It's #TBT

  I have precious few tangible things from my childhood. I (left / was kicked out, it depends on who you talk to) of my parents house when I was a teenager and I left with a suitcase of clothes and a very small box of personal belongings. About 20 years later, my parents gave my brother an envelope that had a half-dozen childhood pictures of me and three elementary school report cards. They told him to send it to me, that they didn't want them. That is the extent of the physical things I have from the first 18 years of my life. I have nothing that has been passed down, generation to generation, nor do I have any pictures of me before age 5. I have my kindergarten class photo, I have some horrid middle school pictures and, thanks to my high school yearbook that I took with me when I left, I have my graduation picture. That's it ... well, and three mediocre report cards that all say basically the same thing: Sandra is a delightful child, very smart, but is very social and tends to talk too much. (Imagine that! LOL)

  Every so often, something will happen that makes me sadly aware of what I don't have. Today was one of those days. This is Thursday, which means all over Facebook, people are posting pictures with the #TBT hashtag. I have participated in ThrowBackThursday before: I've been married 28 years, so any of our newlywed pictures, or any pictures of my babies as ... well, as babies 😊 ... would qualify. But today, I saw a picture of a friend of mine as an infant, in the loving arms of her mother as her father gazed adoringly at them. And from out of nowhere, the pain and the hurt and the rejection that I thought I had buried (or dealt with, or come to accept) came rushing up. I am jealous. I'm jealous of people who have photos of themselves as children. I'm jealous of those 1970's era family vacation pictures. I'm jealous of the people who have photo albums of themselves that go back thru time.

  Someone asked me recently if my baby pictures looked like my daughter as a baby -- and I don't know. I've not seen a baby picture of myself. I can tell you what I looked like when I was 5, but no idea what I looked like when I was a newborn, or a toddler, or a preschooler.

  It's a very odd, disconnected feeling, to feel like your life just "began" when you were in your 20's and that the first 18 years can, effectively, be erased from existence.

  I think I may have gone a touch overboard where my own children are concerned. I have gotten very interested in genealogy, and I think part of it is an attempt to keep them connected to their past, to their roots, to where they've come from. I also have made sure that there are physical, tangible things that WILL be passed down to them. Perhaps not from my side of the family, but from their paternal line. I document EVERY event with pictures, I have framed pictures of the family all through the house. I have boxes in my closet that have their childhood memorabilia catalogued and stored. I have keepsakes that have been given to them from their great-grandparents (obviously, on their dad's side) and I have written a detailed family history so that they, and God willing, future generations, will know their story.

  I want my children, and my anticipated (and loved and prayed for) grandchildren and great-grandchildren to always know they have a past as well as a future. They were loved before they were even conceived and they are being prayed for, even now, today. They are wanted and cherished and desired.

  I don't know if a bedraggled stuffed cat and a jar of 60 year old marbles and a box of handwritten recipes will do that, but I'm going to do my darnedest to try to convey that.

  I can't change my past. I can't change what was done to me, nor can I go back and undo the first 18 years of my life. But I can learn from that, and hopefully grow, and I can try to not make the same mistakes in future generations. The buck stops HERE. And please, those of you who do have #TBT pictures and memories, cherish them. Realize that, for some of us, those pictures of toddler-you and your newborn-sibling are the most beautiful things imaginable. I truly mean that. Those things -- both the tangible pictures and the keepsakes, as well as the intangible memories and laughter, are precious gifts not everyone is blessed with.

  My own children, I pray, will never know that feeling of disconnect that still haunts me. I want them to know every bit of their history. I have told (and re-told, and re-re-told) them the same stories so many times that I'm certain they NEVER want to hear some of those stories again. But I'll continue to tell them. I'll continue to try to instill a sense of permanence in their lives. I'll never stop making sure they have a a feeling of bedrock stability. I never want them to feel unanchored or isolated or adrift.

  And I pledge to be the same nuisance and irritation to any future generations God blesses me with knowing.

  Consider yourself warned, future generations. I have boxes and boxes of memories -- and they are all coming your way. 😊

  

  

Appliance Graveyard

In our breakfast room, we have a hutch. The bottom of that hutch is a storage area I like to call the Appliance Graveyard. It is the final home and eternal resting place of all the kitchen gadgets I just had to have, but never use. Some of them are more trouble than they're worth, some just don't perform as advertised and some are just junk. I've got quite an eclectic collection: there is the Seal-A-Meal that was going to revolutionize my freezer; there is the George Foreman Grill that I've never been able to properly clean and which seems to have only two settings, raw or hockey puck; there is the Ninja which was supposed to make juicing fun and exciting; there is a Salad Shooter which has too many pieces and is a major pain to clean; there is a mandoline which, unless I want to slice 10 pounds of potatoes, is way more complicated than getting out a knife and a chopping board; there is a huge electric griddle which takes up too much counter space, won't fit in the dishwasher and heats unevenly; there is the fondue set which was supposed to provide hours of gaiety for dinner guests, but just was a fire hazard; and we can't forget the small electric ice cream maker that claims to make one dish of homemade ice cream in minutes, except that the motor would seize up and you'd be left with a bowl of runny custard ... you get the gist.

You'd think I'd stop buying appliances and gadgets, and for the most part, I have -- but every so often, something catches my eye, and ... well, I can't help myself.

The other day, I was in WalMart, buying something responsible and mature (like Metamucil and raw spinach ... I wasn't scouring the aisles for half-price Easter candy! I wasn't, and you can't prove otherwise!) when something jumped into my line of vision. It was a new appliance that I didn't have, but oh! I needed it, badly!!

A breakfast sandwich maker!! I could make Egg McMuffins at home, in only five minutes!! I picked it up, put it in my cart, put it back on the shelf, picked it up again ... took a picture of it and texted it to my husband (because who, when they're at work doesn't want to be interrupted by a text message about a breakfast sandwich maker??) and then put it back and walked away.

No room in the Appliance Graveyard for another resident.

My husband went to WalMart today to buy a bucket. He came home with a plastic car-washing bucket -- and a breakfast sandwich maker.

So, tomorrow, I'll either be stuffing my face with homemade, delicious Egg McMuffins ... or I'll be clearing space in the hutch for the newest addition to the Appliance Graveyard.

I hope it works. I like the idea of breakfast in 5 minutes, but my past history with "change your life" appliances and gadgets isn't the best.

I am, however, touched by how sweet my honey is, that he knew I wanted it -- and he knew the odds are good that it'll end up in the hutch, nestled against the Texas shaped hamburger press that insists on cutting off the Panhandle, but he bought it anyway.

That's love.

Maybe (probably not, but MAYBE) I'll even get up at 4:00 a.m. to fix him a delicious and nutritious homemade breakfast sandwich. Ok, I won't ... but when I get up, I'll fix MYSELF one, and I'll think of him and how wonderful he is.

And if anyone wants to come shop in my Appliance Graveyard, drop me a line. I can use the extra space in the hutch.