Remember that time…

ImageThis past Saturday, the spring breeze was the kind of cool tickle that makes you want to stand outside with your arms spread wide and spin around like a five-year-old. You want to stick out your tongue and taste the sweet air.

That day, my kids and I went to my brother’s home for lunch. My parents, grandmother and in-laws were there, too. It was no special occasion, but it seemed like a good time to get together.

Inside, there was a spread of BBQ, hot dogs, chicken and ice cream. We feasted, but the outside called to us.

In the spring air, we played like kids on a carpet of green grass. My 5-year-old daughter rode piggy back while I danced around like a mad woman. My 4-year-old son drove one of those monster wheels toy cars like an old pro. I even drove a rider lawnmower for the first time. And, my sister-in-law taught her nieces how to turn cartwheels.

Sometimes, I grapple with whether Saturdays would be better spent with my kids taking tutoring courses, practicing for dance or football or whatnot. This Saturday, though, I began to think: These moments of bonding, frolicking, of learning life lessons from multiple generations are priceless.

When my kids get older — and me, too, for that matter — we will think about this past Saturday (and hopefully many others) and muse, “remember that time…” and smile.

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