Love.

I already posted many blogs today but I must write this while it is fresh. And, to my family, you might cry sweet tears with me as I am taken back about twenty years. I warned you.

I picture myself, about nine years old, scraggly blonde hair hanging in my face, in a country kitchen with blue cabinets and I'm surrounded by decorative pigs and coffee mugs from all different places. I am sitting at a round wooden table with a plaid plastic/vinyl type tablecloth on it. The chair by the door has pillows on it, it's special to sit in that one. I am sitting closer to the cabinets, kind of in the middle of the room. A rounded shelf is at the end of the cabinet with odd collections and an oversized bag of rice on the bottom. The tablecloth could be yellow plaid or red plaid. In the middle of the table is a small canister of toothpicks and plenty of napkins. There may be some jars of jam left out from breakfast. The room smells of sausage links and homemade bisquits. There is probably some softened butter sitting out, if it isn't being stored in the toaster oven. There are napkins on the table soiled with the condensation from someone's drink in a plastic red cup. Nobody knows who's cup it was. My older cousins and my brother come tromping in and out with fishing gear and maybe some guns. My sister is running around with random toys. I can hear the overly loud TV news station coming from the other room where my Grandfather sits in the recliner watching, while my Dad who is in the room replacing light bulbs, talks to him only after the commercials come on and the tv is suddenly muted. My Mom and Grandmother are in the kitchen making who knows what, but it's something good, and filled with unhealthy amounts of butter. I'm sitting there snapping the ends off of the green beans. Out of one paper sack and into a bowl, the ends in the trash can next to me, all set up by my Mom or Grandmother. Just a few hours later, because we cook all day, we are all gathered around a big table. The TV is off, the boys take off their hats, partially cleaned up, they come to the table. Everyone is seated except my Grandmother, we all wait while she brings in the final dish. We hold hands and my Dad, Grandfather or Uncle Royce says the prayer. The kids look up and snicker during the prayer when it gets too long and Mom or Dad give us 'the look' and we silence ourselves before the prayer is over. We all to quickly devour the meal and go right back into playing, fishing or just eating cookies and Klondike bars.

Fast forward twenty years. I am at the grocery store and see fresh green beans. I purchase them and ask my boys to help me with dinner a few days later. They look at me with excitement over helping but wonderment over what it is they are doing. Austin snaps them with ease, putting the beans in the bowl and the ends in the trash bowl. Jake just snaps them in half and throws them all in the trash. I am unexpectedly fighting back tears as I watch my boys and wish with all my heart that I could somehow relive the moments of twenty years ago, only for a moment and with my husband and kids there to see it all and to be able to fully understand the joys. Maybe they will read this in another twenty years and somehow be able to feel the unconditional family love.