Of Flashbacks and Templeton the Rat

Posted by on Apr 28, 2012 in Blog, Home Is Where The Story Starts, Uncategorized |

The other day I told an online friend that “my eight-year-old twin nieces turned seventeen today! How did that happen?”

It’s hard to believe the nieces and nephews are growing up so fast. I have flashback moments—usually when they are telling me the things that they are doing now like getting learner’s permits and such—where my brain still sees them as four to eight year old children. Kind of like that car commercial on TV.

I had a flashback moment the other day when I was in Pennsylvania. I stood in front of a classroom of third graders and spoke about developing the plot of a story. I was using the story of Charlotte’s Web to explain each point and the flashback happened. In my mind I saw my five oldest nieces and nephews all under five years old. They were sitting on the floor in my parent’s house watching Charlotte’s Web for the umpty-jillianth time. My Dad sat in his recliner watching the grandchildren.

All of a sudden, from Daddy’s chair and in his voice came a perfect impersonation of Templeton the rat. “That wasn’t nice, Charlotte.” Our heads whipped around. There sat my Daddy, grinning—or would that be smirking—from ear to ear. The kids dissolved into giggles all over the floor and I thought we grownups would laugh until we cried.

This morning I had a strong pang of wishing. I was wishing that my siblings could bring their children to see me. When I first got married and moved South that was the plan. But distance, finances, car woes, the price of gas, health issues, and did I mention distance has prevented it.

So, every chance I get I travel back to South Dakota. Sometimes I take videos with me. Sometimes I take my favorite picture books to read to the youngest ones. I don’t want them to miss any of those favorite Aunt Miriam experiences. It’s just a few months until I’ll go again. I can’t wait. I’m planning a video party with the youngest ones. We’ll watch Charlotte’s Web!

Now, if any more of the boys can avoid having their voices change before I get there. . .