"Mommy, can we buy a pumpkin and carve it and put it on our doorstep like we did at Grandma's house?"
"Maybe next week, Rinny. Let's wait till Evan gets back from his trip, ok?"
"Ok!" She happily skips down the grocery aisle to poke at the bananas and potatoes, completely unaware that she has been lied to by her own mother.
I always say that traditions are what hold us together; that they are what keep your children coming back each year once they've grown. I have always believed this to be true and often marvel at how many of my own childhood memories revolve around some random tradition my own family observed. And yet? I'm just not into it anymore.
I feel so horrible saying that.
I'm hopeful that I will change my mind and embrace the traditions we've established over 13 years of parenting. But I think of Halloween decorations and birthday balloons and Christmas lights and wrapping paper and I just... can't... get behind it.
If the traditions are the glue that keep the family together, but the traditions themselves are shockingly meaningless; What does that say? What does that mean about the value of my life? I know that I am more than paper pumpkins taped to windows one week and left to fade and peel away the next.
I started this post about 2 weeks ago and found that I just couldn't finish it. The oomph isn't in the cards for me right now. I think I am gonna bow out for a bit and just post picture after picture until I feel "bloggish" again. Don't miss me too much, ok?
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