As my girls get older, I find myself thinking about my own parents more and more. My childhood, our family routines, how they maintained order, and how they showed their love.
There are certain things about each of my parents that are seared into my memory:
My mom always cuddled me for as long as I needed when I woke up in the morning. I would burrow into her shoulder, breathe in the familiar smell of her Jafra moisturizer and feel her quilted red check robe against my cheek.
My dad always rocked me to sleep singing “Happy Trails” before gently laying me down in bed. I would try my hardest not to move a muscle because nothing felt more comfortable than the exact place he laid me down.
My mom always expertly frosted her dainty sugar cookies with our old baby spoons.
My dad always looked through his records to find the perfect dinner music.
My mom always fastened her thin, silver watch around her wrist for special occasions, and I couldn’t imagine anybody more glamorous than her.
These are the things that made me feel safe, comfortable, and loved. I’ve been wondering lately what my girls will remember about me when they’re grown.
It’s these thoughts that prompt me to read the same story over and over when Everly says, “again!” Or to carry Eleanor into our bedroom when she cries out for me in the night. Or to bake cookies in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon when a giant mess is the last thing I really want to do.
Each of these little moments of my girls’ childhoods is building up to their own memory banks of “my mom always…” My hope is that they have special memories of both their dad and me that make them feel just as safe and loved as I always have.
*Photo by Ashley Nicole Photography