I remember things from when I was young; scenes that for one reason or another etched their way into my memory. I remember a trip to a beach in Brazil:  several families traveled together, there were seemingly monstrous waves, and at night we all played cards in a circle.   I can feel how I felt then – comfortable, worry less, happy.   My kids are at that age now.  One where they will remember bits and pieces but not everything, and I wonder what memories will make their way into an indelible place in their minds.Some of the family experiences I love the most may not be the ones they remember.  I love our family trips, our bike rides, and walks on the beach.  Will they look at these pictures and feel the joy?

What is it about our life that is marking them, that is really forming who they are?

I have no answers, but somehow find it entertaining to think about them.  All I can do as a parent is to continue to provide as diverse a life as I can and whichever experience sticks, sticks.  It’s a hard lesson to understand that you don’t own your children and you have little control over who they will turn out to be.

God knows my boys have challenging phases and sometimes I wonder what kind of child my parenting choices will help create.  I look at my own mom, and even though I know that everything she did was out of love there are some things I can’t quite understand.  I know, for a fact, my kids will wonder the same thing.  They will probably look back at something and question how in the world did I think that was a good decision. Like this picture … cool mom or crazy mom?

That’s the tricky thing about parenting.  There is no rule book, and each child is such a universe onto himself.  You can’t treat all children the same; even within our own family.  I know that I love my children more than anything in this world, and my only hope is that they know that; that they remember all the good times more than they remember the times I lost my patience, made a mistake, or imposed a consequence they really disliked.

I listen to myself sometimes and wonder what effect are my words having on my children.  At times I am proud of how I handle a situation, and at others I feel ashamed.  Did I really throw the guilt card out there?  Did I really just yell in my frustration? I apologize and talk to my boys and tell them that everyone makes mistakes, mami too.

All kids watch their parents, and how we are with them, how we are with the world around us, is how they will be.  It’s how we handle the little things that will show them how to handle the big ones. If I am forgiving when one of them accidently spills a cup of water, they will be forgiving adults.  Their baseline of “normal” will be … accidents happen.  I try to be mindful of the little things I do.  Do I smile at someone walking down the street? Do I recycle? Do I stop and help someone? Do I stand up for what I believe in?  The end is pretty simple: you do the best you can and hope for the best result. 

And if in the end my kids can remember some of the wonderful things we have done, and if they know that we tried our best to be the best parents possible, I guess we will be able to say mission accomplished.  Parenting is never finished, and I am just starting out.  I hope that I can report back in twenty something years that yes, the boys we raised turned out to be men I respect.  And that the memories they have of this time in their lives are like mine, filled with warmth and wonder.

Will they know how much they are loved?