Me, the Hoarder

I have a confession, I am a hoarder. . . A hoarder of memories- just ask my kids- on any given day they are guaranteed to hear "you know, when I was little Blah. . Blah. . Blah", ramblings of my life that I feel the need to share, again and again, over and over like a broken record. 

Amazingly, the kids love it. In fact, they ask to have these memories of mine repeated and I do not disappoint! I relive the time my dog ate my Easter candy (see post below), I talk about eating sand to impress my older sisters friends. I share stories of digging a hole all the way to China and knocking when I got there (I leave out the fact  that I actually dug a hole in the backyard down to the top of the septic tank and only thought I was knocking on "China's Door" until my dad wandered out into the backyard and asked why I was knocking on the sewer tank-- ahem, sewer whaaattt????) I relive the hours spent with my grandma and the fights I had with my sisters, I tell them about riding our big silver propane tank like it was my horse named Horse( see the imagination at work?)--  and the kids, like little sponges, suck it all in.

There are days now when I stop and say to myself  "take a picture with your brain, don't ever forget this, remember how you feel, remember what you are smelling, remember what you hear, and lock it away."

I pray to God all the time that old age, dementia or Alzheimer's will never rob me of my memories-- they are little treasures, in fact, they have become gifts that I share with my daughters-- my hoarded memories:)