I washed Liam’s feet today.
Took me back to my childhood days: a little girl running barefoot through the grass in the soft summer evenings, out on the farm with nothing to hear but the crickets and the frogs and an occasional lowing from the milk cow.
It was twilight on the verge of darkness before Mom would call us in. My sisters were older, so they sat on the edge of the tub and washed their own feet, but Momma would pick me up and sit me on the counter beside the kitchen sink and wash my feet before she tucked me into bed.
I’m sure the romance of it is exaggerated in my mind, but it is nonetheless a sweet, sweet memory of days gone by. I hope my son has some of these when he is my age.
This morning, 4th of July, was cooler than the past several days, so we backed the vehicles out of the garage and did a little cleanup. (Do we know how to celebrate or what?) Then we had this big open space giving little Liam plenty of room to motate in his walker. He loved it, but the garage floor is not very clean. Thus came the need to wash his tiny foots before his morning nap. As I sat him on the counter beside the sink, this memory from my childhood came flooding in.
I know there will be other opportunities to wash his feet, many more sweet, earthy and romantic than the filth of the garage floor, but I plan to savor them, each and every one, and build sweet, sweet memories for Liam.
4 hours ago