Everyday memories

Life is punctuated with very specific memories – the images of people and places that commemorate an event that was meaningful in some way, for better or worse.  The family vacation where I saw mountains for the first time.  The time an unfortunate encounter with my birthday candles singed the edges of my hair.  The day my husband and I flipped over a jetski on our honeymoon.  The way each of my brand new babies looked in the first moment they were placed on my chest.  These moments slide into our lives like a happy pause or a dramatic exclamation point, and we remember them with very specific parameters.  We can point to a day and location and say, “this happened then.” 

But filling in the narrative of our lives aside from the noise of this punctuation is the every day.  There are people and experiences that enrich us over time and weave themselves seamlessly into who we are.  I grew up attending church with my family and my grandparents.  It was a traditional service where we sang hymns accompanied by the powerful tones of a pipe organ.  As a result, I have many of those songs committed to memory, and when I sing them today I cannot separate my own voice from that of my grandparents.  As the congregation sings, I can still hear the unique quality of each of their voices dancing through the verses – my grandpa’s syncopated baritone, and grandma moving in and out of soprano and alto as the range of the song requires. 

I don’t need to conjure a up a specific event to recall this or bring it back to the front of my mind; it appears automatically when we sing a classic hymn at the church I now attend with my own little family.  I don’t “remember a time,” really.  I feel those experiences enriching my current moments because they are so deep that they’re part of me.  This morning I had such a moment when we were singing “Praise to the Lord, the Almighty” during our church service.  In my head, my voice joined with my grandparents' to raise up the lyrics, “All ye who hear, now to his temple draw near; Praise him in glad adoration.” 

As I was enjoying this moment – this deep memory – I became aware that my daughter, propped up on my hip as she usually is, was staring intently into my face and watching my mouth form the words.  At the beginning of the next verse, she enthusiastically joined in.  She opened her mouth wide, making perfect O’s – one after another – as we continued with, “Praise to the Lord, who o’er all things so wondrously reigneth.”  At her age of approximately a year and a half, she was mimicking what she was seeing, and while no sound actually left her lips she became part of the throng.  I immediately smiled and got my husband’s attention so he could see what was unfolding, and this resulted in giggles on the part of our little performer. 

As simple and brief as that moment was, it struck me with a profound sense of joy.  I was simultaneously feeling a sense of closeness to a generation that came before me, and to the next one I’m preparing for the world.  I’ll cop to that sounding corny, but God puts together wonderful things if we only stop to notice. 

It occurred to me during the remainder of the service that moments like these, repeated throughout a childhood, could become part of the narrative of our children’s lives.  I watched my daughter wave to the people in the pew behind us, and my son step shyly through the rows to collect coins in a tin can for the noisy offering.  This church, these people, it all just made my heart so full.  This is the stuff memories are made of – slowly over time these moments will intertwine themselves into these little humans.  I am so privileged to contribute to who they will be, and for today, darn it, we’re doing a good job.   

Imitation

They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.  If that’s the case, then consider me flattered to have a 20 month old daughter who tries to mirror my every move.  It’s not just me, of course.  She’s learning from everyone she spends a lot of time with, including her older brother.  One habit of hers, in fact, is to sidle up to an open toilet, lift her shirt, and lean her hips forward.  This one first perplexed me, then horrified me, and now I just find it downright amusing.  Let’s face it – if I took myself too seriously as a parent to find that funny, I’d be in for a long road. 

There are times when I don’t realize something may actually be a habit of mine until I see her doing it and momentarily pause to wonder where she got it.  A few nights ago I observed her searching her room for her sippy cup.  She put her finger to her lips and lightly tapped as she said, “hmmmmmm.”  Hmmm, indeed, I thought, as I caught myself doing the very same thing the next day. 

Of course there are some moments when we see our children imitating us that are less than flattering.  Earlier this week I overheard my son in the next room admonishing his sister by using her first, middle, and last name, and then explaining in a very “parent-y” tone that we do not climb on the furniture.  It was parent-y and a bit mocking at the same time, as if he was simultaneously putting his sister in her place and me in mine.  Well played.

Because I’m a mom and I can’t stop my brain from thinking ten steps down the road, I naturally start to worry about the example I’m setting since they are clearly watching me.  But when that thought creeps in, I am choosing instead to embrace it.  Think of the power we have to shape these littles into people who actively love life, follow their curiosity, and feel good in their own skin.  If I nudge myself forward in setting that example for them, it helps me be more true to myself as well – win win. 

Regular dance parties are mandatory in this quest.  I’m not talking about turning on the radio in the background for the kids while I put away the dishes.  I mean crank up the Disney, grab their sticky little hands, and fly around the living room like your list of cares is as short as theirs.  When Elsa starts to sing, you better believe we LET IT GO.

Playing in the rain also helps.  Last night when we came home from an ice cream run, it was dark and damp and there were worms crawling all over the driveway.  The kids stood just inside the garage door, and I could tell from the way they were looking at those worms that they were feeling a mix of curiosity, intrigue, and uncertainty.  I realized in that moment that their reaction would likely be influenced by my own.  If I instinctively lingered back, saying, “eewww, worms!”, they may assume they were something to be feared (or at the very least, avoided).  I instead made a conscious decision to step out on the driveway, crouch down, and redirect the worms that were heading for the garage door in order to save them from a crushing fate.  As I lingered there, bent over in the light drizzle of rain that continued to fall, I looked over my shoulder to find my children emerging from the shadows to stand by my side.    

There are absolutely bigger and more vital things we can do knowing that the little ones are watching.  Being kind and patient, serving, and sharing with others are important examples as we face the enormously ridiculous task of shaping human beings.  However, I will always be a sucker for the small moments, and I believe there is great power in the lessons they can teach.  The way we respond to situations becomes a habit, and whether it’s the decision to splash in a puddle, try a new sport, or choose a career path, I want my kids to jump in.  Always.  Because it’s fun, because it’s life, and who cares if you get a little dirty.

Some day when my kids are grown and someone asks them what their mom is like, I would find no greater joy than to have them light up and say, “She dances like a crazy person and plays with worms.”  I take that back – my greatest joy will be when they find what makes them dance.