What I Want My Grandchildren to Remember About Our Home

My grandchildren are still too young to remember much about these early years.

They may not remember being carried through our front door, the toys scattered across the floor, or the family gathered around them.

But I hope something remains.

Not necessarily a clear memory, but a feeling.

I hope they remember that our home was a place where they belonged.

A Home Filled With Family

Before I became Lola, this was the home of five growing children.

It was rarely quiet. There was always someone coming or going, something cooking in the kitchen, or a conversation happening across the room.

Then the children grew up and began building lives of their own. The house became quieter. There were fewer shoes by the door and fewer voices calling from one room to another.

Now there are grandchildren.

Baby bottles have returned to the counter. There are toys on the floor, small blankets over the chairs, and the sound of children filling the rooms again.

The house feels different, but also familiar.

It is holding a new generation now.

A Place at the Table

So much of our family life has always happened around food.

I have spent many hours preparing the dishes my family looks forward to—mechado, egg rolls, leche flan, crème brûlée, and the meals that have become part of our celebrations.

The work has never been only about the food.

It is about seeing everyone find a place around the table. It is about hearing conversations overlap, watching someone reach for another helping, and staying together long after the meal is finished.

My grandchildren may not remember the first meals they ate here. But I hope they grow up associating our kitchen with being welcomed, fed, and cared for.

I hope they always know there is a place for them at our table.

What I Hope Remains

I do not know what my grandchildren will remember about the furniture, the decorations, or the things we owned.

Those details may fade, and that is all right.

I hope they remember being greeted with joy.

I hope they remember Lolo making them laugh and Lola preparing something for them to eat.

I hope they remember family traditions, familiar voices, and a home where they were allowed to be children.

Most of all, I hope they remember that love was not saved only for birthdays, holidays, or important occasions.

It was present in ordinary visits, shared meals, toys left on the floor, and the countless small ways we made room for them in our lives.

Wherever life eventually takes them, I want them to know they can always come back.

The toys will disappear one day. Their small shoes will become larger ones. They will no longer need to be carried or watched every minute.

But they will still belong.

That is what I hope our home teaches them:

You are always welcome.

You have a place here.

And you have been deeply loved from the very beginning.