February 16

The sale of our old house will be formally complete on Tuesday, so tonight after the boys finished baseball, we convened there for one last meal. We sat on the chilly tile floor in the empty family room and munched on In N Out burgers and fries as Adam and I remembered What Was in something of a flipped fashion: he --who is so often silent-- reminisced aloud, while I --the consummate chatterbox-- kept my thoughts mostly to myself.

I listened (and offered up a slight modification of the events) as he remembered Abby's first steps in the kitchen and as he explained the configuration of the furniture in the nursery. I smiled as he remembered how we'd sit on the couch downstairs watching TV and use our secret code phrase for "Abby is out of bed; don't make eye contact with her" --the Pop Tart is out of the toaster-- whenever she'd appear at the gate at the top of the staircase after the bedtime routine was complete. And I silently agreed when he told the house that it'd been a nice place to begin our family because it certainly was just that.

My own silent thoughts were similar, I guess: I remembered taking weekly belly pics in the family room when I was pregnant with Logan and I remembered sitting under the chandelier in the "dining room" spoon-feeding a high-chaired Abby a plethora of solid foods when she was a baby and I remembered decorating her Strawberry Shortcake birthday cake. And I remembered how it felt to be alone with my little family of four on the day we first brought Logan home from the hospital and I remembered how that 28-year old me wondered how I'd ever survive with two kids in my care each and every day. I remembered a lot of details that had already dimmed in my mind.

So I guess here's my truth for today: I really don't like change at all. I don't like the idea of forgetting (or of being forgotten) or of losing those precious bits and pieces that make up my story. But at my very core, I'm still thankful for what was, and I'm thankful for what is, and I'm thankful for what will be. Because I know that the details that really matter -- those will never fade away for good. They'll always be a memory-jog away.