These nights when nothing really happened, but everything did.
I will remember sitting here, clipping these tiny fingernails as the cacophony of young children’s banter and coos rang through the room like a lovely choir, sometimes.
I will remember our one year-old trying to place various beads from Mardi Gras’ past around her neck as her big sister does, only lacking the skill her big sister possesses.
I will remember snuggling into our son as he reenacts a car crash scene with his little race cars, hearing Jeff Buckley singing “Hallelujah” in the background.
I will remember begging and pleading with our four-and-a-half year-old to pick up her toys – her peg dolls and dress-up shoes, doctor kit and the journal that she sketches in from time to time. And the smile she gives as she attempts to barter, clever to strike a bargain.
I will remember watching those first steps that night. The first steps of our darling daughter, just short of fourteen months old. Oh how they disappear into big girl steps so quickly.
I will remember our oldest asking me to please undo the braid from her hair, the same hair that took four-and-a-half years to grow long enough to braid.
I will remember the kiss and embrace before bed, tonight, every night.
I will remember it all. I have to. I must.
For it will be only a memory.