My Happy Selective Memory

A couple of days ago I read a blog about someone who had read a blog... The writer had invited the readers to share their darkest secrets, and it turned into something very dark. I'm something of an ostrich, burying my face in the sand. Frankly, I just don't want to hear your darkest confessions. One comment that grabbed me, though, was how many women compare their lives to snapshots of other's lives.

Here's what Kristy said:

A note to that commenter: facebook is like an online scrapbook. We only put up the stuff we want other people to see. The day I spanked my son after he busted out a hole in his door because he was mad that I sent him to his room? That was not a good day. I didn’t take pictures and wrap them in raffia and stick them next to a plaque that says “Live Laugh Love” or talk about it on facebook.

Kristy is SO right on the money. My family--who sits quietly church--isn't perfect. That haircut that Landon is currently sporting? He's seriously ticked off about it. We're talking fighting mad here. But I'm not going to post the details of that on this blog!

All of that said, I was thinking this morning about how selective memory is. For example, I know that Taylor cried for four stinkin' months straight. I remember the rides in the car, just for some quiet. I remember turning on the dryer, setting the timer for my own time outs, and my tears and frustration. But when I look at the pictures of my baby boy, what I remember is what a love he was (after 4 months old), how much Briana loved him, what he looked like in his striped outfit that I loved, and how he would wear little hats for a minute. I remember him sleeping at my feet in the kitchen and finding him sacked out straddling the rocking chair and the ottoman. I remember him "helping" his dad mow the lawn, running through the sprinklers, and playing video games.

My friend and neighbor, Mona, once told me about a song called "My Heart Took a Picture." Yesterday I watched Bri and Ash and Lando jumping on the tramp, laughing together, and my heart took a picture. And my pictures are good ones, even though I also remember that just 45 minutes earlier they'd been arguing in the back seat of the van.

I guess my belief is that our selective memory gets to be our selection, after all. So what kinds of selections are you going to make?