Grandma Henke

I had such fun last night reading out of a journal I kept years and years ago … 1976 … when I had four small children and was expecting the fifth.   I had no idea then how much fun it would be to read now, when I’m in my sixties and MY children are that age.   

Pardon my personal history … but gee whiz … some of them are good:

Brett (3 1/2) and Ryan (2 1/2) had just destroyed their room (we’re talking mattresses pulled off beds, bedding pulled off mattresses, curtains on the floor, toys thrown everywhere) and I had scolded them soundly and put them on each of their beds and told them I didn’t want to hear any noise at all until I told them so.    “As I was walking down the hall I heard this whispered conversation:    Brett: “Boy, she’s mean, huh?”    Ryan:  “Yeah and she can’t be in my club no more.”     

One of my favorites kid quotes was from Ryan later that night when his dad had put him to bed umpteen times and finally swatted his bottom once and told him to stay put or else.     “Ryan put his little hands on his hips and glared at his dad and said, “Well, Dad, when you go out of here I’m going to pick my nose!”

I liked this entry also … It sounds so much like my daughter’s children’s ages:     “Ah, such is the day of the every day housewife. While I sit here enjoying the fire … such a pleasant, crackling fire … there drifts in the pleasant musical background of the younger children at play. “Waaaa! I’m gonna tell Mommy!” “I’m sorry.” “No you’re not! I’m gonna tell!” “Waaa … Then I won’t like you any more!” “Then I’ll hit you!” “Then I’ll tell Mommy” “Waaa” “I’m sorry” “No you’re not!” etc. and so forth. I’m so glad they love each other like they do.” 

Or this one:      “It’s times like this that I want to resort to my naughty word that hides deep within the layers in my brain just waiting for a grain of sugar to unlock its door so it can escape from my otherwise pure lips.”   

Then I read the diary entry of the event that led to the creation of my poem:“I Just Wanted Frozen Peas”  (See Poetry)

My journal entries are priceless to me.   They bring up treasured feelings and memories that I might have otherwise forgotten.      I love my grown children but some days I miss my little children and babies … playing hide and seek, teaching them to sing, holding them in my lap while we read.  I can go to my journal and bring it back to my mind.    

I can go to the day Dad died (“I can’t believe how much empty space there is in a crowded room when one presence you love is missing”) and read how my heart felt and the thoughts that were going through my mind.   I can read of my loneliness when Lynn was in Vietnam, (“I miss having him here to laugh with me over the” firsts” of the kids do …they only do a “first” one time.”  I could feel again my bounding joy when he returned home.  (“Now I know what it means when your cup runneth over.”)  I wish I’d kept more consistent journals than I did as there are many months at a time missing.   I can’t encourage you enough to keep a journal!  No matter how old you are now.    You’ll never regret it.

Technorati Tags: Journaling, personal histories, memories