The Little Black Dress...
I was inspired by this post... If you have never been over to Privilege you really ought to go there. I love L and her blog. LPC recently wrote about a memory stirred by her grown daughter's visit home. It stirred so many emotions within me that I just had to write this...
As mothers we want to create the perfect childhoods for our children. We want to fill them with awe and wonderment. We want to teach them. We want to create with them. We want to laugh with them and to experience new things with them.
I truly see the world so very differently from the days before I had children. Of course I worry about them, their well-being and their futures, but I have also managed to slow down, calm down, and enjoy life the way they do. I look at the flowers on the side of the road. If I'm driving them to sports or play dates and I happen to notice that the sky is full of big, beautiful cumulus clouds, I'll automatically start looking for the turtles, rabbits and baby elephants. If Alexander puts on an outfit that has both plaid and stripes I won't make him change. He is exerting his independence. He's put a great deal of thought into this great mismatched outfit. Who am I to squash his decision-making and creativity?
If Rebecca is so vehemently opposed to going out with tidy hair -- which happens a lot at the ripe old age of 11 and 3/4 -- then let it be. Most likely all the 11 and 3/4 year olds will have hair like hers. And whether or not her hair is picture-perfect (of, course there are times when she must be "presentable") will not make or break a moment. If something memorable happens, I'm certain not to remember how tidy she was or whether or not her hair was brushed properly.
I don't really recall my children's first steps. I vaguely recall first meals... Christmases... Easters... But there are plenty of photos for all those moments. And yes, all my children do look pretty and tidy in photographs. True memories, and the most memorable and heartfelt ones are not the ones we try to create or even the ones we think will bear the most importance...
Working mothers always worry about dividing their time between their careers and their children. They worry about missing a big event or milestone. They feel terribly guilty about this. I have had the honor and privilege to be home with my children for nearly 12 years. As I prepare to re-enter the work-force I worry not about what I will miss in their lives, because I cannot be with them all the time, and as they grow I will be with them less and less. And I'm OK with this. After 12 years of parenting I need a little time away from them as well. We'll always create and have new memories and they will be wonderful... whatever they shall be.
Right now I feel a sense of nostalgia and loss... an era has passed. Even my youngest is now in school full time. For so many years I wished my children would be just a little bit older so that I could do just a little bit for myself. Children are hard work and exhausting. I know this first-hand and never want to go back... yet there are moments that will truly will be missed. I enjoyed nothing as much as watching my daughter when she was 3 and 4. She was at once a little child and a little person. She was as much about fairies, princesses and tutus as she was about the world around her. She hated to wear pants. And on the odd day I had to put her in a pair she'd slip a tutu right over them. And then we'd put her coat on and off she'd go. It was absolutely adorable. I can see the purple corduroys, pink tutu and red Primigi or Elephanten Mary Janes or T-straps. Her coat was hot pink with toggle buttons... from Talbot's Kids. I can see her running to the old Volvo. Christopher was not around yet. He must have been in my stomach still. Alexander was not even a thought at that point. I don't remember what we were doing or where we were going... but I remember that particular moment.
Last weekend my daughter started to clear out her room. She has entered an age where she no longer likes her room and is in the midst of "remodeling" it. She has taken many, many trips to the basement where she has deposited her old rocking chair, doll furniture, strollers, and dolls. As she carried the large plastic bins filled to the rim with thousands upon thousands of dollars worth of American Girl dolls and clothes she did tell me not to seal the boxes permanently. I took a little joy in that statement. Hundreds of dollars worth of stuffed animals were no longer wanted or needed. Alexander was happy about this. (See below post!)
Admittedly, I was not sad to see the passing of the Barbie, Polly Pocket, PetShop and other irritating toy phases. As we tossed these plastic nuisances I could not help but wonder just how much money has been spent on children's play things over the years... I was not sad to see the last Polly Pocket plastic purple cape get tossed into the garbage...
