Remember Me.

There were perpetual kittens.

I shut my eyes tightly, focusing, grasping at the farthest recesses of my mind, straining to bring forth this, the first memory of my maternal grandparents, who passed away when I was four years old.
This memory surfaces, appearing in the form of a tiny, fluffy, mewing thing.
I remember a new litter of kittens being present during every visit to my Grandparents home.
It's so odd, the things our subconscious holds onto. The things we remember from our childhood can seem silly things. Or maybe it's the way we as adults view them as such, that is really the silly thing.

Now, a new memory replaces the first…is it pebbles? Yes! I remember being amazed that my grandparents had pebbles all over their kitchen floor. I decided that I wanted to have a pebble floor in my home when I grew up, just like my Grandpa Earl. I realize now that it was simply a pebble patterned linoleum that coated their kitchen floor.

I remember my Grandfather much more vividly than I do my Grandmother. I don't know why, other than he must have been more "hands on" with us kids back then.
My Grandpa, Earl Bruce, always wore coveralls. I remember they were navy, though it seems there were stripes occasionally too. I remember he carried a small comb in his coverall pocket and slicked his handsome grey hair back often. 

I remember my Grandpa making us breakfast. I am sure that their home was the only place I was allowed to eat sugary foods, which as a child was an exciting thing( Hansel and Gretal…ring a bell?) and perhaps that sugary reason is why these memories have remained in my mind through so many other life events.
I remember warm buttered toast with smooth peanut butter slathered on top of the butter. (Sounds healthy, doesn't it?)
I remember experiencing Fruit Loops for the first time in my life. The taste of Fruit Loops, to this day, brings back memories of the pebbled kitchen floor and my gentle grandfather. 

I remember my Grandpa had a little model car and he drove my sisters and I around and around
(and I am sure around again…etc…).
I smelled an odd sort of exhaust the other day at a local car show and it brought my grandfather to my mind. When I mentioned the memory of Grandpa Earl, my mother explained that it was probably me remembering the little model car's exhaust smell. 

Flooring and food seem to be prominent memories of my early years. Perhaps because I was so much shorter then, and therefore closer to the floor? Ha! I have no idea why, but I remember the large woven-edged television and the living room full of pea-green carpet.

I also remember passing a bedroom often. I don't remember knowing whose room it was, but I loved the little chenille knots which covered the white bedspread, creating a beautiful dotted pattern.

I wish I had more memories to draw from. I wish I could remember my Grandma Janie and all of her little expressions or adages that I occasionally hear about from my Momma.

I am so grateful that my children have close and dear relationships with both sets of their grandparents. I can already tell which memories they might store up in their little minds of their grandparents.

One such memory is Soup Day.
A year or so ago, my mom began inviting all of us girls and our families over for a homemade lunch at her house. My mom is an incredible cook and she can create an amazing meal out of only a few random ingredients. She knows what spices go with what meats and how to mix certain ingredients at certain times so they don't curdle or clump.

My children have now been going to Granny Sue's house every Friday for about two years and 'Friday' has quickly evolved into 'Soup Day'.
For my littlest one, she has just grown up with this understanding, and the other day her big brother asked me what day of the week it was. Little Bristol replied for me, "It's SOUP DAY!"
When I laughed about it with my Mom later, she let out a few quiet sobs. I asked her , "Why on earth are you crying?" She told me that she knew that was a memory that would stick with my daughter for the rest of her life. "She will always remember Granny Sue, every Friday, I mean every Soup Day."

Memories are a funny thing. They aren't simply remembered in our minds, they are etched on our hearts.  Ultimately, they are engrained upon us during the different stages of our development. They make up the history of what becomes us.

Nearly every baseball game and soccer practice has been attended and cheered on by my children's grandparents, my in-laws. My son will grow up feeling the love and loyalty of his grandparents. He will remember his Pa KuKu taking the time to make him a semi-truck out of wood scraps. My daughter will have special memories of her Grammie KuKu making crafts with her and reading to her. They will remember the trips we've taken together and their great grandparents we've visited.

There is one memory, from among many, that my daughter may not remember from her own memories, but one that I remind her of often. I tell her the story of when her Pa(my dad) and I took her to the emergency room one late night, when she was incredibly sick with the flu and extreme dehydration...

...I woke up in the dark to her screaming out, as if in extreme pain. She was so tiny, and when I went to hold her I could feel her little tummy completely distended and rock hard. The kids and I had stayed overnight with my parents, so I went and knocked on the door of my parents room (fighting back memories of my own, of being terrified to wake my parents in the middle of the night, even when suffering a severe asthma attack at age 9). Upon seeing my baby girl, my mom told us to "Get that baby to the ER!" And my dad threw on his pants and shoes and whisked us out to his car, driving us to the hospital.
 My sweet girl was so lethargic and hardly moved at all. My dad held her the entire time and kissed her little forehead. Then, while I was filling out her paperwork, worrying and crying like the oversensitive mother that I am, she vomited all over him in the waiting room of the ER.  His shirt was plastered with the apparent remnants of a green been casserole. I felt so bad that this had happened to him, when I should have been the one holding her. To this day it makes me tear up when I remember his response, completely calm and sincere, while standing there dripping in my daughters vomit…
"Ohhhh good, I bet she'll feel so much better now."
An hour later, with my dad and I at her side, she lay in the ER room with fluids slowly restoring her weakened body. 

The nurse came in and gave her a little stuffed cat toy to cheer her up. My dad and Bristol named it Socks Meow, and to this day that ratty little thing is continually dragged around and left lying on my living room floor. We have become quite the arch enemies, Socks Meow and I. 

But every time I pick it up off the floor in frustration, the memory of that night and her Grandpa comes flooding back, always bringing a few tears of thankfulness and remembered love with it.
 I think that our best and truest memories always bring a few of those.