Remember That Year

In 20 years, my husband and I will be in our 50s. The kids will be 29 and 23.

Here's a little dream I have:

I can see Dan and I sitting on the patio of a summer rental on the East Coast with the kids. Maybe there are some grandchildren tucked in bed. It's late in the evening. We can see the ocean from where we all sit. We can hear it. It's been a long time since the four of us have sat listening to the ocean.

Carter speaks up. "I remember that year," he says. "I was pretty little but I remember it. Going to the beach always reminds me of Family Year. We went to so many cool beaches. Ya know, that was one of the best years of my childhood," he says.

"Oh, definitely the best," Abby says. "Mom and Dad took us everywhere in America in our RV. It was more than beaches. We saw it all. I loved that trip."

That's my dream. I want the kids to remember next year as the best year of their childhood. The one Mom and Dad spent the whole year with them, experiencing the wonders of America. The one we spent learning together, playing together, eating ALL our meals together, and growing up together. Our year, Family Year. That's what I want for the four of us more than anything.