The Things I Say

Tomorrow is pajama day at school.  Leah has been begging to bring her beloved blankie to school for years.  It has literally become a pile a rags.  It's been loved, chewed, snuggled, rubbed, dropped and dragged for nearly eight years now.  I told her that if she wanted to take blankie to school that she would have to wash it in the washing machine first.  I didn't quite expect her to dissolve into a puddle of tears (most likely a function of the end of a long day more than anything).  She was so, so sad and I couldn't quite figure out why she was so reluctant to give the poor thing a spin in the wash.

"But if I do that then it will poof away!" she sobbed.

When I asked her who told her that, she said, "You did!"

I don't remember ever saying that specifically, but I could see why I would have.  I am worried that blankie would disintegrate if it came in contact with water, not unlike the Wicked Witch of the West.
And I guess at some point I said as much.  And she remembered it.  A comment made in passing that stuck in her mind for good.

Another time Emma was wishing to go on the Disney Cruise again.

Adam told her, "A wish isn't good enough!  A wish is just something you hope will happen.  A goal is something you work toward to make happen."

I thought that sounded awfully poetic for a such a little guy.

When I asked him where he had learned that, he said, "You told me!"

And it stuck.

Another time Adam came to me out of the blue with wide-eyed worry and asked, "Mommy, are you really going to never buy me another toy ever again ever?"

Again, he promised that was something I had once swore, no doubt in the midst of a "you-have-too-many-toys-as-it-is" rampage.

On the flip side, Adam and I were crawling on our hands and knees today, looking for Legos that might be hiding in the carpet.

"We're touching the carpet!  We're using one of our senses."

Something we had talked about once a while ago, but he was still able to name off his five senses.  Because I taught him.  Because he listens.  Because he remembers.

And I remember, too.  We all do.

The time someone called us a mean name or a good mom or a bad friend.  The compliments.  The criticism.  We all remember.

I've been thinking about this a lot lately.  About my ability to fill my family's heads and hearts up with so many good things to remember.  Lots of love, lots of compliments, lots of happiness.  Because, good or bad, they remember it all.

So tonight I made sure to scratch everyone's backs as they drifted off to sleep and tell them each stories about when I was a little girl- about the unexpected joy of full-sized candy bars on Halloween and about my best friend Ginger Baker who tricked me into eating a piece of zucchini bread when I was in second grade.  I made sure to tell them all that I loved them more than anything in the world, and when I couldn't remember if I'd told Adam enough I went back into his dark room to tell him again.

"I love you, buddy.  More than anything in the world."

"You already told me that.  But I love you too."

"Oh, okay!  Thank you.  And thank you for helping me with the puzzles today.  That was a lot of fun."

Pause

Pause 

Pause

"Bye."

And with that, I was dismissed.  At least I know he didn't go to bed wishing for some extra love.

And I'm glad to report that blankie did not poof in the wash and will be accompanying Leah to school tomorrow.  Despite my telling her the story about the time that I begged my mom to let me take her genuine Native American moccasins to school for show-and-tell and lost them forever.  I must be getting old- I have no shortage of cautionary tales to share with those I love.  But at least I know now that the stories stick!