When Your Child Grows Up


childhood, corey amaro French La vie,

 

Sacha wrote me the other day asking, "Mom do you remember the last time you held my hand when I was a child?"

As we lived in an old house in the country not so far away from the village, close to a river and a forest behind us, we often walked to and fro the village and went wandering by the river that looked more like a stream. Up the hill from our house Annie lived, and in the surrounding fields wild tulips, asparagus, and rows of grape vines grew. Sacha's childhood friend Fabrice lived down the road. We held hands whenever we went, Chelsea on one side and Sacha on the other.

Sacha wrote, that he remembers my hands were soft and warm. I probably stopped holding their hands when they were in the fifth grade.

Childhood.

When I was in Seattle, Sacha held my hand, strong and giving, pure gift.

 

 

childhood, corey amaro French La vie,

 

 

 

 

childhood, corey amaro, French La Vie

 

Sacha's asking me about the last time I held his hand reminded me of other little memories that have slipped away from my day to day life. Sweet memories seem to pour in as I recalled his and Chelsea's childhood. Such as the time Sacha lost his first tooth I remember the morning when I went to his bedroom to wake him up for school but instead found him sitting on the edge of his bed holding his tooth, "Mommy, this morning, when it was still dark outside the church bells started to ring: DONG 1, DONG 2, DONG 3 and DING my tooth fell out at the fourth ring of the church bell!" In all seriousness that only a child can muster, he added, "I wonder who is going to leave me money under my pillow, the American tooth-fairy or the *French little mouse?"

Customs in France are not always the same as in the USA.

 

"…The most commonly accepted belief by academics is the fairy's development from the tooth mouse, depicted in an 18th century French language fairy tale. In "La Bonne Petite Souris," a mouse changes into a fairy to help a good Queen defeat an evil King by hiding under his pillow to torment him and knocking out all his teeth…" Via Wiki

 

 

 

childhood sweet life, French La VIe, Corey Amaro

 

 

 

Stories collected, memories gathered thoughts that keep me going on dark days. The patterns in the sky, the unfolding of hearts, life in the monastery and how I learned to pray while cooking. Stories of finding and keeping and losing and weeping, the struggle of having lived when death thought to call. Moments of living the words of a dream: Life continues to continue even when unseen. Memories of childhood and Portuguese donuts and saying the rosary with my cousins. Running in dry rice fields, cracking walnuts, riding motorcycles and walking down the lane. Marty, Mathew, Mark and Zane. The best deal I ever found in the shadiest puce was the rarest gem. What words tumble from your heart and soul? What words tell your story? What book would you write?

 

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Comments

26 responses to “When Your Child Grows Up”

  1. Lovely words…
    Lovely drawings…

  2. Ooh, I remember what was surely one of the last times my mother held my hand, when I was probably about five or six years old. Unfortunately, the story can’t be repeated online, as I embarrassed her right down to her socks — and in public in the middle of the main street in the center of downtown, no less! 😉

  3. Jacklynn Lantry

    I would write stories of childhood:
    I have a vivid memory of Christmas Eve as a child, maybe 10 years old. I shared a room with my sister Cathy and we’d been sent upstairs to bed hours earlier but of course we could not sleep. It was freezing outside, there had been a snowstorm and the windows in our bedroom were cold and frozen over. Cathy and I were drawing designs with our fingers on the frosty window when we noticed shadowy figures walking up the hill. We watched in silence as they came closer, our breath billowing out in icy clouds near the cold window. Mom, Dad and our neighbor Charlotte were trudging up the hill, arms laden with wrapped packages. Their footsteps stamped a silent path in the powdery snow as they walked from her house to ours. We looked at each other with wide eyes…
    “So that’s where they hide the presents!”

