I’m starting to learn that I don’t have to jam-pack my kids’ childhood to make it memorable.

Don’t get me wrong, the traditions and the adventures are important, and I hope my girls look back on those things fondly. But I also hope they remember the small stuff.

I hope they remember tacos on Tuesdays, and Friday night pizza nights, and pancakes after church on Sundays.

I hope they remember board games after dinner and baths filled to the brim with bubbles.

I hope they remember the giant bowls of kettle corn that accompany movie dates on early outs from school.

I hope they remember the living room dance parties and the kitchen table covered in craft supplies.

I hope they remember baking chocolate chip cookies on snowy afternoons and running through the sprinkler in the summer.

I hope they remember the bedtime stories and butterfly kisses as they get tucked in at night.

I hope they remember that their mama loved them fiercely and truly cherished the days of playing Barbies and princesses and dress-up, no matter how exhausted or scatterbrained I was.

I hope they remember the small stuff.

And I hope it becomes the stuff they cherish the most.

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