Birth of a Memory?

Bemma made cookie bars today. Let me rephrase that. Ben and Emma poured apple sauce, oil, flower, baking powder, chocolate chips, peanut butter and brown sugar, into a bowl, stirred it and watched as Daddy spread it on a baking sheet. I dutifully baked the cookie bars and served them for snack, but oddly enough most of the cookie bars found their way into the garbage can.

I think Ben and Emma enjoyed our foray into the culinary arts, but I find myself contemplating more than just the cute pictures of the event or the dirty dishes that were spawned. I find myself wondering if they'll remember the first time they made cookie bars.

I'm pretty sure my earliest memories were from around the age of two, frozen frames preserved in the recesses of my mind like a woolly mammoth. I can't tell you the context of the memory, only flashes of sensations. An overwhelming smell, a stark contrast of light and dark, the feel of a toothbrush in my mouth, or the sensation of joy while watching 'Snow White'. Such is the confined world where my earliest memories dwell.

So, I wonder, what about Ben and Emma? What will be their snapshots, their frozen moments in time. I hope and pray it will be the feeling of apple sauce and brown sugar as they ooze through their fingers, or the look on Daddy's face as he chases and then embraces them while flooding them with kisses. May mercy prevail and moments such as those line the walls of their subconscious. My fear, of course, is that the sharp tone of my frustrated voice, or the furrow of my angry brow will be those earliest memories, but who really can know? All I can really do is take it moment by moment, doing my best to lay down the bricks of positive memories so that when the house of their memories is complete there may be spots of blemish, but they will be swallowed up by a lifetime of positive, uplifting and encouraging moments with Mom and Dad.

There is little more that I could think to wish for.