Observations of my First Convention Back

So I've noticed a few things this week at my first convention as a working mom.

1. There are still great, incredibly helpful clinics.  If you don't know how to do something musical in a classroom, show up here.  Either you will find a clinic that covers it, or you will find someone who can help.

2.  There are dud clinics that bring out your inner bored fifth grader.  Even in the dud clinics, there's learning... even if it's just how I don't want to make my students feel.

3.  There are clinics that, as a smaller-than-small school director, I kinda smiled and thought things like, "That's nice.  But I'll stick to learning to teach little kids to sing in English before I tackle Japanese.  Thanks."

4. I still do happy little awkward things like getting on the wrong escalator.  No really.  I had to wait for like ten minutes in line and didn't realize until I had just stepped on the blasted thing.

5.  Running into Mr. Marsh is still the most awesome thing there.

6.  Running into my wonderful friends is a close second.

7.  Although things are automated and computerized, the work is the same.

8.  The exhibits are awesome and overwhelming.  As a working mom with limited time, I have to target what I need, find it, and get back.

9. The band stuff is so fun to talk about.  So fun.  And so easy.

10.  The very best part of convention is still stuff like this.

Their first family jump... all together now!  And it was their idea.  Not mine. 

Snuggles at our favorite restaurant.  Sister crashed and slept through the whole thing.  

What else do you need?  He LOVES the water.  

Good morning, Mommy and Daddy! 

And just now, I snapped this over the desk.  A second ago her head was on his shoulder.  Post-swim snuggles. 

It's different.  But at the same time, it's the same.  It takes more effort, yes.  But the effort creates a few nice side effects.  We have to communicate, so we can make sure we plan.  We have to be willing to give back and forth.   We're remembering how much we love being not just husband and wife, not just friends, a parenting team, but colleagues.


The little amazing things that aren't really little at all are still happening, and are just as amazing.  It's more of a challenge when I need to make a few clinics and do some business on the convention floor, but I like a challenge.

So glad my re-entering the working world started with our musical extended family and the kids, all together.

Thanks be to God for new beginnings that dovetail with the old.

Fast Changes

Whelp, I've done it now.

One of the hardest yet easiest, elusive yet painfully obvious decision I ever made has been made.

About two weeks ago... what's magical about two weeks for me?  It was about that long that Eric and I dated before he asked me to marry him.  Anyway, about that long ago, after a long talk you can read about here, Eric and I decided that I should apply for a job that seemed perfect.  It was pre-k through 8th grade, with all but 6th-8th being music, not band.  But hey... teaching is teaching, right?  And no high school responsibilities, just 30 minutes from the house.

So I filled out an application, we fixed my resume to look nice and accurate again, and in the process Eric asked if I had a copy of it, or had it saved anywhere.  In looking, I did find a hard copy, and also found a 3 1/2 inch floppy disk with my resume saved under my maiden name.  Good times.

Almost as I sent it, I also found out that the job was open.  Like they needed someone yesterday.  Whoa.

As I hit send on the email with the proper attachments, all I could think was that this was such a long shot.  I haven't taught in ten years almost.  I let my certificate lapse even, because I couldn't afford the training hours to keep it.  We just reinstated it.  As in, if you look on the website, it still says inactive.  They haven't had time to get it back online yet.

Who would want to hire someone who hadn't taught in nearly ten years?

Apparently this school district did.

Less than a month ago, I was figuring out that I really did want to work someday.  Now I have a job starting February 24.

The stay at home years were good.  They weren't easy, but as we all know easy does not equal good, and good does not equal easy.  I'm thrilled that I get to work again.  That they want to give me this opportunity, for whatever reason.

Again, I'm in awe of God's providence.  His God-ness.  Eric and I agreed that we would step out and do this, even though it seemed out of the blue and maybe a little crazy.  We are impressed, awed, floored, thrilled, and honestly a little nervous.  This is a new chapter in our lives.

So I found myself at the registration booth at TMEA wondering where the little papers were that you fill out for your registration, standing awkwardly in the midst of the bustling convention center, when I realized that it's been ten years.  It's all online now.  Of course, instead of wondering who I'd have dinner with or where to go next, now I just hurried to the food court to pick up dinner for the kids and to the mall to snag a swimsuit for the little girl whose suit I couldn't find this morning, then back to the hotel so I could tag Eric so he could go help with tabulation for all-state chair tryouts.

