Remember Me

When I die, I hope there is someone who remembers me. Someone who remembers something specific about me. Maybe I helped them in some way. Maybe I made them laugh. Maybe they heard me sing, and remembered the song. I've been feeling so "ineffective," lately. I don't think I'm making much of a mark on the world right now. It's kind of depressing.

I always wanted to change the world when I was younger. I haven't done that. Yet.

I guess I've changed the world in two small ways. I brought two new people into it. That's kind of my mark right now, I guess. Motherhood. It's all consuming. I wouldn't change a day of it though. I would change me. I would like to be a better mother. A more fun, energetic mother. A more creative mother, who can take her children on wild adventures with just some sheets and tin foil. But I'm not that mother. I'm kind of a "how-many-more-times-do-I-have-to-read-this- book???" kind of mother.

I've recently started shutting and locking the bathroom door behind me just so I can have some peace and quiet. I've decided I'm no longer going to share my toileting experience with my whole family. All three of them feel the need, frequently, to join me during my time in there. Sometimes, all three of them at the same time. Now I lock the door. Which results in my 5 year old daughter camping out on the other side of the door till I come out. I can hear her out there, hanging on the door knob. She has slid me pictures and notes under the door, as if she's never going to have contact with me again. She builds monuments of toys outside the door, for me to see when I finally come out. She missed me.

Ah, motherhood. It's an adventure. Even without the sheets and tin foil.

da