Again.

I’m not sure what it is about being a mother that makes me want to re-create my childhood. I wonder if it’s so our children can know the simple joys and sense of freedom I felt when I was their age.

My best childhood memories were made when my parents really had very little- a small income, a small, old house, a small backyard to play in. In retrospect, I know that their worries were great. And somehow those times at that little house on that tiny street resonate loudest with me. We had each other, and plenty of imagination.

A pouring summer rain always reminds me of that time- Hurricane Gloria has just passed through. The smell of cold rain hitting warm pavement. Five little girls in their bathing suits, washing their hair outside while it fell in torrents. Laughing and screeching and somehow knowing that we were making a memory.

I don’t know where the desire comes from, the wanting our children to experience similar things. What I do know is this: If I want to re-create those memories for our kids, I must have had a wonderful childhood.

So when it rains and there’s no thunder, and it’s warm enough, and I am amenable to the idea, and the kids promise to clean up after themselves, and maybe one of my nephews is over, and I take the time to realize it’s worth it, I let them make their own memory.

Again.