What My Children Remember Most

People often ask how I managed a household with five children.

The truth is, I learned very quickly that I worked faster by myself.

So my children didn't grow up with many chores, especially in the kitchen.

While I was chopping vegetables, stirring pots, and getting dinner on the table, they were usually together in the family room. It wasn't because I didn't want their help. It was simply the rhythm that worked best for our family.

When dinner was ready, we'd gather around the table.

That's when our day really began.

We talked about school, work, friends, and whatever happened to be on our minds. We laughed, teased one another, shared stories, and lingered a little longer than we probably needed to.

At the time, I wasn't trying to create traditions.

I was simply trying to get dinner on the table before everyone got too hungry.

Looking back now, I realize those ordinary evenings became some of the memories my children carried with them.

Years have passed.

My children have families of their own now.

Some are raising children.

Some are building careers.

Life has changed in all the ways it should.

Yet whenever we talk about home, the conversation somehow finds its way back to the food.

Mama's mechado.

The egg rolls.

The leche flan.

The crème brûlée.

It's funny because I don't remember those meals as anything extraordinary.

I remember trying to get dinner on the table while juggling everything else that came with raising five children.

They remember something entirely different.

They remember how home felt.

That has taught me something I didn't understand when I was younger.

The things we do every day often become the things our families remember most.

Not because they were elaborate.

Not because they were perfect.

But because they were done consistently, with love.

It makes me wonder what my grandchildren will remember one day.

Maybe it will be helping in the garden.

Maybe it will be baking together.

Maybe it will simply be knowing that Lolo and Lola's house was always a place where they were welcomed with open arms.

Whatever those memories become, I hope they feel the same thing my children remember today.

That home was never really about the food.

It was about the love that gathered around the table.