Flooding Memories

Today I spent the day in my kitchen canning pickles and jam. 

Weird combination, I know.  

It's what I had. It's is another story.

As I am in the kitchen cutting the beans and making the brine, thoughts and memories start flooding my mind. 

 I can't control it.

 I don't want to! 

 There is something to be said about sights and smells bringing back memories.

Thoughts of my Grandma came gushing into my mind.  It took me a minute to figure out why.  Then I remembered the hours and hours I spent snipping the ends off of beans in my grandma's kitchen when I was younger.  We used to go stay at Grandma's for days at a time just to help can. 

I thought I hated it.

Now I would give anything to go back to those times and enjoy the stories and ask a million questions to my grandparents.  I would even take a tape recorder with me so that I could always remember those stories and tell them to my kids.

I miss my Grandpa so much it hurts.  I feel guilty that I haven't made the time to see my Grandma.  She is so lonely and her mind is slipping fast.  I want to learn all I can from someone with as much wisdom as my Grandmother. So grateful for all she has taught me about canning, sewing and gardening.

Back to reality, I find myself scolding my children for making a mess of the green beans, for climbing up on the table, and even for breaking off more than they should have from the end of the bean.

What am I doing??  

How ironic is this that I am near tears swallowed up in my own memories wishing they were happening now, yet at the same time; making memories with my own children.

I am so grateful for this light that was shed on my own life today!

I've realized that with every ounce of effort I have, I need to be making fun and happy memories with my own children so that someday when they are "canning their own pickles" and those smells hit them like a ton of bricks, they will be happy memories.

So today I spent the rest of the day in the kitchen with my kids making silly noises and telling jokes that make no sense just to hear my kids laugh.  

We made up fake names for each other and called us by our fake names all day. 

 I listened contently to my children tell stories to each other that were stretched way beyond the truth, but they were loving it,  we were giggling.  

I love my kids with all my heart!

Today, I put one more drop into their buckets of memories of their own mother.