What I want to remember

May 9, 1999 (I think)

Mom keeps memories close to her heart

My husband says these are the “salad days.” These are the early years when our children are young. He says to enjoy them now – they won’t come again.

My mom says I should videotape the kids more, especially when they do something incredibly cute or before the baby gets too big. When my oldest son says something cute, she’ll ask, “Are you writing these things down?”

I try to memorize the moments – capturing each detail for when my babies aren’t babies anymore.

I want to remember how it feels to tousle little blond heads of silky hair, how it feels to hold tiny hands to play “Patty Cake” or “Gimme Five!” I want to remember how chubby cheeks dimple with sweet baby smiles; how it feels to kiss the soft spot between two tiny shoulder blades before bath time; how giggles of glee abound in wrestling matches, pillow fights and tickle fests.

These are the things I want to remember.

These are the things I want to forget:

• ·         Having at least one child wake me up in the night – every night.
• ·         Falling into bed after 10 p.m. and getting up at 4 a.m. to feed the baby and get dressed before heading to work by 5:30 a.m.
• ·         Coming back into work when I’d rather be playing with my kids.
• ·         Runny noses, fevers, ear infections, prescription medicine, bad dreams, falls off bunk beds, fights.
• ·         Piles of laundry I never really see the end of – they just rotate.
• ·         Dishes that get dirty by themselves.
• ·         Cobwebs that are older than some of my children.
• ·         Worrying about sending them to school or leaving them with a sitter.

I want to remember how my 3-year-old son runs to me when I get home to hug my legs tight and say “Daddy!” and then catch himself and say “Momma!” instead.

I want to remember how the first words of everyone who sees the baby seem to be: “Look at those big, beautiful blue eyes!”

I want to remember my oldest son’s “poems” and “jokes.”

I want to remember my youngest son singing the “Veggie Tales” theme song (“Bro-oli, ce-ry, go-a be, Beggie!”).

I want to remember how my son says “Cheeeese!” and tilts his head any time someone picks up a camera.

I want to remember how they love Hot Wheels cars, and how my oldest son plays “Let’s Make a Deal” to get more of them out of storage.

I want to remember the quiet, sleepy sounds, a baby breathing against my skin, warm little bodies snuggled next to me, favorite blankets and thumbs, bedtime stories and prayers, shadow puppet theater, counting to three for lights out.

I hold these memories inside. This is what I want to remember. This is what I want to enjoy. This is what being a mom is all about.

I want to remember my children as they are, as they have been, as they will be.

I remember – because these days won’t come again.