...I know a lot of moms feel this way after they have kids.
Parts of them, who they were, or who they thought they were, start to
disappear. I had one of those days this week. It was pouring rain; I had two
kids to drag in and out of the car multiple times. The car needed gas during a
small monsoon. I needed to miraculously get home, drop the kids off with a
babysitter, and make it to a meeting that was 45 minutes away in approximately
20 minutes. Everyone was tired. I thought about the days...before. I can’t even
remember what I did with my free time, sometimes I can’t remember who I used to
be. I know I had the memory at some point, but it’s like trying to find a file
that was erased from my hard drive years ago.
And then, just like that, it was bedtime. I gave Clara a
bottle, and after nuzzling in my neck for a moment, she slowly, quietly pushed
back, smiled ear-to-ear, ripped out her binky and screamed, “Momma!” Then I
went to Charlie’s room, where he slowly, quietly, read me Little Blue Truck. I
came downstairs and surveyed the day’s mess. The trains that met my feet with
every step. The random lego, golf ball, and hmm, I hope that’s a straw, under
the bookcase. The new scratches on my kitchen table, my new wood floors. The
questionable stains. And dear lord the crumbs. The crumbs.
And trust me, I hate it when people tell me to appreciate
this time just as much as this guy does (I know I'm not the only one who said a quiet, "amen," when they read, "There are people who say this to me: 'You should enjoy every moment now! They grow up so fast!' I usually smile and give some sort of
guffaw, but inside, I secretly want to hold them under water. Just for a
minute or so. Just until they panic a little.") Just until they panic. A little.
But, that night, I realized that some
day there will be no one to put to bed. There will be no trains and no cries in
the middle of the night. No backs to rub, no binkies to search for. There will be no one to dance to Twinkle, Twinkle
Little Star with. Suddenly, I became sentimental about sticky fingerprints.
There will be no Hansel and Gretel trail up the stairs at
There will be no one to stick an, “M” sticker to my butt,
which I walk around the better part of the day with, completely unaware.
But I digress.
I don’t just feel like I have disappeared from my every day
life, but also from my scrapbooks. And I’m OK with that. I’m all for guilt-free
scrapbooking, as in, you do what you can and that has to be good enough. So
when I was asked to participate in Lexi Bridges’ This is Me class at Studio
Calico, I really wondered if it was something I should do. Then I realized it
wasn’t something I should do, it was something I needed to do. Because one day,
some day, my kids might want to know more than just what they were like when
they were little. They might want to know what I was like too. It’s important
to remember them, but it’s also important to remember me too.
I used to scrapbook about myself, about us (when that was just two adults and a dog) all the time.
And I’m really, really going to try to keep this up (a few little sneaks from my album for the class):
The class is going to be great. Join us if you can, that is
if you aren’t too busy having someone embellish your butt with alpha stickers.
I guess, all along, I really do scrapbook like this. It's just a little more organized and you know I love me some organization. And itty-bitty details. And calendars. And stamps. Oh, I'm all over this.
...(the title of this post reminds me a little bit of one of Charlie's favorite commands: "Sit down!")
Start Here is a new class being taught by my friend Lisa over at 2peas. She asked me to contribute and I made one of my favorite pages, perhaps ever, for the class. But you have to sign up to see it. OK, I'll give you a little sneak:
If you would like a chance to win a spot in the class, leave a comment with your 2peas username before midnight EST on Wednesday, December 19!