The Redolence of Home
My kids often tell me that I smell. And before objections can be made, small noses bury themselves into the crevace of my neck (or whatever random body part), taking in big whiffs before they each run off to do what Kimchicks do. I watch them and wonder, "What is this odor they speak of?"
Makes me think back on comments I've made about my own mama. That woman smells, too. Her scent permeates everything she wears or lies down on. It's as intoxicating as it is difficult to describe. If pinned down, I would say that it's reminiscent of flowery shampoo, a little sun and a sense of calm familiarity that reminds me of home. And to this day, each time I hug her, I breath it in deeply and quietly think to myself, "I will always love the way you smell, mom."
The idea of my own kids feeling that way about me doesn't stink. ;)
Makes me think back on comments I've made about my own mama. That woman smells, too. Her scent permeates everything she wears or lies down on. It's as intoxicating as it is difficult to describe. If pinned down, I would say that it's reminiscent of flowery shampoo, a little sun and a sense of calm familiarity that reminds me of home. And to this day, each time I hug her, I breath it in deeply and quietly think to myself, "I will always love the way you smell, mom."
The idea of my own kids feeling that way about me doesn't stink. ;)
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