Memories

I was reminiscing this morning about when my nieces and nephew were young. They believed anything: so gullible and so lovable. I have fond memories of my oldest niece spending half an hour checking the back of my head for eyes because her and her younger sister kept getting caught doing stuff they weren’t supposed to. And of course when she asked how I knew what they were doing, I said, “all aunts have eyes in the back of their heads.“ Neither one of them realized I could see their reflections in the microwave door when I was in the kitchen and they were in the dining room.

I can’t stop laughing when I remember her calling, “mommy, mommy, mommy," nonstop until I told her we were changing her mom’s name. Her response was to break into tears. When I asked what was wrong she sobbed, “how will I know how to find her? WAAAAAAAA!!!!“

I remember the time I had my nephew and his friend clean the hardwood floor with a toothbrush because they wouldn’t stop teasing the girls. And the boys did a darn good job cleaning. Then a picture flashed in my mind of him, not even a year old, wearing the tuxedo I bought him for Christmas. My brain quickly compared that memory to one of him standing tall, handsome and proud at his 8th grade graduation.

The sweet memories came fast and furious as my mind's eye flashed a time when my youngest niece was 2 years old. It was a Saturday morning and I watched in amazement as she waddled over to the kitchen counter and dragged down a bag of potato chips taller than she was. I stood silent as she ambled over to where the family’s big black lab lay on the floor in front of the TV. Then the chubby little cherub picked up the remote, plopped down, hit a button and the TV blasted on. The memory is so vivid it could have happened yesterday. She poured some chips onto the floor between the lab’s paw’s and placed one chubby little arm over the dog's neck. Best buddies both settled in to watch cartoons and chow down on chips. Then I found myself laughing uncontrollably as the image popped into my memory of that blonde, curly haired baby trying every which way to maneuver her diapered butt into the tiny chair that Barbie® uses at her vanity.

These are some of the wonderful memories I have of my nieces’ and nephew’s early years. I have none of those from my son’s baby times as I am the “Other Mother.”