MEMORIES

There were so many things I wanted to do as a mom: so many crafts, so many cute ways to serve food, so many scrapbooks to document Andrew’s life…so many things I’ve never done.

Andrew never liked to color. He rarely wanted to make a craft. Many times, I tried coming to the kitchen armed with good intentions and a notebook of articles clipped from the pages of Family Fun. Usually, we ended up in a fight. He didn’t want to make butterflies out of melted crayons, paint handprints to give as presents, or even save the birds by making peanut butter pinecone feeders.

He really didn’t care much for food either. I’ll never forget when Andrew was a toddler, and the Mother’s Day Out teacher advised me that two Nutri-Grain cereal bars were not a nutritious lunch. She suggested I think about providing healthier foods. Clearly, she had no idea how thankful I was when I found a food item Andrew would actually eat. God forbid that the cereal bar would break in half or not come out of the wrapper perfectly, but that’s another story.

So many times, I have looked back on what I dreamed my life as a mom would be, and so many times, I have been disappointed in myself. My mother was a stay-at-home mom, and she was pretty creative. She would cook animal-shaped pancakes for breakfast, rabbit-shaped cakes for Easter, and ghost cupcakes with glowing eyes at Halloween. I am just happy if I remember to serve a vegetable or a fruit with some of Andrew’s meals. If we go several days without chicken tenders, I’m pretty proud.

When Andrew looks back on his childhood, I hope he remembers that I did try. I made Hulk (green) pancakes with blood (red) syrup, erupting volcanoes with baking soda and vinegar, and ugly paper mache masks. Hopefully, that will be enough. When his friends start talking about their memories, he will be able to chime in with a few of his own.

If he runs out of things to say, he can look through the boxes of pictures, schoolwork, art, papers, cards, and other mementos that never made it into a scrapbook. I had hoped these many treasures might one day grace the pages of a book, but who am I kidding? I am not crafty. My scrapbooks wouldn’t have clever sayings or pictures cut into fun shapes. They wouldn’t be in order. I may not have my memories neatly pasted into books like other moms, but I do have memories, lots of them. And, so will Andrew.

My son has no idea what I dreamed I would do as a mom. He just knows what I did and what I continue to do today. And we both know that my days haven’t been in vain. My reality has taken a route different from the one prescribed in the pages of those cute, family magazines, and that’s okay.  Really. It’s okay. I’ve got the memories to prove it.