Tuesday, February 15, 2011


This past week has been a rough week, and family time has been somewhat limited.  One evening I had my mom watch Bryton for me so that I could attend a visitation.  I knew Aaron would be there late, and when I went to pick Bryton up that evening and my mom asked if I'd like to stay for dinner I jumped on the offer. 

I went to wash my hands in the bathroom before sitting down to eat, and, whether it be pregnancy nose or what, the smell of the handsoap took me back.  Handsoap?  Really?

The scent stuck with me the rest of the night.  I could even smell it when I put my hand up near my face to sleep that night... and it got me thinking. 

There's no special scent about that hand soap.  It smells like hand soap, but it is my mom's particular brand of hand soap.  It was familiar even though I've been gone from it for so long. 

It got me thinking about other things, like the summer sheets that were on my bed growing up... whenever you got into bed they were cold... I loved that.  And the way the house smelled when my mom made Italian Beef.  And the way the sun filled the living room in the afternoon.  The house seemed cozy in the winter time and airy in the summer.  I can remember the old grey sectional my parents had quite well.  It was so comfortable, and I slept off, literally, hundreds of migraines on that couch.  I can remember the click of the fan as it whirled over head.  I can remember the small patch of hardwood that once existed in front of our front door.  When I was a little girl and had the opportunity to get dressed up, I'd go straight to that hardwood after I had my shoes on to tap away and spin. 

My parent's house is completely different now than it used to be.  The little section of hardwood and that grey sectional disappeared a long time ago.  The sheets that I had for my bed are long gone.  The living room has been repainted, new floors put down, and new furniture put in. 

I obviously never objected to any of the changes, but reflecting back on the things that I loved about my parent's house growing up makes me realize how 'at home' I felt there, and it makes me wonder.  I wonder what things my kids will love most about our house... our meals... our smells.  I wonder what things they'll look back on and miss when they are gone... I wonder what things they'll love without ever even realizing it...

Just a thought

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