Remember this, your little boy. Riding down your block, bright red shirt, 23 in big white letters against the green grass and apple blossoms. Training wheels still banging against the sidewalk. The moment you got to spend with him, before he zoomed off ahead of you to get to his brother and the house he will remember growing up in.

Press it into your brain, like a flower in a heavy book, set to fall out at some moment. Reminding you of the sweetness of the bloom so long after it would have been otherwise forgotten. Remember that all the things he did had firsts, and this was one of them.



  1. Another lovely one, Jen.
    I can smell the grass and it reminds me of my own summers years ago. Thank you for the reminder — each first is but once. So easy for our minds to steam roll over these moments with the clutter we amass for no reason. Precious times.

  2. Delightful, the memory pressed like a bloom in a book…. my boy is now 20 years old, and we’ve been moving and sifting through all our stuff and stumbling on so many such memories… Beautiful.

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