While the fact that Enzo ate peas for dinner is an almost daily truth around our house, that is not what this post is going to be about. Last night I was contemplating blogging and journal writing and I remembered something from my childhood. I was frequently taught in church as a child and youth about the importance of keeping a journal. I've never been great at it, and if you don't count blogging, the last journal entry I actually wrote was written about 8 years ago, before James and I even got engaged, let alone "married with children." But in one of my several childhood attempts at keeping a journal, I decided I would write every day. As I thought last night about life's events that I would want to remember or have a record of, I remembered this journal from my youth, and the image of one of the pages came to my mind. Scrawled across the entire page of this journal entry, with nothing else but the date at the top, were the words, "I ate peas for dinner." In all actuality, I clearly remember that several, if not most, of the pages of this journal were identical, with nothing but the words, "I ate peas for dinner."
Remembering this, I think I can safely assume responsibility for Enzo's love of peas, because I must have eaten peas A LOT. More importantly, I think it's also safe to say that I completely missed the point of keeping a journal. While I would love to find that journal and would get a kick out of seeing it again, it really reveals nothing in the ways of history or record keeping. It doesn't tell anything about my life, except for my half-hearted attempts at following counsel I was taught in church.
I'm a little embarrassed to admit this, but I frequently think in the form of Facebook posts and blog posts. Surprising, I'm sure, since my blog updates are so infrequent. And as much as I think of little things to write on Facebook, for various reasons I post comparatively few. And they almost always consist of one of two things. Either I'm overwhelmed and frustrated with something as a parent and I need an outlet to vent or get advice and reassurance, or I'm sharing something cute that my kids said or did. Yesterday, a few of these little incidents happened, but as usual, I didn't post most of them. But at the end of the night, I realized that they were important tidbits, that I myself at least, might want to remember.
Thinking about these things, I thought about journal keeping, and I thought something along the lines of, "Well, I may not keep a journal, but at least I have Facebook to remember all of these little moments." But then I thought of the moments I don't post, and I thought of my childhood journal. I realized that the little tidbits I share are almost like writing, "I ate peas for dinner." Entertaining, yes. Complete record keeping of my life for my future remembrance and posterity, absolutely not. I'm Totally missing the main parts of my life. I will definitely enjoy reading about the fact that when Enzo was 2, he took off his all of his clothes to dance naked in the living room. I'll remember that because I wrote it down. Even now, as I finish the post that I started yesterday morning, about things that happened the day before that, I've totally forgotten the several other things that happened that day that I wanted so bad to remember. The thoughts that inspired me to wake up early and write in the first place. They're gone. Because I didn't write them down.
My memory sucks. I've told James that if I ever start ranting like an old person, telling him about things that happened to me when I was a child, then he will know that I definitely have Alzheimers - because I just don't remember those things now. Things happen, life moves on, and I completely forget. It makes me sad sometimes. Like today. Just like the fact that I ate peas for dinner is the only thing I can remember from those days in my childhood, the fact that James sat down and talked with Enzo and told him to tell me, "Thank you for being my Mommy, I love you so much" is the only thing I can now remember from TWO days ago.
If I'm lucky, some of those things will come back to me randomly. Like now, as I write, I remembered the other things I wanted to remember. And so I'm going to write them down so I don't forget. How I was going to admit what a bad housekeeper I am, but how I'm not too bad of a house cleaner. And how I love having a few hours to myself to really clean my house. I'm so thankful for the people who watch my kids so I can have those moments to myself. Sometimes those people are friends or family (and if it's been you and you are reading this, please know how incredibly much it means to me and how grateful I am) and sometimes, like the other day, it's just James coming home and keeping the kids downstairs and playing for a couple of hours so I can blast the music and clean the house All. By. Myself. I love it. It's refreshing and energizing and it feels so great to have it all clean. Without being interrupted a million times, or getting frustrated at the two year old who literally cannot play by himself for even 3 minutes. (I know, I've tried. I set the timer, bribe him with a treat if he can stay and play alone for only THREE minutes. He can't. He always comes in before even a minute is up to get me to play with him, or look at something, or "help" by sweeping his broom right through the pile I just made.) Or frustrated at the 6 month old who everyone comments on what a good, mellow baby she is, but in reality, can only last a minute or two herself without fussing or whining or screaming because I'm not holding or playing with her. (The real reason everyone things she's so mellow is because one, when I'm visiting with people, someone is always holding her and playing with her, and then she definitely is an angel. And two, compared to Enzo, she is an incredibly good, mellow baby.) Because that is what my life is like, all the time, my already lacking housekeeping skills really just suck these days. And because I love a clean house so much and rarely have it, I really love time to myself to get a chunk of it completely clean.
While my cleaning and parenting adventures may not really matter to anyone who reads this today, they matter to me to remember them. In 30 years, when my kids are grown and gone, I know I will look back and cherish memories like these. And someday, maybe my daughter will have children of her own. And maybe she will be overwhelmed, nose barely above water, feeling like she just wasn't cut out for the job of mom, wife, and house keeper - and she can look back and know that her mom was just like that. Maybe her, or some other future posterity, will gain some kind of peace or assurance from knowing she's not alone. And hopefully, she can also say that even though her mom felt like she did a pretty crappy job most of the time, she still turned out okay.
I'm sure that the other things I've remembered while I write this probably won't matter to you either. But I'm going to write them anyway. I'm going to do my best to get up early, or skip the nap, or do whatever else it takes to take the time to write more frequently. So I don't forget what happened on a daily basis. So when I'm old and my already sucky memory is fading, I can remember more than a Facebook post a day. And so my children and posterity can know more about me than the fact that "I ate peas for dinner."
No comments:
Post a Comment