I’m a little obsessive in my quest to create traditions for my family. I can’t explain what motivates this behavior, but I’m happy to just let it be a part of me. I couldn’t say when it was that my interest in creating my own memories shifted to an interest in helping my kids create memories. Maybe sometime around the formation of their respective placentas, but that’s just a guesstimate.
Diversionary tactic: I really dislike the non-word “guesstimate.”
This weekend my kids had a sleepover with two friends and they camped out in the yard.
We, as a family, went to three different parties. Very different parties. The only discernible common denominator is that I didn’t see the kids from the moment we arrived at each house until the moment it was time to leave. They were filthy, full, and fatigued. Success.
We bought a new car. Mydaughter traced her initials encircled by heart shapes in the dust and pollen on the old car before we traded it in. She swore she’d “never love” the new car as much as the old one. Until she saw the way Bluetooth works in the new one. Fickle, fickle child.
The pool opened this weekend. Both kids were in the water more than out over the past three days.
On Sunday night, the kids spent the night at their grandmother’s house, where they ate chocolate frogs to their hearts’ content and watched back to back (to back to back) Harry Potter movies.
What will they remember of all this? What won’t they ever forget? I can’t wait to find out.
On second thought, yes I can. I can wait.