I remember our very first house.
It was so exciting to be homeowners.
When we bought that house, it was just the two of us.
When we left that house, we had two little daughters.

The house was in a neighborhood with a community park at the end of the street.
It was so nice to be able to walk down to the park so my oldest daughter could play.
My second daughter was too little to play there.
She spent the time asleep in the stroller.

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I married my high school sweetheart.
It is amazing to have so many shared memories.
Usually, you meet someone later in life and marry.
It is not typical to meet someone so young and build a life together.

With God’s help, we did just that.
Next month we will be married thirty-six years.
I have been married to my husband longer than I was single.
Memories pop up at random times, as I just experienced on my morning walk.

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I have a confession to make.
I have a candy drawer in my kitchen.
If I told you that the candy drawer was not for me, you would probably not believe me.
But it is true.

When my children were growing up, I was careful about what they ate.
I was careful about the amount of sweets they had each day.
I baked homemade desserts rather than buy things that were pre-packaged.
Oreo cookies were the one exception.

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I decided to take my walk much earlier than usual.
I had things to do around the house but wanted to get my walk in first.
I walked down to the stone wall at the beginning of our street.
I walked up the slight hill to go around the corner towards the cul-de-sac.

It was then I heard it.
I heard the beagle that lives in a house on our street.
My youngest daughter used to pet-sit for this family.
They have had a few beagles and even a litter of puppies through the years.

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Every day, as I drive out to the main road, I see it.
A new house is being built.
I was surprised when I saw the ground being prepared.
A dirt path was made for the trucks to get back to the lot easily.

What surprised me was that this new house is quite close to an existing house.
I saw the trees come down when the builder needed to clear the land.
I wondered how the house would be positioned, in reference to the other house.
I did not have to wonder long since construction began.

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It was a spring day in early May.
The incident happened over twenty-eight years ago.
I was pregnant with my third child.
I was due at the end of June.

Being tall, I carried my children all out in front.
My belly was like a basketball.
It was the days of maternity shirts that looked like maternity shirts.
Shapeless shirts with lots of room was all that was available back then.

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We have a bridge that connects one side of our upstairs with the other.
The bridge looks down over the family room on one side.
The bridge looks down over the foyer on the other.
There was one rule when we moved into our house twenty years ago.

Nothing could be thrown off the bridge.
I could imagine toys flying over the railing.
I could imagine things being dropped down to the floor below.
So that the temptation would be resisted, I put furniture on the bridge.

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My alarm clock goes off at 6:30 am.
That is actually late for me.
For years, I got up at 4:45 every morning.
It was nice to get a jump on the day.

People actually groaned when I told them the time I woke up.
I wanted to be up before my children.
I wanted to shower and get dressed for the day.
I wanted to have my own breakfast and some quiet time before they all woke up.

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Her round belly beautifully protruded from her shirt.
It was obvious that her delivery date was quite soon.
She had that mother’s glow.
She had a sweet peacefulness about her.

I reached out and touched her belly.
It was as if, despite the layers of clothes and her skin, I was somehow touching her baby.
It was perfectly acceptable to do so.
In fact, it is the kind of touch that happens quite frequently to pregnant women.

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My entire family was home for Easter, which was a blessing.
We talked and laughed; we remembered and dreamed.
Even if the stories were heard before, there is joy in the retelling.
The stories connect us; they are part of our history.

It was the dress up box that we were remembering.
The dress up box used to be in my youngest daughter’s closet.
The dress up box was really a small wicker hamper.
It was just the right height for my children to open in order to retrieve things.

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