I hope they’ll remember

I hope they’ll remember

I hope they’ll remember that I loaded them up and took them to the pool, and not that they scorched their feet on the long walk to get into the water.
I hope they’ll remember all the times I’ve talked about God, and His character, and the Gospel, and not the time I said “shit” because my feet were also being scorched to high heavens on that long walk across the concrete to get to the water.
I hope they’ll remember that their dad was home in the morning to make them breakfast burritos (and even let them help), and not that he had to work a long stretch for the last nine days without a day off to hang out.
I hope they’ll remember that I picked them up when they fell, and not that I later yelled at them to stop asking for another band aid.
I hope they’ll remember the whimsical bedtime stories I told them each night, and not the pleas to “go to sleep already!“.
I hope they’ll remember that I made their lunch and even sometimes cut their sandwiches into stars (take that, Pinterest Mom), and not that it was pb&j more often than not.
I hope they’ll remember all the times I stopped to read books or play dolls, and not all the times that I was too busy with something else.
I hope they’ll remember the ice cream treats and not the battles to, “take a bite of your carrot!“.
I hope they’ll remember the sincere apologies and not the times that my patience was MIA.
I hope they’ll remember all the times me and their dad held hands and danced in the kitchen, and not the times I gave him a rude look or acted disrespectful toward him.
I hope they’ll remember the times I celebrated their childhood and not the times I was annoyed at their child-like behavior.
I hope they’ll remember that their sister was their first friend, and a forever friend by God’s design, and not all the times she stole your toy, pushed you down, or ate the last bite of your cookie.
I hope they’ll always remember that they’re loved, wanted, special, and prayed for.


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