Dust is a Country Collectible

There's nothing like a trip to the attic to bring back old memories. At Christmas time I went up to the attic to get some decorations and noticed my daughter's toy box. It was covered with years of dust. When I opened the lid it was like a flood of memories pulled me back in time.  Little play dishes, tiny pots and pans all covered with tiny finger prints.  As I picked up a tea cup I could here my daughters sweet voice saying, "Mommy, lets have a tea party!" I remember her tiny hands offering me a cup of tea.    

 When I was a young mother I was a meticulous house-keeper.  I look back and wish I would have left the dust lay a few more days and used the time to enjoy being a mother.  I don't think any mother wishes she had spent more time doing laundry or dishes.  No, the laundry and dishes will always be there. But our children won't always be with us.  Here is a poem that my mother gave my sister and I when we were both married with kids of our own.

To My Grown Daughter

I was too busy when you wanted to help me cook. I had other things to do when you 'd bring your picture book. I failed to find the time for playing dolls and dishes or listening to your dreams and all your magic wishes. There was so much I had to do before it was too late. But alas, my growing daughter could not wait. Now the bed is neat and the toys in place, and there's no chocolate mess on a cherub face: no more interruptions while I'm on the phone, no questions to answer or locks to comb. No dandelion bouquets or special cards of glue. no crayon messages of "Mom, I luv you." If only I could turn back the fleeting hands of time I'd value each giggle and memorize each rhyme. I'd live each second to the fullest-your heart and life enfold. For little girls grow up so fast, cherish them like gold.