But then I started thinking about my own childhood.

The things I remember aren’t spotless kitchens or perfectly folded towels.

I remember my mom sitting on the floor playing Barbies with me. I remember exercising with her every morning to Richard Simmons.  (Yes, I realize that statement gives away my age.  Let’s just keep moving.) I remember weekly pizza and ice cream runs with my dad. I remember swimming in the pool with him on hot summer afternoons.

Do I remember whether the house was messy? Nope.

Do I remember whether the grass was cut? Not even a little bit.

What I remember are the moments. The feeling of being together. The ordinary things that somehow became the memories that lasted.