Eight seems to be the age when memory kicked in for me.
What that means is that, before the age of eight, I remember very little of my childhood–just broad-strokes and a few Very Important Moments.
But, I can remember a lot more from eight on—how it felt to be with my friends, what my teachers were like, my favorite clothes, subjects in school. Things my parents did to piss me off.
Both my girls are now at, or beyond, that landmark age—Belly turned 10 in early January and Jilly just turned eight.
I can’t believe how fast it’s gone. I can’t believe I just wrote that cliche. But, it’s true.
And I do believe I need to watch my step from now on. If they are anything like me, they’ll remember stuff now.
we’re watching you, mama
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Oh man, I think about this all the time. These are their memories. It's a lot of burden for a mama, you know?
Congrats on raising beautiful, smart, kind, wonderful kids for the last ten years. My hero.
Scary. And wonderful.
I keep reminding myself: the days are long, but the years are short.
I fear this so. I have two more years. Thank god.
I think about this all. the. time. Will my kids remember this? Frannie's in kindergarten – that's when my earliest memories kick in. Thanks for visiting my long-neglected space – nice to see you're still here keeping us honest!