’t always know who was picking them up from school.
I hope they forget how some days mom was too busy to just stop and be with them.
I hope they forget when they were scared. When they were hurt. When they cried. Because of divorce. Because they missed one of their parents. Because they lost some innocence earlier then they were suppose to.
I hope they think back and remember how mom was always there.