You, Me, and Our Refrigerator

There’s a new photo on the refrigerator. I didn’t think much of it when I put it there. We’d just gone home from another party, another memory, and I put it there so it won’t get lost in my bag.

But now as I walk past it, I can’t help but marvel at how this refrigerator holds so much of our lives. The door is cluttered (literally) with our history. There’s a photo of us on our wedding day. A photo of us in someone else’s wedding—my belly bigger ‘cos it was holding another human. Then there’s a photo of us with the tiny human who cried at the sound of camera shutters. And now that new photo. The photo of us with the “tiny” human who’s grown up to be more than half my height. Who now smiles at flashes and makes faces at stories.

And around those photos are handwriting. Our handwriting. Notes that used to read like afterthoughts: Take out the trash. Buy milk. Don’t forget to water the plants. Now they’ve grown heavier: Call the pediatrician. Look for schools (already?!) Schedule the trip.

Our to-do lists aged with us. Even the magnets had to make room. The magnets we collected from every places we’ve gone to. They’ve been nudged, replaced, rearranged to make room for new reminders, new memories, new lives.

Sometimes I catch myself laughing at how sentimental I’m being over a boring food box. But honestly, refrigerators aren’t boring. They hold everything that matters: cold brew, leftover cake, and evidence that time is moving whether we’re ready or not.

We’ve changed so much… our faces, our handwriting, even the kind of milk we buy. But every time I open that fridge, I see us. Younger, exhausted, hopeful, still reaching for something—coffee, baby bottles, a slice of chocolate cake, each other.

And I know it’ll keep changing. Someday, the photos will multiply again: first days of school, art projects, maybe another baby’s appointment card tucked under a souvenir magnet. There will be permission slips, report cards, weekend itineraries, and crookedly written notes that say things like “Mommy, I went out with friends. be back by 6!”

The handwriting will change, the magnets will shift again, and our fridge will keep growing heavier with life.

And maybe that’s what home is. More than the curated photo albums or home video collections, home is the fridge door that grows heavier with every season. The living proof that even in the mundane noise of everyday life, we’re building something worth keeping.

One grocery list, one photo, one refrigerator magnet at a time.