And then there is Madeline. This is the phase I miss the most. Rebecca fell in love with the youngest girl in two straight lines when she was about 2 years old. For 3 years she lived, ate and breathed Madeline. For years she even looked like the beloved little French girl. She had dolls, books, videos, games, jewelry... she had it all! She knew all the books from front to back. We watched Madeline when it was on The Disney Channel all those years ago... We sang the songs, bought the movies and CDs. Rebecca was Madeline for Halloween just before she was 3. It was the perfect costume. She was the perfect Madeline. She wore that costume as much as she could until she finally outgrew it. Her imaginary friends were named Chloe, Nicole and Danielle. Pepito (That Bad Bad Hat!) was her favorite small doll. We had to eventually get a second doll just so that we could swap out the doll clothes to give them a wash from time to time! When Rebecca was hospitalized for pneumonia when she was three, Pepito was right there by her side!
We've long since given away the dollhouse. We still have all the books, tapes and CD. The larger Madeline and her dog Genevieve are still with us. From time to time we listen to the CD in the car. Alexander loves the songs. I tear up sometimes when we sing along... I remember so well the days when nothing, and I mean nothing else could be played in the car. That CD eventually had to go into hiding. Rebecca was devastated and it crumbled my heart to make her so sad... but I just couldn't take anymore. The other day as I was organizing all the stuffed animals I came across two Genevieves in Alexander's room...
These are the things memories are made of. They are not well thought out, planned and executed activities. They are simply moments, snipets, of real time... every day living.
Yesterday I was bringing a box of items to a children's boutique consignment store. It was packed. I walked over to the side to get out of the way. Coming out of the dressing room was a mother and her little girl. There was a pile in her arm and she was sorting through the items. My eyes scoped the store and the racks. I saw a few items that were ours... a pair of Boden corduroys that were pink with large brown circles, an old red E-land quilted jacket, and other assorted items that looked bizarre hanging there from the racks to be purchased and worn by some other unknown child. I scoped the store again and the mother who had just emerged from the dressing room with her young child was now gently running her fingers up and down our black Hannah Andersson dress.
I didn't like it. It was not so much the thought of someone else wearing our memories, though that was certainly part of it... it was more the fact that our children are growing and our lives are changing and I am not terribly fond about or comfortable with change.
I felt, suddenly, claustrophobic. I clutched my box and walked out of the store.
As mothers we want to create the perfect childhoods for our children. We want to fill them with awe and wonderment. We want to teach them. We want to create with them. We want to laugh with them and to experience new things with them.
I truly see the world so very differently from the days before I had children. Of course I worry about them, their well-being and their futures, but I have also managed to slow down, calm down, and enjoy life the way they do. I look at the flowers on the side of the road. If I'm driving them to sports or play dates and I happen to notice that the sky is full of big, beautiful cumulus clouds, I'll automatically start looking for the turtles, rabbits and baby elephants. If Alexander puts on an outfit that has both plaid and stripes I won't make him change. He is exerting his independence. He's put a great deal of thought into this great mismatched outfit. Who am I to squash his decision-making and creativity?
If Rebecca is so vehemently opposed to going out with tidy hair -- which happens a lot at the ripe old age of 11 and 3/4 -- then let it be. Most likely all the 11 and 3/4 year olds will have hair like hers. And whether or not her hair is picture-perfect (of, course there are times when she must be "presentable") will not make or break a moment. If something memorable happens, I'm certain not to remember how tidy she was or whether or not her hair was brushed properly.
I don't really recall my children's first steps. I vaguely recall first meals... Christmases... Easters... But there are plenty of photos for all those moments. And yes, all my children do look pretty and tidy in photographs. True memories, and the most memorable and heartfelt ones are not the ones we try to create or even the ones we think will bear the most importance...
Working mothers always worry about dividing their time between their careers and their children. They worry about missing a big event or milestone. They feel terribly guilty about this. I have had the honor and privilege to be home with my children for nearly 12 years. As I prepare to re-enter the work-force I worry not about what I will miss in their lives, because I cannot be with them all the time, and as they grow I will be with them less and less. And I'm OK with this. After 12 years of parenting I need a little time away from them as well. We'll always create and have new memories and they will be wonderful... whatever they shall be.
