Friday, May 14, 2010

Afraid of the memories that are to be

I live in fear that I will look back on these memories--the ones I am building right now--and have regrets.
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I worry that I will look back on my children as they are now...little, growing, almost babies...and love them more in my memory than I am, right now, in the present tense.
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I worry that I will look back and have missed out on laughter and ease with my parents because I spend so much of the present tense annoyed by the idiosyncrasies of 2 old people who have never really understood me, but adore me and do more for me than probably anyone in the world ever could.
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I try, so often, to check myself, give myself a psychological wake-up call, when I am in the midst of the chaos or annoyances of life.
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When the kids are fighting, when the kitchen still needs cleaning, when I am so tired I can barely keep my eyes open, and yet little boys still need to be fed and bathed and dressed and tucked in at least 4 times...while my child-less friends go out every Friday to the local happy hour in their eclectic neighborhoods...when I see couples sitting at Starbucks, sipping and lounging and chatting because they have no pressing demands, to-dos, errands, grown-up stuff...
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When I am with my parents and they say something silly, something typical and expected and frustrating, an exaggerated version of what I grew up with: sentences and questions and lectures that serve as evidence that I was never really understood, that I was always the odd one out, that in spite of their unconditional love and support, they still silently, subconsciously pass judgment, question, wonder...
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When I find myself in these moments, I try to envision what it will be like when the years pass...when the boys no longer beg for my time, when my parents are no longer around, when the Memories Of Now will be actual memories.
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And then I am able to realize and understand that it will be then that I will remember my parents' annoying behaviors as endearing...
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...and I will wish I could swap a moment of parental independence for a sniff of Cheerios-baby-breath and a constant chorus of "Mama, Mama!"
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But I can not always snap myself into gratitude with this little psychological game of mine.
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More often than not, I silently long for the time to pass so that there will be no more diapers or baths.
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More often than not, I snap inappropriately at a comment made at a family gathering or make an excuse to hang up the phone.
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And so I live in fear that the Memories Of Now will make me sad one day...sad that I did not live more in the present, that I did not love enough, that I did not appreciate enough, that I missed out simply because I took for granted.

This post on MEMORY was part of "Five for Ten Again." Click on the link or button to join in the discussion.

14 comments:

  1. I think that all of us have those moments. Where we take for granted that it will always be like this. That the things that drive us crazy will always be there.

    You are a wonderful mother. You realize your strengths, your weaknesses, and are willing to go out on a limb for those boys.

    Don't be too hard on yourself, you are human, after all. You love them, they love you, and that is all that you need.

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  2. Oh, lady. You have just described what I think every parent struggles with. Some days I am able to pull out of it and remember that the minutia doesn't matter, that I must focus on what's important... but other days that's not so easy.

    I know it's no consolation, but I am with you. I'm so with you.

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  3. I can relate to EVERY word of this, to a painful degree. Sigh. I don't have an answer, or a solution, do you?

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  4. ...and love them more in my memory than I am, right now, in the present tense.

    I've already found myself doing this, unfortunately. I think back on when my 6 year old was smaller, his sister's age, and all I have are fond memories when I know it wasn't all great at the time. Hopefully, however, my son does just the same.

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  5. Hello Liz. As ever this post really resonates with me. I found the earlier years with my children especially draining and would often/daily look around and think 'aren't I meant to be enjoying this more?' They are now 5 and 9 and I have to say IT HAS CHANGED. No more nappies, more independence, husband and I can take a breath. Life has got it's rhythum back. A bit.

    So I think definitely over time, memories adjust and form and become rosier as the tyranny of the day to day eases. It's not gone completely and it has been replaced with a different parental impulse: worry! Now rather than being physically exhausted I am mentally exhausted with the children, worrying about their day to day and my day to day. Parenthood I guess...

    Louise x

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  6. I also worry about this far too often. One thing I love so much about this blog world I've found is that it offers constant reminders to appreciate today, to be grateful for today so that we don't regret anything tomorrow. It's not easy and I'm not very good at it because I get so caught up in the worrying and planning and the future but I'm trying. And that's all we can do...TRY to enjoy today so that when today is a memory, we can look back and smile.

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  7. Goodness you describe how I used to feel...and now I've forgotten about the exhausting days and nights when the children didn't sleep and there was never enough time to do what needed to be done and no-body seemed to appreciate what I was going through... but it's true when they say you only remember the good times. You really do.

    By the way, there's a shoe meme on my blog. Trivial, I know, but it may cheer you up. And remember you need meme time too!

    Helena xx

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  8. I love your honesty here. It's so refreshing! I doubt a parent alive hasn't felt moments of that frustration, and wished they could zoom ahead.

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  9. I've been here. I was so angry and resentful of the people I loved most for so long. And now that I'm not in this place anymore, I wish I had been able to be more gentle with myself, more aware of just how hard I was working.
    I pray that for you: gentleness and kindness and pride that you're still here, fighting.

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  10. "I worry that I will look back on my children as they are now...little, growing, almost babies...and love them more in my memory than I am, right now, in the present tense."

    This is one of those rare blog posts you read where you say to yourself....yes, that is exactly what I think. The first three sentences are thoughts i have far to often. I struggle to live in the present. I cringe at the thought that I am wishing away their childhood, but when you are in the moment, it's so hard to not.

    Great post....I will be back!

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  11. We can all relate to this at some point, and some of us, for many years. But your present is filled with to do's and tedium and fatigue, along with the gifts of your little ones still so little, and your parents, still with you.

    I am past that, now. Parents gone. Both boys older. One, flown the nest. They need me as anchor, as infrastructure. But I know the "blur" years are inevitably a blur. Honestly, I don't know a way around that. Enjoy what you can. And just get through the rest.

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  12. Parts of this could definitely come out of my own head and mouth, "more often than not's" and all. Thank you for being so honest and for sharing.

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  13. "I worry that I will look back on my children as they are now...little, growing, almost babies...and love them more in my memory than I am, right now, in the present tense."

    This sentence stings me. Cuts me to the quick. Gives my conscience angles I don't want it to have. But then I remember a conversation with my mother. And how she tells me how we all are in the throes of it right now. With small kids, juggling jobs, messes and toys and goodnight kisses. That our memories will fail us, that our children's memories will fail THEM, and that all that really matters is the feeling we create. A feeling of love, and being loved, of safety and warmth and HOME. And I know you well enough to know that you are doing that every single day.

    I could have written much of this post. But I think you probably already assumed that. Or, at least, I hope you did. We are so much alike that when I come here and read you I feel it's a portion of my own diary.

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  14. I came to your Blog from somewhere, following a link. I started reading, inmidst the night ( here) sleepless ( as always). I burst into tears all of a sudden. You describe it. To the point. My daughter is 20 and lives far away at university. My parents. my father died, 3 years ago, after an agony of dementia. My mother is her nasty self since my 52 years of knowing her. I so often struggle with my memories and wish back the times from "then" - assuming that all was "good". Was not. But the time of having small children, precious babies, adorable smaller children, nauseating pubertary folks - it goes sooo fast. Stop and hug them - time flies.

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