When you have children, you hear a lot about routine. About its benefits. About its necessity. I always “believed” in this from a behavioral perspective. I see how children find predictability comforting in a big a world they cannot yet understand or control. I also recognized this as a weakness of mine and placed a good deal of value on the idea of creating adaptable children. I want to give my children lots of exciting new experiences. I feel guilty if I don’t find ways to take advantage of every possibility for fun I can find. There’s the urge to try every playground, every museum, every park, every story time; to travel.

Lately though, I’ve been thinking more about what I remember. The thing is, besides moments of extreme highs or lows, I remember what was repeated. I remember the rituals of my life. Truth be told I can’t recall much from family vacations, but I can clearly see myself eating tic tacs in my dad’s pick up truck in the morning, sitting on a towel on the leather seat that was apparently always too cold or too hot, on my way to be babysat for the day. I remember walks with my grandmother, playing cards and reading stories. I remember the songs she sang me and the poetry she recited. We had a routine there. She had a signature. I see now what a gift that was. Her house, being with her, was one of my favorite places as a child.

Children love repetition. The more familiar they are with something the more they enjoy it, and get a little high off that recognition; at least that is what I see in my toddler. I want to give them that gift. I want to create more rituals in our lives. I want to pick some favorite places, some favorite things to do, and do them over and over. I want to sing them the same songs and remember to always turn chores into a dance party. There will be time for new and exciting things, but I don’t want to forget to give them something to remember. Sometimes it’s just the little things. I want to take them to the best spot where they’ll have the best time ever, but also stumble into the greatest moments with the way he loves to push his car down the sidewalk… the way he wants to do that every day, the joy it fills him with, the smile on his face. It is such a small thing, and it is his favorite thing. It hits me sometimes that all I must do is pay attention.

I’m realizing now that routine isn’t just about stability; it is not only a monotonous thing. It is the fabric, the rhythm of our lives. The structure in which all the messiness happens. Repetition gives us something to remember. Ritual gives it meaning. As someone who wishes she could remember more, that is a beautiful and precious thing. It is a gift I want to give my children, still too young to remember anything just yet, it is something I am starting to be conscious of.

Do you have family rituals or special ways you create memories with your children?