I just got back from South Bend. Long drive. It's an hour up and an hour back. Mom had to drop off some files to the court so I got to ride along.

We stopped at a sweater shop... awesome sweaters. They're all personally made and they're beautiful, excellent quality and in more colors than you can think of. Well, okay, maybe not that last one, but still...

I'm having a sweater custom made in a deep Forest Green. *grins* If you like sweaters a little baggy, then they come in small, medium, large, extra large and really extra large. If you like them form-fitting, then they come in extra small, small, medium, large and extra large. Heh. If you have any interest in sweaters, you should really talk to me, I'll be the middle man. heh.

Anyway, as we were driving back, Mom was telling me stories about when she was in school. She grew up in rural Ohio and by rural, I mean, really rural. The next door neighbor was about three miles down the road.

Her school was barely more than a one-room school house. Complete with bell. *chuckles* All those images you've seen on Little House on the Prarie... that's how Mom's school was, except there were three rooms. One main "auditorium" and two school rooms; one for older kids, one for younger.

It was a lot of fun to hear her talk about such pleasant memories. I really enjoyed it. I, of course, turned inward once again, wondering what stories I would have to tell my children when I get them.

Will I tell them about the negative stuff? Probably not. I'll probably tell them about the time, in kindergarten, when I got to pet the boa constrictor. I was one of the only girls who actually got up the nerve to touch it.

Perhaps I'll tell them about when the kids would go back and try to catch polywogs in the crick that ran out behind the school.

Maybe I'll tell them about getting to play on the huge, log-toy that my very own Dad helped build. *smiles softly*

That's the only thing I would miss, I think, if I home schooled my children. You know, getting to hear my own child tell my grandchildren about how dad helped build something for school.

This, of course, makes me all nostalgic and I want to immediately go to my grade school to sit on that huge, wooden play toy.

But, I figure, after 22 years, that thing has probably been torn down and rebuilt.

I still have the memories, though. And always will.