Forgotten things

I used to talk with older-wiser-more-seasoned Moms, and wonder at how they could forget some of the details of the early stages of parenting. Most remembered in vivid colors their birth stories, the night wakings, babies first words, their kids' comfort items, a few foods their toddler refused to eat, and one or two horror stories of crazy things their kids did. I wanted to know HOW they taught their children to be obedient, HOW LONG it took to train them to do certain things. I wanted to hear about their break-down moments, what they did on desperate days, I wanted to soak up their recounting of how God taught them along the way how to do such a marvelous job of raising wild little beasts into godly men and women.

I would think, "HOW could they forget?? How is it possible to NOT remember the pain of childbirth, the stinging scratch of tiny fingernails on hot, sweaty summer skin while rocking and bouncing a frustrated, crying infant, HOW do they forget the feelings of "I-may-not-survive-this-day-with-full-sanity". How is it that they remember their long, hard training years with their kids as a beautiful, vibrant adventure? Why do they forget the details that if only they could pass to me now, would save me learning so many things the hard way...

Grace.

A few days ago I had a brief moment of utmost rarity: silence, and sunshine. With a deep breath, I began to wander through a few things that I know I have forgotten already. How do I not remember each and every amazing date that my husband took me on in his pursuit?( I remember LOTS, but certainly not all).  Six years of marriage, three years of pregnancy, and five years of child-raising have all passed and bits and pieces of the memories fall through the cracks every day. Every day I forget more of the crazy, loud, beautiful time God gives.

I had always wanted to be "that Mom" that remembered the little details to pass on to a young Mom someday. But here I am, forgetting along the way...

Grace.

What if we did remember it all? What if every precious wisp of time got stored away in our hearts... each sweet memory with our husbands, our children. Wouldn't, then, the yucky ones get stored as well? Maybe it's God's grace that we forget some along the way. What if He hand-picks which memories to let us keep (good and bad!) to be used later- giving us just the right balance of good memories to cherish, and "learning experiences" to be turned into wisdom.

What if some of what we remember is partially based on our perspective at the time it is happening? I've been asking God to wash me daily of yesterday's "yucky",  to allow me a clean slate with my kids each day. I've been asking Him to let me remember from yesterday what will enrich today, and let the rest wash off. Most of the time His response is a shift in my perspective.

Grace.

He knows which things I need to learn the hard way for the sake of molding my character, and which things to provide someone to pass on wisdom.

He knows which things to choose for me to remember, which things I will hang on to needlessly, and in all of it He gives me grace.

A few little things that I know, without a photo of them, would be forgotten:

baby-bath bubble-beard!

Roo had her whole mouth full of bubbles and was jibber-jabbering with bubbles spilling out her mouth :)

somebody was playing cars at the table, and left a few behind :)

my little "Ferdinand" Henry often yanks me a handful of flowers (with or without stems), and is DISTRAUGHT if he notices that I either a) didn't keep them, or b) let them DIE!

Jonathan drew a man with a beard

can you tell what this is?? Jonathan drew a basketball game!

my ever-constant laundry-stack-to-be-delivered that sits on the stairs, waiting to be... delivered. I always think when I set it there, "I'll take it up next time I go up", and often it doesn't happen until it's large enough to be considered a tripping hazard :/

mound of shoes! (we are all shoe-lovers) Do you know who any of them belong to?

Jonathan likes to collect little things. These are his latest treasure, left on a chair in the living room

The boys fight over who gets to pull the laundry cart. There are little black nicks in the doorways between my room and the laundry room, where little-boy laundry cart drivers needed driving lessons. Someday, someone will wonder what caused all those little black marks :)