Family traditions.

They were a big part of my childhood that carried over into my years as an adult. Trips to see the Lighting of the Tree every Thanksgiving at Monument Circle, building snowmen with my sisters, and helping Dad clear the driveway with my tiny red shovel, I remember it all.

That doesn’t mean I don’t remember the bad. Grounded from the biggest party of the year for a “D” on my report card, only to find out the teacher accidentally gave me someone else’s grade. Or a haircut so short that the waiter asked my mother, “And what will HE have?” Yes, that really happened. I cried myself to sleep that night.

Greg and I try to create good memories for our own children. Like putting on our pajamas, then hopping in the car with our black lab and going thru the drive-thru for ice cream.

Or asking each of the boys to tell us their “favorite part of your day” when we tuck them in at night.

Or FRIDAY FAMILY NIGHT, when they get to watch movies and eat popcorn, then sleep in our bed. Crowded, yes, but a memory, no less.

That doesn’t mean I don’t ever lose my patience when they tattle, argue, and then tattle some more. It also doesn’t mean I don’t want to bang my head against a concrete wall when one asks for cake, and I say “not till after dinner,” and they whine, “But, that’s not fair” and cry some more.

Life isn’t fair.

But, let’s hope our kids grow up to be parents of their own little ones, and pass on the good times. Let’s hope they remember the pj’s and ice cream, and notes in their lunchboxes. The secret handshakes, butterfly kisses, and making cookies, while eating the dough.

I can only assume that I wanted cake before dinner as a child, and their kids will, too.

After all, life’s not fair.

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