I want to remember

…everything that made my childhood great. The endless games of store I played, the books I read in our nook behind the couch, the closet I turned into my doll’s apartment, and all the other weird things that are so vivid in my mind. These memories are so special to me, and I want to remember them so I can give my kids a whole lifetime of their own to look back on.

I have a few super vivid memories of corners I used to sit in and read books, of hiding food under the table beams, and I’m starting to realize that the backdrop to those memories wasn’t what made them special. I remember the intensely teal (but very soft) rug in our living room that wasn’t overly cute, but did it’s job. Had that rug been white shag with grey diamonds like every blogger on instagram has in their house right now, I would have remembered it just as fondly (or maybe less since I’m sure juice spills show up more than on dark teal). Sometimes I just need a reminder that as important as it might seem to me to raise my kids in a cute little hardwood floored house with mid century modern furniture and handpicked antiques, they couldn’t care less. Kids are resilient, and have imaginations that run wild and totally overpower any real aspect of life. They don’t notice how big your house is or if its a studio apartment, if the walls are whatever color your landlord picked or Restoration Hardware’s newest color. They remember what happened inside of those walls, and the life you made for them.

My parents house has come a long way since I was a baby, and they are always reminding us how much work and time went into making their home into what it is today. The time they spent stripping all the molding and repainting the doors gave them a level of respect for their home that was passed down to me (in the form of punishment whenever I slammed a door, god forbid). Having beautiful things in your life that are special takes time and dedication, and well deserved appreciation. If I suddenly had an expendable budget to go to my favorite antique stores and fill a beautiful home with Eames chairs and mint condition furniture, those things wouldn’t be nearly as special as if we’d saved our money and bought them one by one in little shops we stumbled upon when we were least expecting it. Our $7 blanket from the estate sale in Portland means so much more than any Pendleton we could’ve picked out on the website.

Someday, I want to look back on pictures of my family snuggled in that blanket, on the hand me down couch from our wonderful friends, with their heads on pillows made by my mom. Those are the memories I want them to have of their childhood, and the memories I want to create for myself.

I’m not entirely sure where this post came from, probably a little bit of bitterness toward some instagrams I see, and a little bit of inspiration from House Inhabit, a blog I stumbled across today and LOVE. I have such a weird relationship with social media, and my love and hate comes in waves. Posts like this are my way of reminding myself what is important to me today.

 

 

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