Wednesday, October 23, 2013


Several recent requests by my boy Atticus initiated my recent trips down Memory Lane.  On Monday of this week, school had sent home an All About Me poster. 

Never having been the Scrapbooking Mom or the Photo Album Mom, this Shove-Your-Photos-in-a-Disorganized-Fashion-into-a-Rubbermaid-Tub Mom hiked into the storage room part of our basement (aka The Man House aka The Dungeon aka A Mess), praying that she could locate at least one baby picture per her boy's meager request.

I hit the jackpot.  Boxful after boxful of photos from when my first two babies were just that: babies.  Back when our three-legged beagle Ernie was a spirited pup, his faithful sidekick was a one-eyed German Shepherd named Sissy, and we were still blessed with the presence of my Grandpa Joe and Uncle Gary. 

Many tears were shed.  Happy. Sad. Grateful. Bittersweet.

An hour after descending into basement, and I heard my children upstairs forming a search party for me.  I grabbed a handful of photos and rejoined them.

Paloma spotted a photo of Sissy, and exclaimed, "Oh! When I grow up, I'm totally going to have a Herman Shepherd!"

I love these moments.  And my first thought was:  I should be blogging this

But it was time to pick up Hatfield from tennis.  And then time to bring Atticus to dance.  And then time to bring Atticus home from dance while taking Hatfield to dance.  Or vice versa.  But trust me, by the time it was 9:45 pm, all my children were home and accounted for.

Today is an easier day, schedule-wise.  Today, after school, the children dive into snack time and chore time, so that they can have some play time before dinner time.

There's a lot of "times" in big families.  And this time, at homework time, Atticus requested a photo of he and the Mister for the last remaining spot on his poster.

(Yeah, because you know, I just merely gave life to the kid by pushing him out of my womb before the epidural even took and trust me when I say that you, reader,  you don't want to know what part of me tore in the process, but whatever, I guess just knowing how vital my role was in those early moments of his life is enough to deal with the sting of being snubbed on the All About Me Poster. Uh huh.)

I took to my computer to look up photos of My Man and his Mini-Me, only I could not easily locate one.   After all, it was prime distraction time as it was time for Atticus and Paloma to bicker over who gets to use which music stand for violin practice time.

Instead of searching through file folders, I took to my blog and its search engine.

And I pulled up This Particular Post:

That moment in time came flooding back to me.  I remember that day really well.  But it took the blog to spark my memory.
"Atticus and Paloma, come in here," I called to my bickering duo.  Of course, since it was bickering time, bickering about several subjects ensued along the way from the living room to the kitchen (all 18 steps.) 
"I don't think you two have a clear understanding of just how much Bickering History the two of you share," I informed them.
Their bickering ceased and confusion took its place.
"Shhh, just let me read this."
So I read the story to them, holding back each picture, scrolling only to it when it was the next and only thing in the story, to add to the suspense.
The three of us laughed so hard that we cried.
And I realized it then.  Just how important this Writing Down My Family History Time is.  And that despite Chauffer Time and Dinner Time and Homework Moderator Time and Reading Time and Bath Time and Bed Time and Mister, Pour Me a Glass of Wine Stat! Time, the Time I spend on the blog is Time I can't afford not to spend.
This entire journey goes by so very, very quickly.  And I'm grateful for every account I have written for my family, for their history, for their future. 
So I'm not going to worry about things I have missed (repeated over and over again for the type A-impaired orderly brain.)  I can choose not to feel this crazy, type-A pressure that I haven't done it perfectly, so I just need to go back and catch up by writing about birthdays and parties and events we missed.  
Instead, I can just start now.
And now is a great place to start.  Why?

Because while I'm typing, Paloma, Atticus and Keenan barreled in through the front door from playing football.
"Mom!" Paloma hollered.  "Keenan kicked the ball into the road just as a truck was turning the bend and Atticus saw what happened and said, 'Oh shit!'"
Atticus blushed bright red and said, "I didn't mean to! It just happened."
I held up a hand.  "Listen, it's okay. I say that all the time and I really shouldn't, especially in front of you kids, so I understand that it's something you will pick up along the way.  As long as you aren't using it all the time, and really, by the way, that was a totally appropriate time to use it, I'm okay."

Paloma pipes up:  "And Dad uses it too!  One time I heard him yell "Oh Shit!" and scream from your bedroom.  So I ran to the door and said, "Dad! Are you okay?" And he called back, "Yeah, I was just getting changed out of my work clothes and found a big bug in my underwear!!! '  So don't worry, Atticus, you get it from Mom AND Dad!"
Seriously, if that is not the Universe reaffirming my renewed commitment to blogging again, I don't know what is.

No comments: