Misty water coloured memories…

I was talking to my Dad the other day and he asked me what my earliest memory is.

I can’t remember. Which is a strange thing in itself isn’t it? I don’t have a list of significant (or insignificant) events in my head that I can put in chronological order.

I know I don’t remember being born or learning to walk and talk.

I vaguely remember my Prep teacher coming to our house when I was 5. I remember her asking me not to worry so much at school.

I remember playing the part of the Big Bad Wolf in a primary school play. Or maybe I don’t. Maybe I just remember being told that I mispronounced chimney as chibeney so often that I think I remember it.

Are they my memories or are they an imprint of constant reminders disguised as my childhood?

I remember primary school and making mud pies in the bushes and the tyre bridge when I was 6.

I can remember being the President of the 4 leaf clover club when I was 10 and making the other members of the club carry me around. I would also like to take this opportunity to apologise to Kirsty, Sarah and Adrienne for my tyrannical dictatorship of the club which of course led to its premature demise.

I remember my first kiss like it was yesterday. It wasn’t. But it was awkward and sloppy. (Although I probably shouldn’t have pointed that out to the then love of my life and wiped my face with my sleeve in such an obvious way.)

I don’t remember my birthdays before I turned 10 or what I got or how I felt.

Which is strange.

*And please indulge me a small rant on the pointlessness of 1st birthday parties. They aren’t for the kid. It won’t remember. My eldest sons first birthday was celebrated with dinner at a pub. I had the lamb. He slept in the pram. Win/win people.*

My boys turned 4 and 6 recently and if they’re anything like me they won’t remember these milestones.

They won’t remember the things that are filling my heart right now and will probably sustain me through their grunting teen years.

They won’t remember telling me that they love me all the way to the moon.

They won’t remember our movie nights and cuddles in bed.

And that’s okay.

It is my greatest wish that they live long and happy lives and that their childhoods are remembered as a time of being loved and occasionally being over indulged.

When I look back on my life in the years to come these moments now will probably become my fondest memories. Being wanted, loved and replied upon by the 2 most precious little people in my life.

The idea that this could be as good as it gets scares me silly… but hopefully I won’t remember feeling this way.

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3 thoughts on “Misty water coloured memories…

  1. Beautiful! Also, your Big Bad Wolf memory made me think of something I once heard: whenever we remember something our brain recreates the memory from scratch and changes it a little in the process, so the things we remember the most often are actually not accurate anymore … isn’t that crazy/scary/really weird?

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