Making Memories
I used to live in the Land of the Plastic People. You know, the Barbie’s and Ken’s of the world where every home is a museum, you have 2.5 children and only after you have your career and a college fund for the kids at hand, children were seen and not heard “or else”, and houses were museums instead of homes that actually looked like someone lived there. I feel sorry for those people. I feel sorry for the stress those people are under trying to keep up appearances (LOL…the British comedy comes to mind or Desperate Housewives). And where are the memories.
When I was a child, I used to listen to my grandparents tell stories (burning a chemistry set in the bedroom, taking the insides out of a radio and Nana trying to figure out why this new electronic wouldn’t work) and my parents telling stories (football players setting a slugbug on a second story porch, starting riots over being able to wear jeans to school). We even have memories (getting busted for looking at not-yet-wrapped Christmas presents, getting our first microwave and dishwasher, playing kick the can or war out in the field, having your kid brother beat the snoggins out of Mario Brothers, the Original, and trying to “cook an egg” on the coffee table).
Yep, kids do some things. You can get mad, you can rail at them…all you’ll do is drive your kids away. Or you can explain to them (yes, for the umpteenth time…their memory just isn’t as good as ours
) and then call a friend and say, “we’re making memories today”. When one minute the children are eating, you go take care of wash, and come back to 5lbs of flour explosion in the kitchen and all munchkins involved…yep, we’re making memories. When your 9yr old is up syringe feeding a sickly abandoned barn kitten in the middle of the night…yep, we’re making memories. When you’re children make “kites” out of plastic bags and string…yep, we’re making memories. When the children say, “we’re bored”, you tell them to go chase the goats and they do it….yep, making memories. When the steers that are going to be butchered all have names (and one looks like Fozzi Bear)…memories. When more apples are eaten off the tree in the course of a summer than what you are able to make applesauce with at the end of season…memories.
There is a good book out about Nature Deprivation Syndrome. I think most people have lost the understanding that children need to be children. Scheduled walks or camping doesn’t cut it. A kid needs to explore his world. Bugs can be picked up, gardens of weeds can be grown (aka, give a child a “garden area” and let them do what they will with it), and a skinned knee is just another reason to hug your child.


































