While we were in Lakeport a couple weeks ago, I mentioned something about how I wanted to get some ABC cookie cutters. (Kinda silly since do you know how complicated making roll-out cookies is?? I never do it.) But my mom said she had some, and she went to find them.
She didn’t have the ABCs, but she had a set of numbers, which is also cool…and she also came back with this box:
I saw this box and it was a huge immediate blast from the past. I feel like my first real, conscious memory (unlike the vague “feelings” I have about being at my grandparents’ house in Van Nuys before they moved to Northern California) was standing in the kitchen looking at these cookie cutters, and being delighted to have them for my very own. I have the notion that they came from the SF Exploratorium although that’s probably wrong.
But look at the back of this box. That is some juvenile handwriting there. That has to put at least a “no later than” date on it.
Memory is a funny thing, because it just goes, doesn’t it? Not even just your first memories, but then also like, what did I spend all my time doing in high school? (Hanging out with my bff?) When was the first time I ever met Drew? (A class, I think?) What was B like in those newborn days? (I remember him sleeping a lot, and us stressing over his weight gain.) How do I not remember these things that you’d think would be kind of important…?