Postcards from Motherhood

Like you, I love to capture a moment on camera. At sporting events and birthday parties and vacations, my phone is in hand, ready to document the good times.

But recently I have realized that photos are not all that great as memory keepers. In fact, the more I look at photos of something, the less I actually remember of the moment. It’s almost as if my brain has said, Oh, good, you captured that moment. I can move that out of here to make space for things you don’t have documented.

Pretty soon, when I try to remember what happened, all I see in my mind are the videos or pictures of what happened.

My father-in-law died of dementia. And if you’ve ever watched someone fade into the fog of forgetfulness, you know the urgency we all feel to never forget this moment is warranted, even while we know that memories are fleeting. So how does one capture the memories? How does one not forget?

I’ll tell you a secret. Sometimes, when I have trouble falling asleep, I take out my mental image album and I will replay and re-carve into my neuropathways some of the memories I never want to forget.

Starting with my oldest child, I will try to mentally recreate the moment my babies were born. I will close my eyes and see my doula, holding up a little, white, long-sleeved onesie and reassuring me, She’s almost here. I will hear my husband’s voice, choked with tears and relief as he tells me, She’s out and it’s over, you’re done, you’re done. I feel the grip of his fingers; the heavy, wet warmth of her body on my chest.

Over and over again.

Unlike a photo or a video, my memories engage all five of my senses. I swear, at times, it almost feels like time travel. Like I’m back in the moment and sending a postcard to my future self. I’m here and this is what it is like. I wish you were, too! Come visit soon!

So, I’ve started writing postcards to my future self. Invitations to travel back to this moment and relive this sometimes ordinary but always beautiful moment. Not just re-see this memory, really relive it.

They are short, just a paragraph or two, and they try to give a full, sensory description of the moment. I write one before I go to bed, or while I’m sitting at the sidelines. Not all the time. Just once in awhile when I get that heart-melting-I-want-to-stay-here-forever feeling. You know that feeling.

And I’ve invited some friends to do the same. Maybe reading our postcards will spark your own Postcards from Motherhood.

Here are three of mine, one with each of my children:

Sometime in 2015

Mae still lets you do her hair sometimes. Usually she washes it at night but today she has washed it in the morning and needs your help to blow it dry. Her hair is golden and long–think fairytale hair. But she is usually oblivious to its beauty and hates brushing it. You dry and brush her hair until it is straight and smooth as flax. Then you swoop her bangs with a barrette. She looks up and into the mirror. A mix of surprise and delight and pride spreads across her face as she realizes, “Wait…I’m pretty? Yes. I AM pretty.” She gently pats her hair and walks differently out of the bathroom, more carefully–like she’s balancing her beauty on the top of her head.

Wish you were here!

March 2017

We are riding in the backseat of a cab on the way home from basketball practice. It’s dark as we drive, but the illumination from the street lights and the occasional oncoming car headlights move across Lalo’s face and head. His glasses are slightly steamed on top, the heat of his sweaty eyebrows clouds them. His hair is darker around ears and neck, across his forehead, wet from sweat. This makes the flop of his blond bangs even more luminescent as the lights move across them. He is excited and proud of himself. He keeps re-playing how he drove and shot. He describes it again and again, not even waiting for you to weigh in. Finally he takes a deep breath and looks out the window. I can’t wait to tell Daddy, he says.

Wish you were here!

April 2016

Zev wants to snuggle before he goes to sleep. So you climb in and take your place, the side closest to the wall. He turns his face to you and talks in what we call affectionately a “stage whisper.” His little voice is husky and scratchy and his breath smells like a toothbrush. You say, “Say your prayers.” And he says, “You help me.” And you say, “You start” and off he goes. He prays fervently for his baseball game, a sport he is trying for the first time. “Please, oh please, help me get at least one hit in the baseball game.” His game isn’t for three weeks and you hug his soft, squishy, frog-belly closer, hoping to squeeze the worry out a little.

Wish you were here!

And here are two “postcards” from my friend, Rachel Nielson, one with each of her children:

April 2016

You are snuggled up together under his red comforter, reading bedtime stories, your favorite time of day. Noah is almost six, getting bigger every day, but he still fits perfectly in your arms as you cuddle up together. Tonight you are reading James and The Giant Peach, and he grins in anticipation as you open the book, a gap in his bottom teeth showing where he recently lost his first tooth.  As you read about the giant peach rolling down the hill and flattening the wicked Aunt Sponge and Aunt Spiker, he explodes into a peal of giggles. You are startled and delighted by his sudden outburst, and you start to laugh, too.  “Mom, it’s too good, it’s just too good!” he says, burying his face into his monster blanket to try to stop the giggles.

Wish you were here!

May 2016

Sally gasps in disbelief, and you turn quickly to see what is the matter.  “Look, Mama! Rainbows!” she says with awe in her voice. Her two-year-old feet carry her quickly across the room and she plops down on the carpet in front of a string of sun spots that are coming in from the small window by the front door.  You look closely and notice that she’s right–there are small rainbows scattered across the carpet in the early morning light. Fascinated, she puts her little hand in the middle of a sun spot and spreads her fingers, wiggling them in the colors. “Try it, Mama!” she commands, and you put your hand next to hers.  You’re sure these rainbows have been here every morning since you moved here a year ago, but you have never noticed them before. Today you and Sally start the day by hopping from one spot of sunlight to another, chasing the rainbows.

Wish you were here!

QUESTION: What are some moments with your children that you would like to travel back to?

CHALLENGE: This Mother’s Day weekend, take a few minutes to write some “postcards” to yourself, recreating some of your favorite moments and memories with your children. We would love to read your postcards, if they aren’t too personal to share. Leave them in the comments below!

Originally published on May 12, 2017.
Photo by Alexis Johnson Photography

About Amanda Hamilton Roos

Amanda Hamilton Roos was born a little bossy and always really liked school. So naturally she became a teacher. Now that she's also a mother, she has found her passion is helping schools and families work together to help kids learn better. She investigates the nitty-gritty of school/family partnerships at Building the Bridge. Also, since she was 10 years old, Amanda has wanted to be a writer. So she blogs sporadically at Call Me Mandy. She hopes you'll make your 10-year-old dream come true, too!