LIGHT The Corners of My Mind

Mother's have terrible storage capacity for memories.

I dare you to challenge me.
How many of you swore at the Hubby during a 12-hour labor, only to then swear your undying love as you both held the newborn close and happily sobbed?

My first labor (nearly 21 years ago) started Thursday and ended Saturday morning-- with forceps and a fourth degree tear, after Pitocin was administered half-way through.
Sunday morning my doctor laughed when I said, "NEVER AGAIN" and in his patronizingly, yet fatherly way pronounced, "In six months you will have forgotten all of this".
(Six months postpartum I made sure that I informed him I hadn't forgotten. TEN YEARS it took me to "forget").

But in contrast, I look forward to every weekend. Every school holiday. Summer vacation.

Friday afternoons I'm giddy as I contemplate skipping down the lane with my children in anticipation to "popcorn and movie night" and a lie in the morning.
I calculate the saturday morning chores that we will tackle as a team before 9 am, leaving the rest of the sunny day to play in the garden, explore the countryside or sit on the seashore. I envision a clean house and happy children hosting hoards of smiling friends.

But saturday rolls in and I have been joined by not one child before 7 am, but 2.
I then have to groggily dive into the breakfast chaos, but hurriedly because we have to be driving away for swim lessons by 8.30.

Saturday is also the only day to get everyone's hair cut since all other days someone has some commitment elsewhere. Three boys with haircuts takes quite a bit of time (and no, we don't cut hair every saturday, but some saturdays are filled with football games).

By noon they are "bored", rude and insolent, but their hair looks good.

I get eye-rolling responses at my brilliant idea to sweep through the house like Mary Poppins to complete tasks at hand and even a full-on argument of why it's too much effort for the 5 year-old to carry that one dropped sock the rest of the way to the laundry room.

After I have watched their brains travel as if by a Star Trek transporter beam into the tv and I insist they head out into the sun, I become public enemy number one.

I can remember all of this now because it is 5:39 pm on a beautiful Saturday of heavy sighs, bickering and boredom.

Tomorrow, on Mothering Sunday, this memory will be gone because I will open my eyes to smiling, laughing children that have cooked my breakfast and painted wonderful cards for me to treasure into my old(er) age. I will then have 6 days to prepare for all of the glorious things we can do and see over the weekend.

...misty, water colored memories, of the way we were..."