Maybe one day our kids will look at these and ask about the porch we were sitting on. We’ll tell them about the duplex we rented, and turned into a home, with plants that seemed to mysteriously appear every other week (the Calendula and Monstera over our shoulders are swaying in agreement). Maybe they’ll ask, “Did you spend a lot of time sitting out there?” Honestly, less than we would have liked to, but so many nourishing meals were created on that grill that I hauled 5 blocks from your old place, pausing in the middle of Arctic to take a proud photograph. It’ll be funny to them to see us holding wine glasses, and we’ll tell them that sometimes it’s important to make-believe that you’re a grownup. Occasionally we would light an herbal cigarette that you made, in both times of celebration and struggle. We’ll have rolls and rolls of photos that we took in our home, because at some point we realized that every “ordinary” day was what became our life. About two weeks ago I heard someone say, “We’re living life as if it’s a rerun,” So I’ve decided to start counting my days linearly (today is day 16 of the rest of my life). I wonder what day it will be when our kids see these photos. Sometimes the memories were captured, and often they weren’t. I wonder if they’ll know what we mean when we explain that all of those moments are still with us, even the ones we don’t remember, and that they’re a part of them too.