We recently had a family garage sale with the same metal money box my grandmother, and then mother, used for their money-making events.
I guess you can say it’s a family heirloom. The dented, rusty money box is a symbol of a garage-sale-loving family. Next weekend we’re going to go to garage sales to spend what we made.
The grandkids helped us with the sale, and all day I kept thinking I needed to write down the cute things they were doing and saying. When I told my daughters I sure hope they were keeping good records, they gave me the same look I gave my mom.
When Mom gave me baby books for the girls she said, "write down all the cute things they do. You'll forget someday. At the time, I believed I’d never forget their first words, the first tooth, the first step. I pulled the books out recently, and I did a really good job the first month, but then the writing became pretty sparse.
When the girls and I get together and start reminiscing about their childhood it's funny the things they recall, which doesn’t always add up in my memory bank. It’s amazing how much we can forget with each passing year. Sometimes it scares me what I can’t remember, but then I tell myself it’s OK to be a little forgetful. Just leaves more room in the brain for other important stuff – like when to plant tomatoes.
While shopping with all of them recently, while the grandkids were going crazy, the girls told me something I don’t remember saying, but it sure sounds like something I would do. To keep them quiet in department stores I’d tell them the mannequins would come alive if little girls didn't keep quiet and stay close to their mothers. It kept the oldest one in line, as she took everything I said literally, but there were never any words or magic to keep the youngest one intact. It seems as though I spent quality time hunting for her as she'd hide in the middle of the circular clothes racks. It's no wonder the first born became the most serious of the bunch, as she spent quality time watching and worrying what her little sister might do next.
A couple of weeks ago on Take Your Kid To Work day, I e-mailed my grown-up daughter, at her grown-up job at a law firm, to say I missed having her with me on this special day. She e-mailed back she missed it too, although I'm sure she was just being polite, as they both spent more time watching me work than was considered to be fun.
Baby books could never hold the wonderful memories I have of all the things they said or did, which made being their mother the most satisfying and rewarding thing I've ever had the privilege to do.
And just when I thought it couldn’t get any better – I had grandkids.
Happy Mother’s Day to me.
Sandy Turner lives in Independence. Email her at firstname.lastname@example.org.