The tag-teaming begins.

Thanks be to God for all of you who have come out of the woodwork to say "ME TOO!!!"

And definitely thanks for this new opportunity and for the growing changes it will mean for all of us.

Work Guilt

Starting here, Eric and I began having some serious conversations about where I'm going.  Through tears I didn't see coming and heaving sobs here and there, I told him that while I appreciate so much the opportunity I have to stay home, I miss work.

Really, really miss work.  The internal struggle had grown and expanded until it poured over my cheeks and down my face and I needed help carrying it.  So I shared the hardest thing I've had to say in years.  It was gut-wrenching.  Heart-ripping.  Disappointing.

I want to go back to work.

I'll miss the kids.  I love the kids and Eric so so so much, but I miss band kids.  I miss the lights going off in their eyes when they get it.  Or when they realize that I'm really ok with their mistake, freeing them to make another one.  Then another.  And another... over and over... until they conquer it.

Why is it so hard to admit that I want to go back to work?  I've wanted to be a band director since Miss Hopkins taught me to play a Flutophone when I was ten years old.  College was a means to an end.  Just let me teach.   Show me the hoops.  Tell me how high to jump, and I'll do it.

So what is the big deal about saying I want to go back to work?

It's part of the great mommy wars.  It's part of worrying too much about what people think and not what God made me to do.  And I don't think I'm alone.

We compare far too much.  I have several friends who are home and home schooling, and it works great for them and for their families.  I know plenty of moms who stay home while their kids are at school.  I know plenty of moms too who only stayed the six weeks for maternity leave, then went back to work.  They love their kids, they care for them, they provide for them.  Every one of them.

This is where it gets hard to me.  What happens when mama WANTS to work?  When mama feels compelled to participate in the kind of thing she used to do as far as work outside the home?  When the money isn't necessarily needed to survive, so she can't blame it on money?

I know so many who would say it's no big deal to blame it on the money, but I just can't.  It's not the truth for us.  For so many people it is the truth that work means enough food and clothing and shelter, and I get that.  There are so many moms who wish they could stay home, and I get that too.

I count these years as a great gift from my husband and the Lord.  They have not been easy.

What?  What could be easier than staying home?

I don't know why, folks.  But it was hard for me.  I love my kids, I love my family, but it's just not where I'm comfortable.  When I catch myself saying, truthfully, that I feel more comfortable and like I can work more efficiently in the band hall than I do at home, that means something.

Here's what it does not mean.

1. It does not mean that I don't like my kids.

2. It does not mean that I don't like my husband.

3. It does not mean that I am ungrateful for the providence that has kept us fed and safe these years.

4. It does not mean that I am a horrible mother.

5. It does not... and hear me here... it does NOT mean that I'm out of the will of God for my or my family's life.

6. It also does not mean I don't admire those of you who continue to stay home.  Quite the opposite.

Flip to Proverbs 31.  Or just click here. 

Look around.  Read through.  What do you see?  You see a lot about her dignity, caring, being benevolent, generous, doing the Lord's work and making her husband proud.  There is much about providing food, clothing, and even being crafty to a degree!  Keep looking.  See anything about her not using her God-given talents?  See anything about her not helping provide?

If you look closely, it's just the opposite.  There is even mention of her making things to sell, and making sure her merchandise is profitable.

So where does this idea come from?  Where is this fear of admitting that I'd like to do something other than mop, sweep, cook, launder, clean, and teach my children coming from?

There seems to be the idea among a lot of believing women that one should be home.  Simply home.  That our kids and our husbands have to be enough.  That anything more... the want of anything more... is merely selfish ambition.  It also doesn't say that you have to have a job or you're not being who God made you to be.

So let's cut this out, shall we?  Let's cut out the sidelong comments about each others' lives.   We Moms, if we're honest, have things we just aren't good at or just don't get done because we hate doing it.  There are ways we all fall short.  There are ways we could all be better wives and mothers.  There are also ways we all need encouragement.  And a place to go with those frustrations where we won't be judged.