  4. Vicki Perkins

    I read your blog every day. I have for many, many years. I love France. It is what initially attracted me. We are pen pals of sorts. I typically drop you a blog note 3-4 times a year when it seems relevant. Your interests and mine overlap. I loved Annie stories, watching your children grow, graduate from college, launch into their adult lives. Celebrate a marriage! I grieved with you when you lost your beloved father. I stopped in Willows and met your mom who held me close, a substitute for the daughter who lives so far away. I love your sense of fun with hair growing contests. You share your imperfections and fears. I have watched you grow and blossom professionally and that has been a joy. I have loved every home remodel. The guessing games about brocante finds. I love your walk with the Lord. It is gentle and personal. Today I reach across the ocean, take your hand and encourage you to write about what matters to you. V

  5. The shadiest puce…oh how that made me laugh.

  6. I love your blog for many reasons. Your views on life, family, faith, love of place.
    Today I love how you cause me to pause and remember. To hold moments in my heart.
    Thank you, dear Corey.

  7. And so today my world it smiles, your hand in mine we walk the miles.
    Led Zeppelin
    How beautiful and thanks for your hearts sharings.
    Love Jeanne

  8. Oh, Corey, I so love your view of the world; there is such a gentleness there. One of the things I have been grateful for in my life is the fact that my son never outgrew his love for his mom and was never afraid to show it. At 31, he still holds my hand and my hearts swells. One of my favorite memories is of him in 8th grade when he was 13. There was an after school dance in the school cafeteria and I had to stop by to give him a message. The cafeteria lights had been dimmed and the music was blaring. The teachers standing watch at the entranceway laughed when I said I needed to talk to Dylan. One in particular was one who had made our lives particularly difficult in a situation related to our church. She dared me to walk into the cafeteria throng and said, “I’d love to see his face when you show up in front of his friends,” thinking he’d be appalled or embarrassed. I replied with, “Oh, that won’t bother Dylan,” then met the dare as I entered the room. The place was packed with middle schoolers, just standing congregated, as is the typical dance back then. I could see Dylan through the crowd up ahead, his back to me. I laugh because when his friends all saw me approaching they moved as Moses parting the Red Sea, leaving a wide open space for me to make a beeline to my son. As I got closer, he turned and saw me, said with a smile, “Mom!,” grabbed my hand, spun me around, and then kissed me on the cheek. I smiled sooo big and my heart burst with delight. As the two of us walked off the dance floor, THAT teacher commented to me that she hoped her son would one day do that for her. I just smiled smugly and thought, “Fat chance, B-word,” confidently knowing it would never happen. I’m still licking my finger and scoring a point in the air as I remember. xoxo

  9. ME TOO-LOVE THIS!

  10. this is a beautiful and honest ….. well I don’t know what to call it comment?- but beautiful!

  11. THE THANK YOU SONG-one of my favorites of all time!

  12. Vicki, you brought tears to my eyes so early in the morning. I echo your words from my heart also.

  13. Paula Tyner

    Your lovely gift is your words, interspersed with the sweet drawings. Thank you for sharing your gentle look on life. You make our world better.

  14. Arnelle Louise

    Dear Friend..My Father was a house painter by trade. He would return home in the evening and I would meet him in the basement. He would carefully clean his beautiful sable brushes, and I would then take his hands in mine and carefully clean the splatters of paint off of them. I would hold his hands and and try to understand how they could feel so strong but gentle at the same time. My memory of his voice is fading but I will never forget the feeling of his hands holding mine.

  15. such a visual sweet memory!

  16. Thank you Vicki, thank you for remembering and recalling it back to me. Blogging is a wonderful way to create a journal, it is all there, spelled out with photos. Thank you for being part of this journey xx

  17. I have ben to a few.

  18. Oh Jan! I could see it and believe every word! You are a wonderful person, a great mentor and a loving mom! The real deal all in one.

  19. Your memory and love made me cry. xxx

  20. “When I was in Seattle, Sacha held my hand, strong and giving, pure gift.”…..
    the tears started to flow……

  21. and me…too-such a tender memory –

  22. Dear Corey,
    After following your blog since close to the beginning
    days, reading and taking into my being your stories,
    your poems, your recipes, your deep love of family, your
    brocante adventures, remodeling of wonderful places
    and beautiful photos, my life is richer, and flooded with
    so much delicious goodness. Thank you for being you,
    through and through every post on your blog. I give thanks
    for you in my life.🙏🙏💖💖💖

  23. So much love to you. <3

  24. Thank you, this is lovely. I still feel the touch of my father’s hands in mine the last time we had together.

  25. Vicki Perkins

    It has been my honor.

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