Last night I arrived home from a meeting at about 9:15. As I sat on the sofa to chat with Andrew, Eldest snuggled up next to me. The talk somehow turned to the wacky things my now-independent, almost-grown one did as a toddler and preschooler. How she lined up her animal figurines in a parade, and inexplicably called it a potty party. And how she insisted, at age three, that her bedtime stories should all be about various numbers visiting each other.
Hearing the laughter, Dancer drifted in and sat down. Snuggler galomphed over on her therapy ball, and Little Guy slid onto his dad's lap. For most of an hour Andrew and I regaled the kids with tales of the silly things they'd done when they were little. It was way past bedtime, and we were happy. Very happy.
When someone relates a good memory that involves you, you know you have a place in the world, and a place in that person's heart. You have added something to the lives of others.You belong.
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Come sit next to me; I'll tell you some stories about you. :)
ReplyDeleteMy 36 year old daughter is reading some journals I kept when she and her siblings were growing up. She in enjoying them and I am enjoying her comments.
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