Wives and moms shouldn't feel the need to re-enter the workforce because they miss doing a job they enjoyed, were good at, or worked hard to be trained for. We are all different.  God's will for my life, though it may look a lot different than your idea of what's right, is still his will for my life.  If we try and fail, we should be there for each other to support and help each other up, not to kick each other while we're down with careless "I told you so" comments.  If there are hard questions to be asked, they need to be chosen very carefully and prayerfully, and they have to come with love from people in a position to ask them.

If we're honest, not one of us can live up to that Proverbs 31 woman.  Not all the time.  Not every day.  Yes, she's crazy inspiring.  Yes, we may have flashes of wonderful that look a whole lot like her.  Let's admit it and share our struggles, open our arms, and share the life-giving gospel-grace with each other that we all so desperately need.

Let's drop the guilt trip together.  We have enough mommy guilt anyway, provided by our own hearts and expectations.  Can't we help each other more? So what if you work and I stay home.  We're still moms.  We need each other.

Thanks be to God for all the people who have encouraged, hugged, asked questions, and believed in what he can do through each other, without harshness or judgement.

Go easy, Mama.

This evening, we sat down to read the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe with the littles.  Super sweet moment for us.

We did this before with Ryan.  He was a baby, and we were first time parents.  We read through the Chronicles of Narnia, Summer of the Monkeys, The Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and I can't remember what else.  We'd each read a chapter out loud, sometimes two, every night while the other held and rocked our boy.

That's one of those things that made me want to slap everyone who said we just didn't talk to Ryan when he was a baby.  But I digress.

That was one of the sweetest times we had, and it's one of those things that could only happen with one baby.  Once he started sleeping in his bed, we didn't plan it, but the nightly reading stopped.  It's not a decision we made, it's not anything we sat down and discussed.  It just kinda... stopped.

There are some things we decide, then there are some things that happen whether or not we decide on them.

We didn't decide to quit sharing books we grew up with.  It just happened as Ryan began sleeping in his big boy bed, going to bed all by himself.


 Since we started with a diagnosis... since we moved here, had another baby, and so forth... it's been more surviving than deciding.  More pedaling through the day, trying to make sure everyone's diaper was changed the required amount of times, stayed safe, and maybe had a few happy minutes in the day.  Lots of hugs and kisses, and a few moments like the time Maelynn got into the bleach.

Yeah, that one just happened too.  Seriously you turn your head for a MINUTE and your year-old daughter has the child safety cap off the bleach.

Don't let that picture of the kids snuggled on Eric's shoulder fool you.  I failed the whole stay at home mom things by SO many standards.

Before you think I'm trying to fish for compliments, sympathy, or I'm going for false humility, let's get real.

There are ways we all failed it.

Whether you work or stay home, cloth or disposable diaper, organic or regular-food, homeschool or public or private school, there are things about parenting we'd all like to hide.  There are ways we've all blown it. There are things we forewent for sleep or sanity or just a few minutes alone.

And for 99% of us, I'd like to yell from the rooftops that IT IS OKAY.

The majority of us love our kids and do our best as a result.  And there are camps that all of us have joined to some degree or another.  As a result of those camps, we have reputations to uphold.  Little crosses to bear.  Decisions we've made for our kids for their best that aren't always easy for us... which makes it a sacrifice.

There are two problems with this.  The first is when we can't stop slapping other parents with our decisions.  Whether it's because you really think tap and dance is far better for your daughter's development than tumbling and cheer, or violin better than piano, or all of it should be chucked for soccer or peewee football, you're wrong.

If I try to tell you that your daughter, who loves and thrives in cheer, should be playing clarinet and you're destroying her, I'm wrong.  If you think I should yank my daughter from tap and ballet and put her in underwater basket weaving, you're wrong.  We know our kids best.  The majority of the time, we need to be supportive of each other and let each other do what we think is right for our kids.  Because anything else?  That is mostly hurtful and tears each other down.

The other end that hurts rather than helps is mostly internal.  This is for all of you who log onto Pinterest and scroll through, feeling rather less-than-great about what you do with your kids. There are so many great ideas, and after a little time scrolling it starts to seem like every other mama has made the sensory bins, cornstarch and baby oil playdough, and loves to paint with fingers and brushes, laughing so carefree as their children completely destroy the kitchen then track all that homemade stuff all over the house.