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| Courtesy, Beach Bungalow 8 |
Right now I feel a sense of nostalgia and loss... an era has passed. Even my youngest is now in school full time. For so many years I wished my children would be just a little bit older so that I could do just a little bit for myself. Children are hard work and exhausting. I know this first-hand and never want to go back... yet there are moments that will truly will be missed. I enjoyed nothing as much as watching my daughter when she was 3 and 4. She was at once a little child and a little person. She was as much about fairies, princesses and tutus as she was about the world around her. She hated to wear pants. And on the odd day I had to put her in a pair she'd slip a tutu right over them. And then we'd put her coat on and off she'd go. It was absolutely adorable. I can see the purple corduroys, pink tutu and red Primigi or Elephanten Mary Janes or T-straps. Her coat was hot pink with toggle buttons... from Talbot's Kids. I can see her running to the old Volvo. Christopher was not around yet. He must have been in my stomach still. Alexander was not even a thought at that point. I don't remember what we were doing or where we were going... but I remember that particular moment.
Last weekend my daughter started to clear out her room. She has entered an age where she no longer likes her room and is in the midst of "remodeling" it. She has taken many, many trips to the basement where she has deposited her old rocking chair, doll furniture, strollers, and dolls. As she carried the large plastic bins filled to the rim with thousands upon thousands of dollars worth of American Girl dolls and clothes she did tell me not to seal the boxes permanently. I took a little joy in that statement. Hundreds of dollars worth of stuffed animals were no longer wanted or needed. Alexander was happy about this. (See below post!)
Admittedly, I was not sad to see the passing of the Barbie, Polly Pocket, PetShop and other irritating toy phases. As we tossed these plastic nuisances I could not help but wonder just how much money has been spent on children's play things over the years... I was not sad to see the last Polly Pocket plastic purple cape get tossed into the garbage...
 |
| Halloween 2001 |
 |
| Halloween 2001 |
 |
| Halloween 2001 |
And then there is Madeline. This is the phase I miss the most. Rebecca fell in love with the youngest girl in two straight lines when she was about 2 years old. For 3 years she lived, ate and breathed Madeline. For years she even looked like the beloved little French girl. She had dolls, books, videos, games, jewelry... she had it all! She knew all the books from front to back. We watched Madeline when it was on The Disney Channel all those years ago... We sang the songs, bought the movies and CDs. Rebecca was Madeline for Halloween just before she was 3. It was the perfect costume. She was the perfect Madeline. She wore that costume as much as she could until she finally outgrew it. Her imaginary friends were named Chloe, Nicole and Danielle. Pepito (That Bad Bad Hat!) was her favorite small doll. We had to eventually get a second doll just so that we could swap out the doll clothes to give them a wash from time to time! When Rebecca was hospitalized for pneumonia when she was three, Pepito was right there by her side!
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| Just prior to her release |
We've long since given away the dollhouse. We still have all the books, tapes and CD. The larger Madeline and her dog Genevieve are still with us. From time to time we listen to the CD in the car. Alexander loves the songs. I tear up sometimes when we sing along... I remember so well the days when nothing, and I mean nothing else could be played in the car. That CD eventually had to go into hiding. Rebecca was devastated and it crumbled my heart to make her so sad... but I just couldn't take anymore. The other day as I was organizing all the stuffed animals I came across two Genevieves in Alexander's room...
These are the things memories are made of. They are not well thought out, planned and executed activities. They are simply moments, snipets, of real time... every day living.
Yesterday I was bringing a box of items to a children's boutique consignment store. It was packed. I walked over to the side to get out of the way. Coming out of the dressing room was a mother and her little girl. There was a pile in her arm and she was sorting through the items. My eyes scoped the store and the racks. I saw a few items that were ours... a pair of Boden corduroys that were pink with large brown circles, an old red E-land quilted jacket, and other assorted items that looked bizarre hanging there from the racks to be purchased and worn by some other unknown child. I scoped the store again and the mother who had just emerged from the dressing room with her young child was now gently running her fingers up and down our black Hannah Andersson dress.
I didn't like it. It was not so much the thought of someone else wearing our memories, though that was certainly part of it... it was more the fact that our children are growing and our lives are changing and I am not terribly fond about or comfortable with change.
I felt, suddenly, claustrophobic. I clutched my box and walked out of the store.