Monday, March 15, 2010
Recently, I have started memory journals for all my children. I wanted to bless my children with more than a baby book that records some trivial facts about their baby hoods, and give them some actual memories of mine to feast on. I thought I would post one such example. This is the first entry of Liberty's memory book. One day that I will treasure in my heart for years to come. Just a little glimpse of life in our home. Would you like to take a peek?
Today seemed a good day to start this memory book for you, my sweet little girl. You and I had a good day together today. You were very good today during nap time (which has been a challenge for you lately.) So, after mama got dinner into the oven, you and I made muffins.
You got to choose: Chocolate chip or blueberry? (As if there is really any question in the mind of any self respecting female.) You chose chocolate chip. (Atta girl.)
The wheat grinder needed to be fixed by your daddy. So we used store bought flour this time. I pulled out the measuring cups and spoons. You fetched the egg and yogurt from the fridge. So excited. We wrapped one of mama’s aprons around you, since we didn’t know where yours was. So cute. Just a darling little thing, with your hair pulled back into an impromptu ponytail.
We measured the flour, the salt, the baking powder and soda. You slowly stirred the dry ingredients with a rubber spatula. Then the oil, the yogurt, the milk are added. You stirred some more, careful not to spill over the sides of the batter bowl. You asked to crack the egg- not yet, dear one. When you are a little older. You poured the ingredients in, mixing each one, eyes bright. Your first batch of muffins was taking shape.
We add the chocolate chips. You eat a couple and smile. Yep, those will do just fine.
I grease the pan and then we take turns dropping spoonfuls of batter into the muffin cups. Then you say you’re done, hop down and skip into the living room to await their completion with your brothers. I put them in the oven, and when they came out, I knew you’d be happy with them. Chocolate chips peeking out of the golden tops, they looked very appealing.
You don’t particularly care for meatloaf, which is what your daddy requested for supper tonight, but you ate it, without complaint, knowing you had to finish supper if you wanted dessert. You asked if you could pick your muffin first. I said yes. You chose the second to the largest one. It had the most chocolate in it.
This was apparently very inspiring to you, because you didn’t want to watch the movie with your daddy and brothers. You came into my bedroom, where I was having a little quiet time, reading, and told me you “wanted to work.” Alas, it was bedtime.
Wearing your flannel Hello Kitty pajamas, teeth brushed, you come to kiss me goodnight.
“Thank you for making muffins with me today Libby,” I say. You look at me, eyes twinkling, and reply, “You’re welcome mama.” And you smile. I love you, dear daughter. (February 27, 2010)
She is a gift. These moments are gifts. And I am thankful.