I wonder if they will remember me spoiling them. Indulging their little faces with the dim echo of rules and regulations in the back of my mind. The library, our picnics, the those late night slumber parties during the summer of Meatballs, later called feetballs. Tickle tickle feet eating funny faces, funny phases of changing names and silly voices. The fear of being forgotten not enough to stop from living unrehearsed. If I die young(ish) like I hope, I want them to remember all the rules I helped them break and the muffins they helped me bake.
The laundry. For some reason I really enjoy the laundry. How through the years of roommates, I have seen all kinds of clothes. It's a strange way to be a part of someone's life.
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