We are at the Farm this week. We’re wearing ourselves out, and having fun, and doing All The Things.
The other day I went for a ride on Great Big Mable with my older girls.
That’s this thing, if you’re not familiar:
For some reason, as we were riding along, having a good old time, I got all nostalgic and started thinking, “I wonder if my girls are going to remember these times when they get older…”
I was thinking about all the trips we take so they can spend time with their grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins and all the fun things we do.
It got me thinking of my own childhood and my own memories of grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins.
I had a major walk down memory lane while riding old Mable.
I got to thinking about when I was a kid, playing with cousins, pool parties at my aunt and uncle’s house, family gatherings at my other aunt and uncles house, watching Dukes of Hazard with my cousins at my other aunt and uncle’s house. I remember singing a lot with my Grandma B., rocking in the old chairs on my Grandma and Papa’s front porch, going up north with them. I remember playing in my Grandma C.’s jewelry box, sitting on my Grandpa’s lap naming all my aunts and uncles as I touched each of their birthstones on his tie clip, climbing the tree in their backyard.
I thought about all these things on the Big Mable. And I’ve been thinking about them since. I’ve gone on an extended search of my childhood memories accompanied by lots of thoughts about my own kids.
“Will my girls remember when we did this?”
“Will Lass remember finding that cool caterpillar?”
Some of my own memories are vague. Some are crystal clear.
Sometimes it’s just a sense memory. I remember smells, like my Grandma C.’s chicken cacciatore cooking. Sounds, like my Papa’s laughter. Tastes, like the sharp bitterness of martini (was this vodka? vermouth? I don’t know) on an olive out of my Grandpa’s drink, pancakes made more tasty because Grandma C. poured them in animal shapes, and the extra delicious grilled cheese my Grandma B. made. I can distinctly remember the feeling of rocking in those old rocking chairs on her porch.
I don’t know if I have many memories from when I was four or younger, as my kids are. Maybe a few around 4 or 5 years old. Being a flower girl in a wedding. Getting (accidentally) hit in the face with a baseball bat and needing stitches. Riding a carousel with my Dad.
My girls probably won’t remember much of what we’ve done this trip. They probably won’t remember today clearly. But maybe they’ll remember the smell of the fish they caught with their Dad. The sound of rocks plopping when tossed in the pond. The feel of the water and the sun.
Who knows? Maybe Miss will remember a sense of some of the things we’ve done this week or this summer. Lass probably won’t and Sis certainly won’t.
It doesn’t really matter I guess, because we’ll keep doing all these things, spending time with family, going to cool places, doing fun activities together, as they grow. And eventually they will be old enough to remember.
And happily, even if they don’t remember, they’ll know. Because it’s all documented here.