One part of parenthood that leaves me a bit overwhelmed is the business of memory making.
The fact that we are in charge.
As parents we have taken on a minivan full of responsibilities
and among them…
the task of creating moments worth remembering.
This Christmas season, I am acutely aware that I have two more children who will remember.
Two four year-olds to tuck away stories of a snow man who wouldn’t stand, extra icing on sugar cookies and the smoke alarm that went off when Mommy opened the oven.
Holiday traditions will be folded into their memories and brought out again someday.
We search for the most-wanted gifts, the warmest Santa and the brightest lights,
swirling magic into their days, hoping they catch it.
We carefully package our own holiday memories into the lives in front of us,
making a wish that one day they will unwrap worn edges, fold back crinkling tissue and smile dreamily as they sift through pieces of their childhood.
Memories created with love by two parents who are finally able to exhale, because they must have done something right.
*Not pictured: My three girls, two because they won’t go near Santa, one because she never had the chance.
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