Thursday, December 27, 2007

A coming of age story...sort of

I own a fridge.

It's not a hand-me-down from someone else who was getting a new fridge, and it didn't come with the house when we bought it. It's a fridge we bought specifically for this house with our particular family in mind. I can fit 6 gallons of milk in this fridge at one time. Milk consumption in our house is astronomical. It's a consideration when buying a fridge.

Not only do I own a fridge, I also own a dishwasher, stove, above-range microwave and deep freeze, complete with frozen meals, freezer burn, and random things like ice cube molds, left-overs of last years Christmas baking and some deli meat we got on sale two years ago, that will probably never resurface unless I defrost my freezer.

I remember when my fridge used to be a clean slate with a few magnets that I would have considered "cute" or "fun". Now, my lists and pictures are held up by the letter "X" and half of a purple sheep. It has happened slowly over the last three years but somedays I look at my fridge and I'm surprised by all the clutter on it and what it says about my life and who I am.

Right now there are letter magnets strewn in a haphazard manner on the bottom half of my fridge. My kids are getting so big; they used to only cover the bottom third. There are pictures taken out of colouring books that have been coloured in broad sweeping strokes across the page, regardless of where the lines of the picture end and begin. On the upper part, the freezer, I have pictures of my friends with their families, notes to myself, and the occasional newspaper clipping. In short, I have the fridge of an adult with a family. In short I have my mom's fridge.

Most days this is ordinary, normal. Other days, like today, I am struck with an overwhelming sense of unreality and I have a hard time believing I am actually an adult. When did I stop being the kid? I have become to other people who my mom was to me as a child. Did she feel the same way I do, like she was just pretending? Some days it's like I hear a voice in my head saying, "And the part of the responsible adult will now be played by..."

I heard that voice earlier this month when I turned 30. Birthday's have never been an issue for me and I embrace 30 with open arms, It's just that it's hard to believe I'm 30 when I feel like I just turned 22, again. I also heard that voice this year when we hung Christmas lights on our house for the first time in our marriage and then again on Christmas day as we watched our kids look, with wide-eyed wonder, at the crumbs on the plate of cookies they left for Santa. It was a milestone of familyhood. A milestone of my family. My family.

They say the kitchen is the heart of the home and I believe the fridge is the heart of the kitchen. It was certainly the centre of activity in our home. It was the place we went when we got home from school for a snack, where we'd drink milk right out of the carton in great gulps after playing outside with our friends and where we'd stand when we were bored, leaning on the open door. The fridge is also the source of great nourishment and comfort. Growing up, our moms made dinner night after night out of ingredients from the fridge, feeding our bodies and souls with their loving sacrifice as they assured us there was someone who cared. And what is better than coming in out of the cold to a kitchen warmed by an oven full of baking cookies scenting the air with sugar and cinnamon? Our olfactory sense is our strongest memory trigger and the scents of our childhood are like an anchor; we are weighted down and rooted in a sense of place. We can go forward to be and to do because we know where we started. And now I am responsible to provide this for my own children. My own children.

A few months ago, in September, Tristan and Ava turned three. When I called my mom to declare my disbelief that I could actually have children who are three (after all I'm only 22!), she laughed and said, "Wait until they turn 30!"

2 comments:

  1. I have a strong desire to go stand at my fridge and see what it says about me...

    Beautiful words Heather, I really enjoyed it. And also, you don't look a day over 22 (unless 22 looks too young for you in which case I'll say 25!)

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