Brief posting today, as my little girl has been napping for two hours and will wake up at any moment.
I’m just realizing how thankful I am for all the traditions I have been involved in over my lifetime, how those traditions have shaped and encouraged me, and how many of them originated with Big Mommy. At the very least, we could say that the tradition of having traditions began because her heart longed for her family to all stay connected. Miracle of miracles, we have!
Some traditions held fondly in my memory:
Sunday morning Dunkin’ Donuts were Dad’s special treat, and then he started making homemade chocolate chip pancakes instead. YUM!
“Friday chores.” Our weekly chore chart instructed that certain tasks (vacuuming, dusting, bathrooms) happened weekly…on Friday. Thus, “Friday chores.”
Mom in her rocker reading aloud as we folded laundry each evening. I remember particularly the Redwall books, and Laddie.
The original tradition of choosing all three meals on our birthdays, which later morphed into Cream Cheese Braids for breakfast, whether you like it or not. We all liked it.
Stopping at the blue rock on the way to Big Mommy’s house, and then having lunch a couple hours later at the Suwanee River park. Expecting cookies and other treats to be waiting in the cookie jars, and Big Mommy herself to come out squealing, “Look who’s here!”
Waking up to the sound of traffic through the screened windows, then hopping out of bed to go feed the cows before breakfast.
Breakfast at Big Mommy’s: biscuits (or “biscuit,” which was her version of the plural), bacon, eggs, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and yummy palmetto honey.
So many memories, so many repeated memories. That’s what tradition really is, I suppose. Memories that are repeated continually and ingrain themselves in our personality, our life, our essence.
I miss Big Mommy, but her traditions are part of me forever.