I’m starting off the new year with a writing challenge to keep me in the habit and to hopefully engage with fellow writers. The first prompt is to write about your earliest memory.
I can remember the brown tile floor, maybe it was more of a laminate. I watched her load and unload the washer and dryer as the day took on the familiar routines of housework after my big sister went to school.
Maybe I was around three or four, I don’t really know. The washer and dryer sat in the back room of our old house, it was like a long sun room and I actually remember the light shifting in as my mom worked. I think she gave me wash cloths to fold since I wanted to help her.
I remember thinking how pretty my mom was and how one day I would run my house just like her. I’m sure that’s not exactly what my three year old mind thought, but close.
After a little while, mom would have a cup of coffee. I can’t remember if she still smoked then. I barely remember that. The white mug she would pour her coffee in looked so grownup and elegant. I always asked her to try some coffee and mom always made me her version of coffee-sugar coffee.
I would sit on a high back stool near my mom, drinking the mostly sugar and milk with a splash of coffee, thinking that life couldn’t get better.
The familiarity of the laundry routine was comforting. The smells of the detergent, the softness of the clothes, the warmth of the light in the room. It was a simple moment made special and engrained in my mind-sharing coffee with my mom on a regular day, just us.