Lisha Cassibo has been writing for the Uxbridge Cosmos for two years, both as a freelancer and as a columnist. She has also written for several parenting magazines both here in Canada and for English publications in Switzerland. She graduated from Carleton University with an honours degree in Journalism and English Literature. She lives with her family in Sunderland.
Out of the mouths of babes
When my children began to speak, I thought it would be a good idea to keep a wee notebook handy in which I could write all the cute, wonderful, marvellous things they said. I would keep my little book in my bedside table, and as I sat in bed each night, reflecting fondly upon the day's events, I would recall and note down the little quips and moments that would come leaping back into my mind. I would create a journal that we would all look back on one day and have a good mother-daughter bonding laugh over. I got a little book - it's green, with a vintage print of a pear on the front, and reams of pages just waiting to be filled with memories of life's precious moments. I've filled in six. Six pages. Double sided, mind.
But I don't fluff my pillows and sit back in bed before retiring, pondering the wonders of the day. I stagger to my bed, too exhausted to turn the light on, and am asleep before the blankets cover my body. I barely remember what I made for dinner, let alone what funny incident occurred that morning. My little green pear book hasn't seen daylight since my youngest was three. She'll be six in two months.
This same child made me pull out my book on Sunday, however. We'd come home from an outing, and she bee-lined for the bathroom. She was in there a few minutes, and I called out if she was OK. “Yes, Mummy,” came the reply. A few more minutes, and I wandered in to be sure she hadn't fallen in. She was sitting there, feet dangling, thumbing through Reader's Digest. “I'm fine, Mummy,” she said, although with a bit of a grimace. I went back into the kitchen, and after the sound of a flush and the water running, she marched into the kitchen and announced, “I am SO not happy with my bum right now.”
That one was definitely little green book worthy. I was still laughing when I tried writing it down. Then I flipped through the few filled pages before, and was reminded anew why I had started this little journal in the first place. I'd noted my eldest's early inability to say thermometer - it always came out flamometer. The time we were watching a Live Aid concert on TV and Paul McCartney came out, and she asked “Is that a Grandma?” I remembered when my middle daughter came home and announced that she was no longer going to eat snack at nursery school because, although the cheese and crackers were OK, she didn't like the dirty apples. And the time she earnestly asked me: “Mummy, what does a crayon say?”
Things like this need to be remembered, recorded, written down and looked back upon. Just like photographs - I should be walking around with my camera all the time, recording their laughs, their achievements, even their everyday moments. I was out with a friend and her son a couple of weeks ago, apple-picking. She had her camera in hand and took enough photos to fill a coffee-table book. My camera was in my purse - in the van. Good intentions - always good intentions. But the busyness, the little, seemingly unimportant instances seem to elbow out these good intentions. I only forgot my camera because I was refereeing a fight over a water bottle at the same time as making sure small people didn't get creamed by the zillions of cars that were zipping back and forth in and out of the orchard. When my friend whipped out her camera and started recording the day forever, I instantly felt guilty. I considered going back to the van to grab mine, but we were way over in the pumpkin patch by then, and that was just a really long walk. She sent me copies of the pictures she took, but there were startlingly few of my children. Go figure.
I know I'm not the only person guilty of this. How many of us that have more than one child fill whole albums with pictures of all the momentous firsts - first smile, first steps, first birthday, first bowl of spaghetti on the head? And the albums for the next child are somewhat more sparse, while subsequent children are lucky to have a shoebox (or one cd) with a few snapshots on/in it? I know many heads are nodding in embarrassed agreement. Why do we want, or need these things? I know that I have boxes and boxes of albums and loose photos left by my parents, and although I enjoy looking through all of them, I will admit to getting the biggest kick out of seeing the ones that I'm in. My kids don't really care, not really. They'd rather see photos of themselves. And my little one - she will never remember what she said that night when Mummy lay on the floor laughing till tears came down her face. She'll remember that, but she won't remember why.
I guess I had better try harder to take those pictures and write those moments down. They will enjoy hearing about all the silly things they said. They will want to look back and see photos that can fill in any blanks in their memories. And my journal - well, if I'm really diligent about it, it will provide excellent fodder for speeches and such at three future weddings. If, for whatever reason, those don't happen, I will at least always have something to read and give me a really good laugh. Who couldn't use that every now and again?
