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Sunday, July 5, 2015

The Stuff Memories Are Made Of

I’ve learned over the last three years so much more than I’d ever suspected has to be hereditary.  I wasn’t surprised about the physical aspects at all.  Personality, I was less surprised by, even if it does knock me off my feet every so often leading me to offer up profuse apologies to my parents.  While I haven’t been surprised, these things have made me wonder about other things we inherit from our parents.  When Kennedy eats spicy things without complaining, or scoffs at chocolate choosing strawberry every time, it makes me think taste preferences have got to be also.  More than anything, the last five months have me wondering so often: are memory capabilities inherited too?  I have clear memories going back to when I couldn’t have been older than two.  Some are really good memories and some are not.  If Kennedy inherits my long-term memory, what will be the things she remembers?  Will there be more good memories than bad?  Will the memories she has of these times be happy ones?  Maybe she will remember nothing of this time, but if she does, my mission this past week was to try and create some standout good ones.  Memories that include her mommy and daddy smiling just as big as she was.

One thing I will state very clearly is that not inherited from her mother is the desire to sleep in a tent outdoors.  One of Sean’s aunts bought Kennedy a princess sleeping bag and ever since the child has relentlessly insisted that we go camping.  I have never been a good camper, going back to my very first camping experience with girl scouts that entailed tucking my jeans into my socks to the time I got my first speeding ticket on my way to God’s country to the last time I went and our tent leaked because it torrentially down-poured.  I firmly believe the sarcastic and facetious term ‘happy camper’ was created with gals like me in mind.  And yet when Kennedy started talking about going and asking to buy a tent and mini lantern every single time we were in Target (as in every other day) I agreed.  Remember, I’m attempting to build some great memories for the kid.  We decided it would be gentler on both Kennedy and Mommy to ease into camping and give it a test run in the backyard.  It was a success.  Hardly roughing it, but a success nonetheless.








We luckily got the “camping trip” in midweek before the rain set in for the next few days.  Then we got some TV in; a lot of TV.  If I turned into a couch potato, she was my tater tot.  She’s got an imagination, I’ll give her that, so often our TV time involves live action role playing, even if it is half dressed.  So when my parents and the sunshine arrived a few days later we were anxious to get out and enjoy both of their company.  We visited my favorite little town and got some sandwiches and made our way to the park that is home to a nice old carousel.  Kennedy took her grandparents for the first ride where I watched my short mother climb up on a horse that finished its’ last ride in the high position and my dear old dad accidentally remove one of these antique equine’s tail.  Kennedy laughed, probably more because I was laughing so hard at my awkward aging moments, but she laughed in any case and I’ll take it.  











During lunch, though I warned him if he started they’d come in droves, my dad insisted that he and Kennedy feed the ducks their bread crusts.  Well us girls got quite a kick out of watching the man try to lose his new posse, let me tell you.  She’s talked about daily since.  In my opinion, another win for the memory bank.







We had talked up the upcoming 4th of July festivities for days and so when the rain rolled in unexpectedly and we weren’t able to go to my sister’s house for some good old fashioned American fun, including their newly refinished pool, BBQ, and some newly permissible fireworks.  None of us were happy, least of all me who had been craving a hot dog all week.  We made adjustments to out plans and decided to grab some KFC (that’s American cuisine, no?) and go to a local fireworks display.  I was pumped; there are few things I enjoy more than fancy firework shows.  When we got there little “miss hard to impress” just wanted my iPhone (I know, we’ve ruined her) but she did give a few “oohs” and “aahs” when she could be bothered to look up.  All in all she wasn’t thrilled and we were praying it wouldn’t rain again the next day for the rescheduled day of fun.
 








I attempted a Pinterest recipe this morning.  Epic. Fail.  Apparently when you have neither the knowledge base nor the inclination to make cherry pie filling from scratch AND attempt to make it the least bit healthy but purchasing the store bought, light version all you get is a recipe for disaster.  They looked pretty and delicious but these suckers had no taste to back up the good looks.  Not only did they taste bad but the aftertaste was downright offensive.  Needless to say they didn’t make the trip to the party.


On our way, we stopped by Jack’s spot to bring him some red, white and blue daisies.  Hard as I tried, I couldn’t help but think how unfair it felt that instead of dressing my baby boy in the obligatory “Frist 4th of July” clothes and bibs I had to settle for patriotic flowers for his grave.  Another first we didn’t have with him and as unimportant as it may seem in terms of days and firsts, it doesn’t soften the blow any.  As I walked back to the car, I promised myself I would enjoy the day for what it was: a day to enjoy with family.

God gave us a break too and some sun our way, albeit with some heat and brutal humidity- but beggars can’t be choosers.  It was all worth it because the kids had a great time, making their first big, unassisted swims across a pool (heavily water-safety-device-clad of course), “fishing” in a tub of water, making s’mores, watching some small firecrackers Gramps had picked up and giving Sparklers a try for the first time.  Us big kids had a pretty ok time too.  Kennedy left filthy dirty, overtired, and crying that she was going to miss her cousins; all a measure of a great day.



















So I guess what it all comes down to is: Will some really fun times be enough to make my beautifully empathetic and loving baby girl stop asking me if I’m sad or if I miss baby Jack too much because she forgets how sad we’ve been?  I hope that if she does happen to inherit my memory ability and she has flashes back to these times it will be good, happy memories that include smiling faces, laughter.  Hell, I’d even settle for memories of a little good-natured trouble making.  Here’s to hoping.  


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