My little sister Robin has a very imaginative memory. Or so we tease her. It's just that she remembers so many things from so long ago in such vivid detail. And many of the alleged events involve her maltreatment at the hands of her siblings. And (shockingly) none of the supposed perpetrators have any recollection of such events.


That's Robin, right there. Isn't she adorable?

So it turns out there might be something to these memories my sweet little sis has been storing all these years. Tonight she reminded me of a scene so vivid I swear for a few seconds I was there.

I was a twig-legged seven year old, twirling around in the living room like it was nobody's business. My sisters were there too, the three of us engaged in a quest to make our cotton skirts fly like the Knottsberry Farm swing ride.

I dove dizzily to the ground and gazed up to watch the ceiling spin. All the while, Dad played the piano, sang at the top of his lungs, and bounced on the bench with every push of the pedal.

That's Dad, with my baby brother on his lap. Not pictured: The twirling girls.

I don't remember the melody of the song or the feel of the carpet (Robin probably does!), but I know exactly how I felt in that moment.

Carefree. Lost in the moment. Happy. Secure.

Fast forward a few decades. Now it is Caed's and Dani's turn. They are the carefree kids climbing every last lookout at the old fort and giggling their way through the "tickle tunnel". And I get to be the Mom, the one who keeps the cares at bay, who keeps track of them when they're lost in the moment.

As precious a privilege it was to be a twirling carefree seven year old, the joy is doubly mine in giving my children a chance to do the same.

This post shared with the Tuesdays Unwrapped community hosted by Emily of Chatting at the Sky.

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