A Shocking Discovery

You will be astounded to learn (Well, maybe you'll be astounded. Maybe not. I was astounded. I can tell you that.) that my kids don't remember all the cool things I did with them when they were younger.

Let me say that T & I didn't want them to be raised by others, so I was a stay-at-home mom the whole time, up until they both were in school full time. So I was there all day, every day. I read to them every day. Not one story. At least one for each. I created science experiments for them--we grew sugar crystals and bean sprouts and watched food coloring be drawn up a flower's stem. We had art projects and building projects. I sang to them and with them. I played games with them. We walked to the park almost every day. And I watched a crap ton of cartoons with them.

And they don't remember any of this.

Worse, they remember this being T doing all of this with them. (It wasn't. I stayed at home with the kids, remember? We were living on his salary. He was working a lot of overtime.) Let me clarify that this is not bad that they have such fond memories of growing up with their dad, but that they don't remember me doing any of this.

I'm astounded. It's almost like a sort of Schroedinger's Childhood. If we did all this cool stuff when they were kids, but they don't remember it, then did it actually happen?

Don't misunderstand. It's not like I'm looking for credit of some kind. That's not it at all. What I really wanted was to create some sort of lasting memory--a legacy--for my kids. So that maybe when they have their kids they would make pancakes with Ninja Turtles drawn on them because they remembered how I did that for them. Or that when they read to their children they'll warmly think of their own childhood.

I don't even know what to say.