Childhood Goes by Faster Than We Think
There are days when I look at my girls and wonder… How did they grow up so fast?
It feels like yesterday they were learning their ABCs, asking me to tie their shoelaces, and wanting me beside them for everything.
Now one is navigating college life, while the other is becoming more independent every single day. Some days, I catch myself wishing I could slow time down just a little. Not because I want them to stay little forever. But because I know these ordinary days won’t always be ordinary.
One day, they’ll simply become memories. And I find myself wondering… What will they remember about their childhood?
I Hope They Remember That Home Felt Safe
More than anything, I hope our home always felt like a place they could come back to. Not because it was perfect.
Trust me ā it wasn’t. There were messy rooms. Laundry waiting to be folded. Dishes in the sink. Stressful days. Loud days. But I hope that underneath all of that, they always felt loved. That no matter what happened outside our home, they knew they belonged here. Because that’s what home should feel like.
I Hope They Remember Family Meals
I’ve spent so many years cooking for our family. Some meals were elaborate. Some were incredibly simple. Some turned out exactly the way I imagined. Others… not so much. š
But looking back, I don’t think they’ll remember every recipe. I think they’ll remember sitting around the table together. Talking about school. Sharing stories about our day. Laughing over something completely random.
Those little conversations often meant more than the food itself.
I Hope They Remember That We Laughed A Lot
Life isn’t always easy. There were difficult seasons. Unexpected challenges. Financial worries. Moments when I questioned whether I was doing enough. But I also hope they remember the laughter.
The inside jokes. The silly dances in the kitchen. The movie nights on the couch. The spontaneous coffee dates and little adventures. Those moments may have seemed ordinary then. But I have a feeling they’ll become extraordinary memories someday.
I Hope They Remember That They Never Had to Earn Our Love
As parents, we celebrate achievements. Good grades. Awards. Milestones. But I hope my girls always knew that our love wasn’t connected to any of those things.
They didn’t have to be perfect. They didn’t have to be the best.They simply had to be themselves. Because that’s more than enough.
I Hope They Remember the Little Traditions
Looking back, I don’t think childhood is built on grand vacations alone. It’s built on the little things we repeat without realizing they’re becoming traditions.
Saturday market trips. Staycations. Coffee runs. Trying new restaurants together. Watching movies at home. Celebrating birthdays around the dinner table.
Taking way too many family photos. Matching outfits that made us smile. At the time, they just felt like another weekend. Now I realize those ordinary moments are quietly becoming part of our family’s story.
I Hope They Remember That We Were Present
The older I get, the more I realize that children don’t necessarily remember expensive gifts. They remember attention. Conversations. Being listened to. Feeling seen. Feeling important. I know I haven’t always gotten it right.
Life gets busy. Work gets overwhelming. There were times I was distracted by deadlines or my phone. But I hope the moments when I was fully present outweigh the moments when I wasn’t.
Motherhood Isn’t About Perfection
I think moms put enormous pressure on themselves. We wonder if we’re doing enough. If we’re patient enough. Present enough. Fun enough. We replay conversations in our heads. We question our decisions. We carry guilt over things our children probably won’t even remember.
But maybe… Maybe what our kids need most isn’t a perfect mom. Maybe they simply need one who keeps showing up. Day after day. With love. With hugs. With forgiveness. With grace.
If my girls read this years from now, I hope they know something. There was never a perfect plan. I was learning as I went. Some days I felt confident. Other days I wondered if I was getting anything right. But one thing never changed. Every decision I made came from a place of love. Even the imperfect ones. Especially the imperfect ones.
When my children think about their childhood years, I don’t hope they remember a spotless house or expensive vacations. I hope they remember how our home felt. I hope they remember laughter echoing through the kitchen.
Conversations around the dinner table. Weekend adventures. Warm hugs after difficult days. I hope they remember feeling safe. Feeling accepted. Feeling deeply loved. Because years from now, they probably won’t remember everything I bought for them.
But I hope they’ll always remember how much they were loved. And honestly, I think that’s the greatest gift any parent can leave behind. š
