Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Banana Bread Memories

I wish I was one of those people that could articulate their thoughts well enough to blog on a regular basis. You see, I often have thoughts that I think, "hmm...perhaps I'll write a blog about this..." but when I sit down and try to get started the words don't come or the subject matter doesn't appear in print as interesting as it did in my head.

No matter. Tonight I'm writing a blog.

On Sunday I was in the kitchen baking banana bread with my mom. I asked her where she got her banana bread recipe (because let's face it...I have yet to encounter better banana bread) and she told me she got it from her mom...who had gotten it from her mom. My mom told me that often on Tuesdays or Thursdays she would come home to freshly baked banana bread because my great grandmother would come over to help my grandma clean. I love trying to picture my mom coming home from school as a little girl. I sort of feel like an elementary student who is shocked to run into their teacher outside of the classroom. Teachers live at school, right? Strangely, it is still weird for me to picture my mom as anything but my mom.

All this talk got me thinking about the random memories I will one day share with my children. I will talk of Saturday morning cartoons and fruit snacks. I might mention the sleepovers I had almost every friday night at my friend best friend Brittany's house or the way our house always smelled of Jiffy muffins when we would return home from church on Sundays. I will tell them of weekend trips to my grandparents house-drinking cranberry juice, playing in the toy closet, and listening to the train lullabies in the basement. I might mention how when I first learned to ride my bike, my dad wouldn't let me go past the cul-de-sac until I could drive figure eights. That really pissed me off. I'll tell them of the time in sixth grade when I literally had NO friends and I was crying one Sunday night about returning to school and my mom filled the living room with candles so we could sit, and relax, and remember that life still has beauty. I will share with them how on hot summer nights my brother and I would sometimes talk to each other through our open windows. And there is the time during Christmas when we were baking sugar cookies. My mom told me not to the eat the dough but when she wasn't looking I grabbed an huge chunk, shoved it into my mouth, and ran to the bathroom to eat it. Sugar cookie dough no longer has the same appeal to me. Memories...countless memories. It makes me smile to think of such things. True, not all of my memories are pleasant...but for some reason I have been given a life where thus far, the good have outweighed the bad.

What a wonderful life I have been blessed with. I can only hope my children have a childhood half as beautiful as my own.


Mom said...

"What a wonderful life I have been blessed with. I can only hope my children have a childhood half as beautiful as my own." You may have written these words this time, but it sounds like you plagerized them from my life!! I guess that means we have a pretty rich heritage going in our family. I loved reading this; made me feel warm all over.