Recently we hit another jumping-off point. Actually, I guess we hit it a while back, I was just sort of ignoring the fact that it had happened and fighting to find a work around.

With A officially becoming an adult and moving a few states over for the majority of the time, and then having the audacity to pursue an internship in another city just a smidge too far away to commute daily, I’ve been forced to stop documenting his life, at least as far as 40,000-plus photos on my phone go.

I took our picture moments before I drove away from campus in the fall, and I took a photo of him standing on his freshman dorm steps after we’d finished packing up the car, and he was literally closing the door behind him on the way out for the last time.

Although I didn’t plan it, afterward the symbolism of him starting together and finishing standing tall on his own wasn’t lost on me.

I have no less than four broken cameras sitting in boxes, waiting to either be repaired, or at least for me to take that last memory card out. I also have several boxes full of memory cards, waiting to be downloaded, but those only cover the first few years of the boys’ lives.

Why are they all broken, you ask? Well, you try chasing two boys under the age of 3 around everywhere while simultaneously trying to document them and see how it goes for you.

The invention of the high-quality phone camera with tons of storage and a direct link to a cloud account saved me thousands of dollars in camera purchases and repairs, and probably saved the kids a few concussions as my giant camera hung from my neck right into prime toddler head space.

Social media allowed me to have a place to share and sort the cream of the crop of photos, or to capture all the cute things that they said in the moment, the things that I would have meant to write down somewhere, someday.

Now, all three of them have social media accounts. I find it enormously interesting to see what and how they choose to share the details of their lives.

One of the rules is that I always have access, and I can see everything they post. The flip side of that is that they also see everything that I post. They can also go back and see everything I’ve ever posted. It’s nice to see them “like” something from way back when, because I know it means they wanted to connect with their past a little bit.

This dynamic has led to new rules, mainly for me. My old rule, and one that Steve helped me come up with, was “if I have to think about it, don’t.” I also try to keep privacy settings to my friends; however, no one can control where a screen shot goes, so I try very hard not to post anything that could be taken out of context or come back to haunt them some day.

Knowing that A hopes to pursue a career in the law and maybe someday, the political arena, has also greatly influenced everything that I put out onto the internet about him. That has also trickled down to the other two, as well. If I wouldn’t want it on a billboard coming into town, then it shouldn’t be on social media, either.

Recently, they’ve started doing studies, or at least reporting, on the first generation of kids to grow up under the scrutiny of things like mommy blogs and social media. The few excerpts that I’ve read don’t seem to be very positive, and, of course, I have concerns about how my own kids feel about it.

I’ve had some long talks with the kids about what we choose to share, and for now, they have all agreed that it’s a net positive, whether it’s stuff that I’ve shared on social media, or things that have run in the column. For example, they love that our ducks have become mini-celebrities, and that people will ask them to talk about them.

My social media archives have become so much more meaningful to us because of the time with Steve that was documented, both in photos and anecdotes. There are so many photos, and even short videos of him clowning around. Some days, it’s just nice to have the ability to open them up and hear his voice just for a few seconds.

Another rule I’ve started to use is “will I want to remember this moment in five years?” Of course, the big things are a yes, like milestones that the kids achieve, or awards that they win, but I also want to remember the simple, silly moments. I don’t necessarily want to remember times when my kids were sad, angry, or embarrassed, but I do want to remember times when we were at our lowest, and how we rallied and overcame obstacles.

It’s a tightrope walk, one that we are certainly not genetically predispositioned to navigate easily. Hopefully, my experiences will help my kids get better at how they capture their memories and share themselves with the world in the future.

Liz Pinkey’s column appears on Saturdays in the Times News