There are so many things I do in a day that I know my kids will never notice.
The laundry folded, the texts returned, the emails answered while dinner cooks and someone yells for help finding a missing sock. It’s all just part of the rhythm of life—the background noise of motherhood and running a business.

But every now and then, I pause and think: What will they actually remember?

Will they remember how I burned the toast some mornings?
Or how I’d sneak into their rooms at night just to kiss their cheeks one more time?
Will they remember the days I was distracted… or the days I was fully, beautifully present?

I hope it’s this:

I hope they remember that I loved them with my whole being—even when I was tired, even when I had deadlines looming, even when I was figuring it all out as I went.

I hope they remember that I showed up—not perfectly, but consistently. That I sat in the bleachers cheering louder than anyone. That I made up ridiculous songs to make them laugh. That I cared about their stories, their passions, their everything.

I hope they remember that I was in the pictures, not just behind the camera. That I made sure we captured our life—not just posed moments, but the real, messy, beautiful us.

I hope they remember that work wasn't just work—it was a passion. That I built something with love and intention. That I chased my dreams without letting go of theirs. That it’s possible to be both a mother and a maker of things. And that they never had to choose between success and family—they could have both.

I hope they remember that I said no to a lot of things—so that I could say yes to them. To slow mornings. To bedtime snuggles. To family adventures and Sunday pancakes. Because those were the things that mattered most.

And if nothing else, I hope they remember that no matter what, they were my greatest joy.