Some days, my couch cushions are in piles all over the floor because they have been used to create forts and jungle gyms.
Some days, I dig sand out of the Goose’s mouth more times than I can count.
Some days, I find myself on the floor, scrubbing marker stains out of the carpet.
Some days, the girls sit on the floor and laugh together for hours making my heart smile.
Some days, they sing and dance and run and giggle like all little girls should have the opportunity to do.
Some days, I beg them for one more book before bedtime because I don’t want to give up the warmth of their cuddles just yet.
Some days, I wake up and I pray for five more minutes before I have to get out of bed.
Some days, I look at the pile of laundry, and I decide to let the girls look for clothes to re-wear because the thought of doing yet another load makes my skin crawl.
Some days, we eat out for dinner because I simply cannot muster the energy to go to the grocery store and prepare something myself.
Some evenings, I look back on the day and I count my regrets and failures.
Some evenings, I lie covered in the comfort of the day we had.
Whatever the case, good or bad, they have all created a piece of our shared history. And they are worth remembering because they are proof that we are real and that we lived. That we are messy and kind and frustrated and warm. It will never be neat and perfect, but it will always be ours.