I’ve been thinking about my parents a lot lately. They are together dancing in heaven, and every once in a while, I will get a little message from them. For example, my cell phone will ring and ‘Mom’ appears on the screen, or there will be an older gentleman at Schnucks in seersucker shorts, white socks and Top-Siders loading up on Miller Genuine Draft just like my dad. I suspect all of this has to do with the fact that I am going to be a grandmother this fall, and to be honest, I’m not sure I’m ready.
You see, I never finished my kids’ baby books. Jack is 30, and Tess is 22. Our family is not much for picture taking. I’ve mentioned before that my husband and I look like serial killers in most photos. Our smiles make us look like we’re in pain. Seriously. Both of us have practiced smiling, and we still can’t get it right. So, as a result, the photos we have aren’t great … of us. But, here’s the thing: My kids are so photogenic! They have perfect teeth, a perfect smile—when they were little, they could have been featured in any kind of commercial.
So, when I moved into my new house, I took all of the pictures and their baby books and promised myself I would pull them together. That was 14 years ago. I know the baby book is not about how my husband and I look, but come on people, you know I am vain. So I thought I would do what my mom did. Take all of the family pictures, sort them into piles, and give each child a photo album to serve as a baby book. My mom didn’t really write who was who on the back of the photos, and well, with six of us, the number of photos you received declined by your birth order.
My photo album is thin. Since I had red hair, my mom did pretty well distinguishing me from my siblings once it grew in, but before then, let’s just say it was hard to tell one Fitzgerald baby from the other. I love my sister, but I really didn’t want the first picture in my baby book to be of her. When I told my mom, her reply was, “I know honey, but I just didn’t have time to take many pictures of you as a baby, and you and Teresa looked alike.” And that was the end of the discussion because really, I couldn’t argue with the reasoning.
As I look at my kids’ baby books, I also realize that I don’t remember the date of their first steps or their first words, but I do remember the first time they got stitches or broke their arm. And then again, I am reminded of my mom. There was no way she could answer which kid hit what milestone first, but she knew who had mumps, measles or scarlet fever and how many times we had concussions. Occasionally she would say, “Now let me think,” and then she would come up with the right answer for whatever form we were filling out.
So, what do I do about the baby books? I think for Jack, I will fill in the first time he played soccer, hit a baseball, went to a World Cup game, got stitches, broke his arm (twice), graduated from college and married his wife. I might also include some of his stupid mistakes so his child knows his dad wasn’t perfect. (Although probably not, because shouldn’t kids think their parents are perfect?) If you need me, I will be sorting pictures.
Contact Patty at phannum@townandstyle.com.