You blink and they’re adults. 

One minute you’re wiping jelly off the counter and the next they’re driving. One second you’re having a nerf war, you turn around and they have a career.

It all whips by so fast.

It’s the little things though.

Their tiny hands in yours. A pitter patter of wild little laughter on the beach. And the joy of being able to scoop them up in your arms.

Those are the things I remember.

Let’s go back 25 years. The Matrix was new to the wall at Blockbuster. I was terrible at photography. My framing and lighting was atrocious. But the tens of thousands of photos that I snapped of my kids, are my personal treasures. 

And they still move me to tears. 

I want that for you.

In the best way.

Because the memories aren’t for instagram. They’re for the fridge. They’re for your home screens. For your home walls. And when you can’t scoop them up in your arms any more, they’re for you. 

When I look at my over processed, pixilated, photos I’m transported back— to when I could let my son jump on my shoulders and feel my daughter hugging my leg. 

If I can feel that with my imperfect time capsules, the hope is when you look back 20 years from now, you will transcend time and be moved to tears. 

That’s the hope. 

See you on the beach.