There are great things about you that your kids love.  Yeah, maybe they'd love the projects and making more messes.  But something I have to remember, especially as the daughter of a single mom who worked her tail off, is that you are who they want the most.  Yes, I may not have played with play doh or painted with finger paints much.  No, I didn't have hours at the park to play and I didn't take violin or piano, and honestly I only took dance till the studio accidentally burned down and mom didn't have time to find another one.

But we did play catch in the aisles at the grocery store in the middle of the night.

We did sit up for hours listening to her old records, while she told me stories of being a kid and when she heard this song and that, and when she bought this album and that.

We didn't hang out at the park, but we did go to some awesome concerts.

Our kids are our kids for a reason.  That doesn't mean that it will never be hard, or that they'll never wish they'd been able to do such and such like so and so gets to with HIS dad.  But it does mean that for the most part, our kids will love us for who God made us to be.

So go easy on yourself, Mama.  And I'll agree to do the same.  Because if each of us will, even just once, start letting another mom talk and not judge, maybe she'll get the idea and do the same.  Our pain, our exhaustion, our challenges and the ways we try to survive and live are not a competitive sport.

And for all of you who saw that picture of my kids snuggling their dad tonight, don't be fooled by the cuteness... you didn't see the mess behind the shot.  Ryan was snuggling with me, refusing to stop making noise while his dad read.  One of the kids, who shall remain nameless, wouldn't stop with the nose picking so I had to retake the shot a couple times.

Thanks be to God for making us all so different, yet so alike.

Birthday Promise

Good morning, beautiful girl.

On this morning, four years ago, I heard through exhausted yet anxious tears, that you were safely in this world.  The doctor said your eyes were the widest and you were certainly among the most alert babies he'd ever birthed.  I almost missed your first cry, and the joyous tears that followed, replacing yet running the same tracks as the frightened ones.  

And you started that moment being a kid who God used to help me learn to run over a lot of frightened grooves.  

The first thing you did, once I was through with the whole postpartum depression and anxiety mess, was to show me the need I had to love myself a little.  Not in a selfies every day kind of way... but in a way that shows you it's good to be kind to not just everyone else, but yourself as well.  I remember the exact day I had that revelation.  You were in my arms, I was feeding you.  And I realized it would kill me to hear you talk about yourself and to yourself the way I spoke to and about myself.  

This morning, I had another revelation. 

Fishing off the front porch with your best friend and brother. 

I promise you, with all the witnesses of the internet, that you are not my world. 

I love spending time with you, but you are not my reason to get up every day. 

Your smile and giggle make me smile, but you are not my happiness.  

I love to serve you, to do your hair and clothes, to cart you to dance, and to make your favorite foods and take you to do your favorite things, but I do not live to serve you.

Enjoying the snow you prayed for.  I know you can't see it, but this is central Texas, and it was there. 

I want you to have better than that.  

I want you to see your Mama as dependent on Christ.  

I want you to see me try and succeed.  

I want you to see me try and fail.  

I want you to see me afraid. 

I want you to see me step out, however nervous, and try things I'm afraid of. 

I want you to see me mess up.  Make mistakes.  

Then I want you to see me apologize and do my best to make it right.  

I want you to see me make decisions for our best, not just my best. 

I want you to see your Mama as a fellow human... and more than that, a fellow sinner, rescued over and over and over again by a God who does not ever leave his children behind.  

So, my birthday present to you is this promise to you and your brothers.  I will be honest.  I will be who I am, and I will share my experiences with you.  

When it's time to let you go... to let you spread your wings, test your legs, and try your hand... I will let you go, and I'll be there to talk to, to rejoice with, and to cry beside.  I give you, my amazing daughter, and my amazing sons, the freedom to be who God made you to be.

And I will pray for you. 

Thanks be to God again for letting me hear that first cry, for every day that followed, and for the future he has planned.  

Happy birthday, my sweet girl.  

It'll be okay.

"Courage isn't just a matter of not being frightened, you know.  It's being afraid and doing what you have to do anyway."  ~Third Doctor

More than about any other comment, when someone approaches mid- or post-meltdown, is "I don't know how you do it."

