Making Memories

Johan and I spent last weekend together and I brought along a laundry basket full of various baking implements and supplies so we could bake Christmas cookies together. The last time I tried to bake with him, the most skillful thing he could do was pour chocolate chips into the mixing bowl. Thanks, no doubt, to his Montessori preschool, he’s moved up several levels since then; not only was he able to understand that we wouldn’t be licking our fingers, but he was also able to squeeze the scoop and dispense peanut butter cookie batter into the little muffin cups. After I unwrapped the Hershey’s kisses, Johan carefully placed the candies in the middle of each little cookie.

I hope that he and I will be able to bake Christmas cookies together lots of times, but it occurred to me that our time together last weekend was potentially something that he’ll be able to remember forever. I think that it‘s important for grandparents to actually spend time doing things with their grandchildren, rather than seeing their role as simply childcare providers, but unfortunately, I don’t have many memories of actually doing many things with my grandparents. I do remember a summer day when I picked Sweet Peas with my dad’s mother and ever since, the scent of Sweet Peas reminds me of her.

Psychologists believe that the earliest memories are those of smell. A nursing infant will most easily be calmed when it’s held by its mother. If you think about it, you probably can remember the unique smell of your mother’s and/or dad’s neck—a place that you probably spent a fair amount of time as a small infant. Smell is such a basic memory that most of us take it for granted and it’s one of my sadnesses that I’m unable to smell Johan’s precious little neck.

When he was barely two weeks old, and I was staying with my daughter to help her recover from the Cesarean, I managed to contract the worst sinus infection I’ve ever had. I think she initially thought that I was exaggerating about my pain, but after I finally managed to get some antibiotics on board and started feeling human again, I realized that I couldn’t smell anything, much less taste flavors. I could taste sweet, sour, salt and spicy hot, but couldn’t distinquish the difference between, say, tomatoes or peppers.

Today, some 3 1/2 years later, I’ve regained just a little of my ability to taste flavors, and tend to rely more on memory, texture and presentation to appreciate what food probably tastes like. Again, memory is helping with this disability, but you can’t remember something that you’ve never smelled, so I feel like I’ve been gypped in the Grandparents’ Experiences Department.

Aside from the obvious advantage of not being grossed out by ucky diapers (although that odor is finding its way back to me in a muted and transposed kind of smell,) I’ve decided that I can deal with the challenge. It’s reassuring that I now detect weird smells when something’s burning, so I don’t feel quite as vulnerable as I initially did. Dennis has helped immeasurably by his creative culinary efforts with making food as attractive as possible. And Johan and I create our memories together in other ways.