There are only 46 weeks left of 2022 (give or take a few days). I’ve been contemplating the passage of time. On those crazy days when naps don’t happen and we just can’t seem to follow our schedule, I remind myself that 18 years from I won’t remember this particularly difficult day. But what do I remember?
I remember the first cry of our first baby…and now he is 7 years old.
I remember the first time, 9 years ago, when I saw my husband.
I remember a conversation I had with my grandma and visits with my great-grandma.
I remember seeing Sami Claus in the village square in Switzerland when I was a young girl.
I remember the taste of Swiss Mac and cheese at the cheese making factory in Appenzell.
I remember how my room was arranged when I was growing up.
I remember the things I played by myself when the neighbor kids didn’t want to play with me.
I remember dreams and nightmares I had when I was small.
I remember the names of all the kittens and bunnies and guinea pigs I had as a child.
I remember the sounds of the ocean.
I remember the rushing wind through the branches as I sat in my favorite tree at the park
I remember journal entries I wrote a decade ago.
And so it goes…layer upon layer of memories. And I wonder: what will I remember about right now? What will my children remember? For one day it will all be a memory.