All Grown Up

Family photos.

They count.

They always count.

They count when your babies are all new.  And you’re so proud of how they can hold their head up by themselves, and you’ve picked out two perfect outfits, because you know they’ll poop and spit up all over the first one.

They count when your toddlers are running around and when you’ve about given yourself an anxiety attack getting them wrestled into their car seats and now you really owe your husband because this is his exact idea of what hell looks like.  Family photo time = hell time.

They count when the house is quiet.  When bedrooms are empty.  When college towns are close, but not close enough.  They count maybe more now than ever.  They count because, my God.  The kids are gone. It’s just us again.  Remember when it was just us?

Rediscovering  just us.

The simplicity of just us.

The newness, but also the memory, of just us.

The quiet, sweet ache of just us.

And when we are all together again?

The familiar just the four of us.  The sweetness of that number.

four.

all of us.