I know it's a compliment.  It's something to say when the frustration and obvious hurt creates a vacuum.  It fills the air without being insulting.  If taken the right way, it can even be a compliment.  When speaking to moms who work outside the home, I've said it myself.  And I mean it in a positive way.  Like, "Look at all you do.  I'm not sure I could do that."

Partly, that's correct.  I couldn't do what you do with your kids in your life.  I'm not you.

When I hear that same thing directed at myself, I'm often tempted to say, simply, "I don't."  Because I don't feel like I "do it" in a good way, or even an acceptable way, all the time.  Things don't always go well.  I don't always handle them well... or at all.

Sunday, as I headed into worship, all giddy because Ryan had a great day in CE, I was slapped with a tidal wave.

Eric had tried to convince Ryan to do something slightly different... and I mean SLIGHTLY... and he completely came apart.  I caught this as Eric was escorting him out of the building to calm down.

With Richie in tow, I was suddenly struck with a whirlwind of what to do next.  In about a nanosecond,  I looked up and saw our pastor, milling around in the back in the usual black robe.  I don't even remember what he said, but it was some kind inquiry about whether or not it was okay... or maybe it was just that it will be okay... and my usual composure flew apart.  Another friend flew up beside, offering her help.

I had absorbed all I could.

It doesn't happen often, amazingly.  We all pretty much keep it together because it's what's needed.  Every minute, I truly believe, God gives us what we need.

Us.  Not me.  Us.

Ryan is not in a good state of mind when this happens, I'm sure.  I know it's horrible for him.  Honestly, that is why it's horrible for me.  It's just as horrible when no one is looking.  It's just as horrible when we're at home alone.  It's hard to watch your child suffer in that way.

Make no mistake, I celebrate him for who he is.  He is a cool kid, just as my other two are.  He is funny, sweet, smart, loving, and just amazing.  But there are times when it's hard.

I get confused as to what's okay to say.  I see so many polarizing posts about autism parenting and I just don't understand it.  Yes, Ryan is awesome.  He's severely autistic, and completely awesome.  But meltdowns are NOT AWESOME.  They're painful for both of us.

And on the other end, Ryan is not a miserable burden.  Life as an autism parent is, if I'm honest, probably harder than general parenting.  I like to say it's an extreme form of parenting.  But it is certainly not a fate worse than death.  Being Ryan's Mom is something I would not trade for anything, just as I wouldn't trade Richie or Maelynn.

Do I wish it was easier?  Sure I do!  I wish it was easier for him.  Everything.  But if that means he would be a completely different kid?  No way.

And this is where I'm torn.

These people should be respected.  People who have autism, people who are autistic, should be respected as any other person would.  They should be given helps to make things possible where possible.  Their feelings, thoughts, and emotions need expression and heeding as much as anyone else.

All of this is extremely important, and it should be at least half... maybe 75%... of autism awareness.

Then there are the rest of us.  Those who hear the screams.  Who watch him pound his own little hand with his chubby fist with all his might.  Who advocate for him.  Help him find his voice.  Pray for peace for his heart.  Adapt every little thing at home to make things doable for him and us but at the same time push him to do things like dress himself, tie his shoes, clean up his toys, speak kindly, ask for things appropriately, and a myriad of other things that seem so commonplace and regular.

They're so much more of a fight.  It's just something you'd have to be here for.  Yes, all kids have to be taught all that stuff.  And you get screamed at a lot.  You watch him hurt himself because of something simple you asked him to do.  Every day.  Sometimes at the very start of the day.  Sometimes before he's out of bed.

And it gets hard.

You get tired.  Not a nap-tired, more of a weary-soul tired.

It's hard to watch your child hurt.  And this may not be physical, but it's definitely pain.  If you could see the look on his face, hear the pained strains of his voice... this is not a throw-down temper-tantrum.  It's an indescribable amount of frustration, confusion, and things I can't describe because I haven't personally felt them. You'd have to be here.  I've thought briefly before about a way to share what it's like, but that's where I draw the line.  You won't catch me posting video of his pain.

We have to, choosing our words and the recipients of our words, be able to say it.  It's hard.  I don't like that part.  I don't like having to say it's hard.  But it's the truth.  We have to, as parents, be able to say it. We need someplace to safely say the things that are hard out loud.

