“…but the years are short.” 

Most of our neighbors are elderly. And whenever I spend time with them I walk away reminded to cherish this season of life I’m in. 

When they share their lives and stories with me, they never share about how perfect they were. 

They don’t share about how impeccable their lawns were (currently my lawn is dead and stressing me out) or how decorated their homes were. They aren’t sharing about how amazing the meals they made were. They don’t share about how much or how little they had in their bank accounts.

They share about memories they had, life they lived with their kiddos/families. They shared about what made/makes them feel alive, and the trend I hear among them all is it isn’t in anything they possessed or a status they held.

It’s who they held, and the memories they made along the way. It was the simple moments. 

They share about how much they miss these years when the kids are young. 

They tell me to soak it up. 

To savor it.
 My neighbor Marie just kept kissing Atlas and speaking this to me repeatedly. 

I came home again today and this (the images on this post) is what happened and what I saw. 

This isn’t staged. 

This is our real life. 

It is messy, imperfect and truly so beautiful simultaneously. 

We hear “the days are long but the years are short” often but man do I feel an emphasis on “the years are short”, today. 

(It’s also rare they ever share with me how tired or worn out they felt, either! So guess what, fellow mommas, I’m assuming maybe that’s the part we won’t remember the most in the long run! 🙌🏻) 

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