I don't know if you will remember.
But I know that I will.
The way we tied each other's apron strings and sat in the sunshine on the kitchen floor, choosing a recipe that everyone would love.
Red velvet cupcakes colored with beet juice.
The way we laughed as we tiptoed around the kitchen, gathering ingredients.
How we whispered and we wondered if the boys would find us out and uncover our mission to make cupcakes without their knowing.
Our sweet secret.
The way you smiled when you licked the frosting off the beater.
And the way you saved one for Sage, because you always want to share.
Simple pleasures and a big open heart.
The way your sleeves always manage to drag through the batter, no matter what we're making, and you bring them to your mouth to "clean" up.
Better a life lived messy than a life not lived.
Everyday a delicious mess.
I don't know how much you will remember of so much of what we do – together – but I know that I will.
Perhaps this time we spend present and connected will give you strength. Comfort. Confidence.
Perhaps it will imprint on your soul and you will be present for yourself and for others as you grow.
Or perhaps this time is simply a strong, stable base on which you will stand as you leap, leap, up and away some soon day.
I hope so.
But for me it's more self-serving than that.
It's simply this:
I'm crazy about you.
And you are growing up before my very eyes.
So I will drink up every moment of your magic that I can while you're still here to share it with me.
Nothing could be sweeter than this.
So even in the midst of busy I will make time.
Time to laugh and love and be – simply be.
Each morning I will put down my work and snuggle with your brother as we talk about things that matter.
Like books and model trains and melting snow. Like everything and nothing.
And every day I will put down my distractions and look deep into your eyes.
You will talk. And I will listen.
And each night while you both are sleeping I will tiptoe in and kiss your scarlet cheeks and tell you how much I love you.
And when you ask if we can make cupcakes I will say yes every chance I get.
Because it won't be long before you won't have so much time for or interest in cupcakes.
I could have spent this hour checking email. Making a phone call. Or cleaning off that crazy counter.
But I didn't.
Instead I was right here, looking deep into your blueberry eyes, and laughing at our secret work of cupcakes.
And I will always remember.
And just in case – just to be certain – let's do it again tomorrow.
While we still can.
Originally posted in 2014.
You might also enjoy this and this, perhaps my two favorite posts yet.
2 thoughts on “I will remember”
I LOVE your words here and, especially with your “tween” article a few months back, I find such great comfort in them.
I have a question that perhaps your wisdom and kindness can lend me some suggestions: my 11 year old gets teary at night and tells me that there is soooo much on her mind – things that she has done, or thinks about doing or not doing (we homeschool), and that she really wants to tell me but she is afraid that I will get mad. I assure her that I won’t, and we do often talk, but we also argue too. I’ve suggested that possibly she try her sister, or dad, or even a friend/friends mom – but we aren’t especially close with any “friends” where we live. it worries me that she has a hard time dealing with “things” so early in life… and I’m trying to figure out a way to help her ‘deal’…
any suggestions would be greatly appreciated 🙂
thank you for your time!
Those are beautiful words. Absolutely beautiful. Keep it up, Mama!