tricky memory

This morning, Trixie popped up next to the computer here, clutching at my arm.

“Mama! Come see the party Gloria and I made for the toys!”

I obligingly got up and followed her, feeling how small her hand still was in mine. I was led to the little kids’ room, where an extravagant fete was laid, with block lemonade and blanket cakes.

She beamed at me.

I oohed and aahed, and while I did, I thought, she won’t remember this. Because Faith and Abby don’t remember all the hundred times I did the same for them.

So it’s my job to remember for both of us.