Its Saturday morning and without warning I was hit with vague memories of Saturday mornings with my kids and it made me smile.
I used to love Saturday mornings when my kids were little. I remember it was one of the few times we were all together. Between work and school, little league, soccer and other activities there was always someone missing. But on Saturdays there was a brief time, perhaps just an hour or two, where we all just hung out, before cartoons or chores pulled us apart.
I used to work nights so I would often sleep until late in the morning on Saturdays. My kids used to wake up one by one and crawl into bed with us. Sometimes I would wake up and they would all be there. I don’t know how it started. But for some reason our kids climbed into our bed on Saturdays. We never climbed into our parents’ bed, probably because there were so many of us. Eight in mine, I think my wife’s family had nine. I used to jokingly threaten to sell the house and buy a one-room shack. After all, why did we need a four-bedroom house if they were all going to cram into one room?
That made them giggle.
There was a lot of that I remembered… giggling I mean and yeah cuddling too.
We talked some, though I don’t really remember what we talked about. I doubt that it was substantive… just silly stuff I imagine.
I do remember that my sons were convinced that they could brainwash me by rubbing my temples and making suggestions while I was asleep. Suggestions, like “Pizza and 7up” for lunch. Sometimes I would just pretend to be asleep other times I really was. I would wake up to them massaging my temples attempting to plant suggestions. Later that day I would announce that I suddenly had an unexplained urge for pizza. They would exchange glances and grin… their brainwashing had worked.
My daughter was a cuddler, my sons were too… for about 30 seconds. Then cuddling turned to tickling and wrestling… much to her annoyance.
I don’t remember everything about those times. I just know it was a really special time. I don’t think we realized at the time how special those times were. I wonder how many of you young parents who are right now having these special moments realize what "special moments" these "moments" are. I could tell you to savor them, but I doubt you will understand what that means, I know I would not have.
I see my mother a couple of times a week. She is in the beginning stages of dementia. I often ask her what she did the day before, she claims she doesn’t remember. I think she remembers some of what she did but not all. Therefore she claims not to remember anything because she prefers not to try to remember everything. I usually take her to lunch or church or to the senior citizen meeting at a nearby church where she visits with all of her friends. She often forgets what we did in the morning by the time afternoon rolls around. But she knows she is happy, so she knows she had a good time, and that’s what counts I suppose.
I worry about that sometimes… about losing my memories. Perhaps it has already begun. Because I can’t remember some details of what we did on those Saturday mornings.
Yet I still remember them with a smile.
I think I’m going to ask my kids what they remember and see if it forces those memories back up from where they are hiding. Then I am going to write a letter to myself, to remind myself why I think about Saturday mornings sometimes with a smile.
I used to work nights so I would often sleep until late in the morning on Saturdays. My kids used to wake up one by one and crawl into bed with us. Sometimes I would wake up and they would all be there. I don’t know how it started. But for some reason our kids climbed into our bed on Saturdays. We never climbed into our parents’ bed, probably because there were so many of us. Eight in mine, I think my wife’s family had nine. I used to jokingly threaten to sell the house and buy a one-room shack. After all, why did we need a four-bedroom house if they were all going to cram into one room?
That made them giggle.
There was a lot of that I remembered… giggling I mean and yeah cuddling too.
We talked some, though I don’t really remember what we talked about. I doubt that it was substantive… just silly stuff I imagine.
I do remember that my sons were convinced that they could brainwash me by rubbing my temples and making suggestions while I was asleep. Suggestions, like “Pizza and 7up” for lunch. Sometimes I would just pretend to be asleep other times I really was. I would wake up to them massaging my temples attempting to plant suggestions. Later that day I would announce that I suddenly had an unexplained urge for pizza. They would exchange glances and grin… their brainwashing had worked.
My daughter was a cuddler, my sons were too… for about 30 seconds. Then cuddling turned to tickling and wrestling… much to her annoyance.
I don’t remember everything about those times. I just know it was a really special time. I don’t think we realized at the time how special those times were. I wonder how many of you young parents who are right now having these special moments realize what "special moments" these "moments" are. I could tell you to savor them, but I doubt you will understand what that means, I know I would not have.
I see my mother a couple of times a week. She is in the beginning stages of dementia. I often ask her what she did the day before, she claims she doesn’t remember. I think she remembers some of what she did but not all. Therefore she claims not to remember anything because she prefers not to try to remember everything. I usually take her to lunch or church or to the senior citizen meeting at a nearby church where she visits with all of her friends. She often forgets what we did in the morning by the time afternoon rolls around. But she knows she is happy, so she knows she had a good time, and that’s what counts I suppose.
I worry about that sometimes… about losing my memories. Perhaps it has already begun. Because I can’t remember some details of what we did on those Saturday mornings.
Yet I still remember them with a smile.
I think I’m going to ask my kids what they remember and see if it forces those memories back up from where they are hiding. Then I am going to write a letter to myself, to remind myself why I think about Saturday mornings sometimes with a smile.
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