I traveled back in time this week; it was a good reminder of how much I’ve forgotten.

During my recent cleaning/organizing frenzy, I found an old VCR in the attic. I brought it down thinking I would pop in an old Barney or Donut Man video for Lucy. Poor child is lacking in her knowledge of the purple dinosaur, and as a good mother, I felt a need to remedy that wrong. More importantly, we canceled the satellite this month, so I wanted to replace Noggin. Not that she spends all day in front of the telly. I try to use the black box only when I need a mental break or want to take a shower. There’s nothing like a good Disney movie to give you uninterrupted bath time.

While Lucy had a Barney lesson, Susan discovered a home video in the TV cabinet. Honestly, I’d forgotten we even had it, and as she popped it into the machine, I was just as curious as the kids. I vaguely remembered what was recorded.

For the rest of the afternoon, I sat transfixed, much like a toddler mesmerized by a dancing dinosaur.

Susan, a week away from 6, and Peter, 4, romping on a picnic blanket, on a tiny island in a crowd of screaming Toby Mac fans. It was the summer of 2005, when we camped at Creation Festival. Lucy tucked in that blue stroller, the one I got for free, and brought with us because I didn’t care if it got muddy or wet. She slept in the stroller while we sang along to the songs. At two months, you’re not too interested in contemporary Christian music.

The video cut to us at home. Edmund now in front of the camera to proclaim his third birthday. The joy of his special day evident by his huge grin. His face part baby, part little boy. Round like a full moon with rosy cheeks.

There were conversations captured:

Mommy, he’s in his underwear!

Where’s my bathing suit?

I am taking your picture, this is a video camera.

Susan drank from the sprinkler, Peter wore an aloe green swim suit. I only remembered these things while  watching the tape. Baby Lucy with a small strawberry birthmark on her forehead that we referred to back then as her laser beam. Someone came up with the idea that it had the power to blast bad guys. The birth mark faded years ago; I wish I could remember how long she had it.

From the sofa, the kids laughed at themselves, gleeful to watch their antics.

See? I always liked the color yellow.

Is this the time when I lost my tooth?

Mommy, is that baby is me?

I can imagine Susan as a newborn, six months and a toddler learning to walk. I don’t remember Peter as a baby. His birth day is vivid, but his infancy isn’t. Unless there is a recording in a box I’ve yet to find, those memories are gone. The same with Edmund. With Lucy, I can still see her as a babe. It’s easy to do: it was only three years ago, I suspected her to be my last, and I wanted to suck all the fond memories I could from her babyhood. So I paid attention all the more. At least, I thought I did. Watching the video proved there was much I’d forgotten.

Is this why we mothers are so eager to blog our lives? We write about these daily happenings, nothing that would interest anyone but ourselves, our children and family, because we sense if we don’t use every medium we can to hold it close to our hearts, the memories will be gone forever?

I don’t want to forget joyful play, the red moon face, birthmarks or the simple happiness from a summertime sprinkler. I want to remember it all. Yes, even the three year old with a fondness for towels over toilet paper.

I’ve always scoffed at those mothers who told me the years go by too fast. Oh, how I miss those days!

I’m beginning to understand how right those women are. It is going too fast.

Like on the VCR, life needs a pause, stop and rewind. I could skip back to those days when I was busy with a 18 month old toddler and infant. I would revisit those days when our only schooling was reading picture books. I would go back and tell myself to slow down, enjoy it more, play more. To days of grief and pain, I’d go back there too. To fast forward through pain would take away from the joy to come later.

Tomorrow there will be no one to teach long division or little hands to wipe clean. No Legos scattered over the floor to step on. Even now, when this is my daily life as a mommy, I can sense it fading away. Yesterday I had a newborn and tomorrow all four will be grown. Because – as much as I wish for it – life doesn’t have a pause button.