Composite Memories

I remember my mom making cookies. A cluster of children would gather around the counter adding ingredients in strict rotation. Mom would help the younger kids measure, but let them do the dumping. There were more kids than beaters, but mom kept a supply of spares in a drawer. She’d keep swapping out beaters until every child who wanted one, had one. I remember trying to get every last bit of dough off of the tongue defying shape of the beater.

I remember it all so clearly. But when I begin to describe it, I realize that it is not a single memory. It is a composite of many times when my mom made cookies. Sometimes I’m the youngest of four kids sitting around the counter. Other times there is a baby sister in the playpen behind me. Sometimes I was only allowed to dump. Others I was able to measure. Sometimes I got to hold the mixer and stir for awhile. Others I just watched. All of these different memories of making cookies with mom over lap like pictures on sheer sheets of paper. The central themes are clear, but the edges get all fuzzy. The core of the memories is the participation in making a treat. It was a time when mom was focused on us rather than the hundreds of other things she had to do daily to keep the house running.

I make cookies with my own kids. I let them help measure and stir and dump even though some days I’d rather not. Stirring neatly is a skill my children have yet to master. Each time I do it I know I’m adding another thin layer to their composite memories of “making cookies with mom.” They love it so much that the sound of the mixer summons my children faster than a can opener summons cats.

There are other things we do as a family which are creating composite memories. I carefully encourage these. Of such commonalities are families made. Some of the memories happen without any aid from me at all. The kids interact with each other and play similar games over and over again. I often ponder, while watching them play, which of these games will be the ones that are remembered with nostalgia when my adult children get together. It doesn’t matter to me that any particular thing be remembered, but it is very important that they have lots of warm and loving themes in their lives. Layer over layer of love in thin sheets so that the message is clear even if the edges are sometimes hazy.