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It’s amazing the idea of ones own childhood. The 24 hour ness of it. The 12 months a year ness of it. Is it even possible that it lasted 18 years and yet it has been gone for at least twice that amount? The hours of play the make believe worlds the riding bikes and skipping rope ness… The best friends, the bullies the secrets and the deep emotions.

All gone…

And yet the imprint lingers…

I am busy filling out paperwork for my kids and it has activated a nerve that often gets brushed when I do this task. “Do you need reduced lunch?” I proudly check No and in the same moment I can feel the tiny dime resting in my pocket. My Dad gives each of us one each morning and admonishes us not to lose it. I finger mine constantly throughout the morning making sure it is indeed still there. Some years we qualify for reduced lunch but some years it is free. I don’t like free. I like to be able to hand the lunch lady something other than a ticket when it is my turn in line. I envied those who carried the shiny new lunch boxes and even those with the paper sacks. Lucky ducks. Looking back my bestie Sara carried a sack lunch and it was the same thing every day. PB&J on white bread, un toasted an apple and some chips. The chip selection was the only element that changed. Sometimes dorritos and on the really awesome days it was cheetos, which were my all time favorite. We would lay her chips on my lunch tray and she was always generous a 60/40 split. She was so very over her PB& J but for me it looked like a dream come true. This memory runs it’s fingers through my hair more days then not as I prepare my children’s lunch. I have a sense of pride being able to do this simple task. Choosing the fruit changing up the selection. I feel such an amount of gratefulness.

Aaaahhh the imprint….

I go about my days of raising my own children and I feel the days slipping away and I try to dive in to see it to revel in it and get it into my skin. And yet even now I must arch my mind to remember them as babies their tiny hands and feet their first words the sound of their small voices.

The sleepless night, hours of play, the fevers and colds of babyhood have morphed into video games, playdates and homework. Where has the time gone?

We are told by many Sages to be present, to enjoy the moments as if it were our last. But how oh how? Admidst the dishes and the laundry and the homework and the discipline and the grades and…

And yet I have decided that this year I will revel for 5 min a day. It is an “alert” I put on my phone. It alerts me to Stare, Feel, Listen.

Stare at the faces, feel the soft skin…listen to their voices. I will rise higher than the prescribed duties for 5 whole minutes and I will know that this imprint will be there as my skin wrinkles and my walking slows.

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