An old friend once told me, for sure over 20 years ago, that the pictures we take of mundane, everyday things will be the ones we cherish the most in the future. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. I was in my 20s. Like most folks, I figured the "important" photos were the big moments… birthdays, graduations, vacations, parties. And yup, those are great. But now, as I scroll through my pictures, I see the wisdom in those words.
Tonight, I took some pictures of a regular Thursday night bedtime for the boys. Nothing special. Just them in their cute little boy bedroom, pajamas a little ruffled, stuffed animals here and there, Pikachu night light on the corner table. A scene that happens every night. And yet, I already know these will be the photos I look back on with a lump in my throat one day. Hell, I’m getting verklempt writing this.
Because the everyday things… they don’t stay everyday forever.
When we’re in it, daily life feels repetitive. Rushing out the door to school or the bus stop, cleaning up endless messes in the living room and kitchen, nagging about teeth brushing and chores and jackets left on the floor in the front hall. It’s really easy to assume these things will always be part of the routine. But I know deep down, and when I take a second to think about it, time has a way of quietly shifting everything. I’m gonna pick up the camera soon and realize the little hands I used to hold are now too big. The bedtime stories are gonna get replaced by late-night texts from another room or one day another city or country. Hell I did that to my folks.
The photos we take of the ordinary aren’t simply snapshots. They’re time capsules. They capture the tiny details that fade from memory… the way Kenzo’s monkey is always tucked under his arm, the way bedtime giggles filled the air when I kiss the boys and tell them I love them and ask them what the best and worst parts of the day were, the way the room looked when their childhood was messy, vibrant, chaotic, and magical.
I don’t have a ton of photos of my own childhood homes. There were of course no smartphones, and flash cubes were still a thing. I wish I did, though. I’d love to see what my bedroom looked like when I was seven. I kinda remember a blue blankety thing. What books were on my shelf, what toys I couldn’t go to sleep without, what the walls were like. Those details slip away so easily from one’s memory. I sorta remember but I sorta don’t.
That’s why I’m taking these pictures now. Not because they’re Instagram-worthy, not because they’re particularly stunning, but because one day, they will be everything.
Take that photo. Take that picture of the messy living room, the half-eaten dinners, the little dirty shoes by the door. The magic of life is happening right now, in the middle of the ordinary.
It’s actually not ordinary at all.
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