Mine were the most beautiful little girls ever made.
They had smiles like light bulbs...
Unlike your kids, mine were adorable. Which is probably why, unlike you, my kids' photos have taken over my house. They are to my walls what kudzu is to South Carolina...
Detect a slight change in tone? You betcha. Because here's the truth. My kids were beautiful. I cherished their childhoods, I worship the women they have become.
And I am really sick of having their pictures all around me.
I write about this because I am trying to understand the paradox. I filled my house with their photos while they were filling my life with hot pink tutus and roller blades. I artfully arranged frames of their antics, their smiles, their moods at the very moment they were artfully arranging my bed into a trampoline. So now that they've flown away, taking their giggles and hair products into far-off zip codes, you'd think I would feel nostalgic. I'd think I would feel nostalgic...and want to surround myself with reminders of the magic place in my life that was motherhood.
But what I am really feeling looks a lot more like this.
And between you and me, that is enough. I can't believe I would ever say that, could ever say that, but it is true. They are Out There, where they are supposed to be. And I am in here, in my life, doing the work of entering my 60s. I don't need to have their childhood pictures in little frames on my dresser because they are in the Vault of my mind, playing in an endless loop at any and all times of the day . I don't even need to have their adult pictures hanging on my walls because I feel their pulses in my own heart even as I sleep.
I'd rather fill my walls with images that reach the whole person that I am.
Where I came from...
|Imagine doing all this work by hand and spelling the words wrong! (Flea market find)|
...I won't feel guilty.