I Miss My Childhood When…

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I miss my childhood when…

…I smell crayons.  The waxy aroma sends me straight back to elementary school.  The back to school shopping for new clothes, shoes, and school supplies.  The excitement of putting notebooks, pencils, glue sticks, and pretty folders into my brand new backpack.  Knowing I’d see all my friends again.  Not knowing it wouldn’t last–that school could be a harsh and unfair place.

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…I see snow. Remembering the joy of snow days and having the biggest sledding hill in the neighborhood–until my mom leveled it off during a remodel.  Devastation.  My Aunt Gwen smearing chapstick all over my face to ward off windburn.  Avoiding her house at all costs whenever it snowed, I hated it so bad.  An act of love, misunderstood.

…I feel the freezing cold water of a swimming pool as I slowly lower myself in.  Knowing the best way into the icy water is doing a cannonball as I did as a child, not a thought for the painful jolt because it only lasted a second.  Not a thought for how I looked in a bathing suit.  It was about fun.  Not appearances.

…I taste hot tea.  The days my mom would host a tea party for me and the girls in the neighborhood.  Getting to use my very own china she had begun collecting for me.  Feeling very grown up and sophisticated until the day it became embarrassing and babyish.

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…I hear “(I’ve Had) The Time of My Life” by Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes.  At a slumber party, my friends and I danced to the Dirty Dancing Soundtrack.  Not that we knew how to dance.  We just moved to the music and laughed so hard until we fell to the floor in exhaustion.  I haven’t had a night of dancing since.  Now it matters that I don’t know how to dance.  Even if it didn’t matter,  I wouldn’t last 5 minutes without falling to the floor in exhaustion.  And in agony from severe back pain.

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…the refrigerator breaks, the pipes get clogged, money is tight, the kids get sick or hurt, I get overwhelmed, sad, or homesick.  Sometimes, I want to be a kid again.  Carefree and happy.  When I think about childhood, I don’t remember the hard times.  I remember pure, unadulterated, sepia-colored bliss.  Of course, it wasn’t always like that, but my parents made sure it seemed that way.

And now it’s my job to do it for my own children.

So when they’re grown with children, hardships, and responsibilities of their own, they can say to themselves, “I miss my childhood when….”

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The prompt went like this:

This week’s prompt is to use this image for your inspiration and begin your post with those words…”I miss my childhood…”