For once, we are drama free.
Unless you count the trip to Children's Hospital, where I had the *distinct* pleasure of holding my child down while three vials of blood were drawn.
A trip for a chocolate donut after made it all better. Until the upper GI that is scheduled for next week appears.
I've put that thought away for right now.
Other than that, there's no drama here.
It was the last day of school for 90% of my kids. My public school kid remains in school another week+, and this begins the best! summer! of my 8th grader's life - as she got out of school a full week before everyone else (8th grade privilege and early graduation, yo!) and starts her public school a full week AFTER the other kids return to private school - so it's much longer for her.
A fact which may or may not be related that she's currently on "door removal warning" - one more slam and the door is gone. Which is the door for a shared room, and the sibling in question is already not happy with this concept.
"Kids don’t remember what you try to teach them. They remember what you are.” – Jim Henson
I saw this on someone's Facebook wall and it stuck with me over the past couple of days. It's been on the open page for "Compose New Post" - and it sat there, marinating in my curiously empty brain as I tried to delve into why it spoke to me so.
I'm both oddly and deeply concerned with what my children will remember of me. What types of memories will they have? Will it be fun and games, or navel gazing and introspection? Will it be hanging out at the beach and the water park, or will it be mountains of dirty wash and always, always, always piles on the sofa? Will they remember a person who stuck to her guns and held her morals? Or a woman always working, always busy, never still?
Will they remember a woman who thought of others and helped, as much as humanly possible - or will they remember the selfish side that all too often creeps into my soul and demands the spotlight?
Will they know, deep in their souls, how thoroughly and massively they were loved, even though the words stick in my throat and remain captive - will they be able to say, Yes. I know, deep inside, that I was loved and cherished and wanted, more than life itself. Or will they focus on the negative, the mistakes I make - often and without thought and almost certainly without malice?
Will they remember dancing as if no one is watching, Seizing the Carpe out of the Diem, grabbing life and living it completely?
What am I, and what legacy am I leaving?