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Warm and Snug

Snug as a bug in a rug. It sounds cliche, but that describes my first memory. I was three years old and had crawled into my dolly's cradle and pulled an old rug we kept under the kitchen sink up over top of me. I remember thinking that it would be fun to be a dolly and as I didn't have a blanket, the rug would have to do. I also remember thinking that I might get in trouble for moving the rug but I was willing to take the risk for the sake of my pretend game.

Although I have no memory of what time of day it was, it had to have been in the evening and after dinner because my Dad was at home and my Mom wasn't cooking. They must have been doing something adult and boring in the other room because I had struck out on my own.

I lay in the little cradle for some time pretending to be a dolly but the attention span of a three year old is short and I was ready to get out. But I was stuck! I remember thinking, "should I yell for help?" I was still a bit worried about having moved the kitchen mat. I ended up crying to myself, not knowing what to do.

Well, of course their little girl's cries brought my Mommy and Daddy looking for me. I remember them starting to laugh, I remember my Mom lifting the rug and my Dad lifting me out. I was still a bit scared and worried, but they were laughing and laughing and laughing. I remember feeling warm and secure, basking in their joy and love. They must have laughed for twenty minutes. I remember catching that laughter and laughing myself. Even at three, happy in my Daddy's arms, I knew this was a special moment.

This is not only my first memory but one of my favorites. There have been many times in my life when I have felt unloved and insecure. My life has certainly been touched by death, divorce and depression. This one little memory sits there in my head like a cup of hot cocoa. I take a sip of the wonderfully sweet and warm memory and I immediately feeler warmer and loved once again.

A couple of years ago I mentioned my memory to my Mom. She remembered it very well and added one thing I didn't remember. They took a picture before they took me out of the cradle. My dad, who also remembered that night quite fondly, had it tucked away in an old album, and has since given it to me. Now I have a real picture to go with my mind's picture. It warms my soul to say they are identical.

Learn more about this author, Minnie Chatterfield.
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