I've started to realize that I write quite often, but for me, when I get writing-it's like knowing you only have 3 chapters left of the book you're reading and well you can't just let it sit! That'd be absurd! Also, I'm quite forgetful, I fear that if I don't write something down when I'm thinking about it then I'll forget it.
I've decided that when Kyle and I start thinking about babies I'm going to be ridiculously excited to decorate my child's room. That has nothing to do with anything except I've spent most of the afternoon online looking at old children's books trying to find the ones that my grandmother used to read to me. And I know that the probability of me finding them is like 2 in 1000, but I have dreams of reading these same books to my children. I say my chances are low of finding these books are so low because the ones I was able to hang on to, were brought out in the 50's. Which will ultimately make them that more enjoyable when my children are grown and realize how old the book is.
As an adult, I love doing children's crafts. Anything with glitter, glue, crayons, and coloring books makes me excessively happy-which is why I decided a long time ago I am going to do crafts with my children and read to them...anything that involves investing in their lives. Like my grandmother did with me. I knew I could always go to her, snuggle up and read stories with her. It was a great comfort.
If you haven't by this point, you need to watch the music video to "The Home That Built Me," by Miranda Lambert. It's basically about this woman who comes back to her childhood home and asks to look around...."and I promise to take nothing but a memory...". Most of you might find this video/song a bit flaky, but I break down every time. For whatever reason, I've had it in my mind (since I was little) that when I grew up being able to come back to my childhood home was of great importance.
But that's not a possibility anymore. When we moved Grandma to the nursing home we got kicked out and the land sold. This has been something that I have had to overcome. To this day, when I hear Gram mention, "well if we were just at home I could go and grab this or this..." I get a lump in my throat, because I know it hurts her just as much. That was where she built her life, and now it's just someone's front yard.
On one of my birthdays (12 maybe) Mama got me my first walk-men with chunky headphones and my first CD ever-Shania Twain. After all my birthday stuff was over with I went to the back room (a small room off of the kitchen that held a deep freeze, Gram's plants, canned food) and put on the head phones, turned the music wayyy up and started jamming. Of course the music so loud I can't hear anything, and of course as I'm dancing like any 12 year old white nerdy mid-western kid does (with my back to the door) my mother happens to walk in and watch. And as I whip around in my awesomeness, there stands my mother so red in the face from laughter, I'm not even sure if she's okay.
I remember falling down our stairs from my own clumsiness so many times I literally broke off part of my tail bone. Sunday mornings was always pancakes with Grandma. Mine and my brothers dogs are both buried back home. My aunt making a tree house for my sister. When my brother and I were kids, we would take this pea green wool blanket outside on hot summer days and drape it over the clothesline and we would make our own fort.
I remember the bad times too. Like how the numerous times we couldn't pay the fuel man the minimum of $200 to come put a little fuel in our furnace during Winter. Growing up in Delta, you were not considered much. Most people were either drunks, drug attics or poor. We were unquestionably the poor ones. But when asked what memories mean the most, it's the ones where my brother and I are inseparable, where my sister is running around with little blond curls and I've promised I'm going to take care of her no matter what, where Gram's arms is the safest and best place to be and where when I look at my Mama, I think she's the most beautiful woman in the world.
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