We need those folks to come alongside and listen to us cry.

And that's what I got on Sunday.

An inquiry, shoulders to cry on, arms to hold, hands to help.  And judgment-free ears to hear those words spoken so hesitantly, so seldom, and only in safety.

I just get tired.  Sometimes it's so hard.

Saying this doesn't lessen Ryan.  It doesn't diminish who he is.  It doesn't mean I love him less.  It means that I'm human.  And I get tired.  It does mean that I love him enough that it hurts to see him hurt.

Thanks be to God for the unshockables.  For those who reach out and aren't afraid to get tears on their clothes. Who aren't afraid to deal with the mess.  Who really want to know how you're doing. Who will not just tell you it'll be okay, but put feet to helping it BE okay.

Live in the Waco area?  Need this kind of unshockable grace and mercy?  Click here.  

Mom Confusion

I just had the best moment.

I've been moderately bummed all day, over this and that.  After a no-big-deal, what-again kind of dinner that my husband graciously assembled, I sat here pinning pictures of Doctor Who stuff.  Just mindlessly puttering.

Eric, Mom, and I were chattering about random things off and on, Maelynn was trying not to have to eat the rest of her dinner, and Richie had long since finished and gone off to the living room to catch a little solo train time.

Okay, so I've been bummed because I miss what I used to do.  I loved my job.  It was something to leave it behind.  Honestly, I'm thinking that the time has almost come to go back... or has it?  And in all of that back and forth and pro and con I'm just... tired.  Nervous.  Unsure.  Yes, I loved my job.  I wasn't the worst at it.  But I'm the only one who can be their mom.  But I know moms who are AWESOME who only stayed home the six weeks allotted them after the birth of their babes.  And I'm torn. And there is about a year and a half before I'd even think about it, but for some reason, I miss it more than ever for the past few weeks.

Would the kids resent me for going back, even after they're in school?

Could I ever find a job that would fit our needs?  The kids have to come before the job.

Can I even still do it?  I mean really DO it?  I was okay at it, but I didn't stay at it very long in the beginning.

Could I take care of Ryan and do my job correctly?  Advocate for him, help him, be there for him?

It's kinda part of who I am, and that part is starting to scream.

My husband is behind me.  We're praying and considering and talking and any even looking is still a year and a half off.  I had an awesome conversation with one of my favorite working moms today, and she was fabulously encouraging, and great as usual.

But at the end of the day, it's still a long way off.  And I still don't want to miss the days with the kids in my desire to do it again.   I certainly don't want to wish away any of these days with them while they're little.  Honestly, painfully honestly... I miss my job.  There's a lot of me that wants to say that this whole being home thing is so fulfilling and ohmywordwhywouldIwanttowork but for today, and the past few weeks, that's just not where I am.

Tonight, after dinner, I got the most amazing comfort I could have dreamed.

Ryan walked over, put his chin on my shoulder, and draped his arms around my neck.  Usually this is a sure predictor of an oncoming request for something he wants.  But he just stood there, leaning into me.  After a minute, I leaned my head back, petted the arm under my chin, and said, "I love you, Ryan."

And you know what he said?

The kid who usually stares off into space when I tell him I love him, said "I love you too."

My eyes began to water, and I said it again, just because I didn't know what else to say.

Again, he said, "I love you too."

Just as naturally as if he'd always done it.

Y'all, I think I'm in.  I'm Mom.  I'm so thankful and grateful that I'm Mom, Mommy, and Mama.  I'm thankful that I'm their boo-boo healer, heart comforter, toy fixer, stuffy mender, food cooker, taxi driver, and referee.  I'm so inexplicably fulfilled by THAT.  The joy that God has given me through these children in nine short years alone is more than I can even say.

And whether I continue at home or wind up working, whether I wear jeans and a t-shirt or dress pants and a blouse, I am their mom.

When my Mom dropped me off in her dress pants and blouse for work, a light, clean perfume hanging on her collar as she hugged me good-night and implored me to be sweet for the sitters, she was still my Mom.

When she returned, often late because of emergencies at work (it was a hospital, folks) and dropped me off at school, usually exhausted, then went home and fell into bed to rest for the day until work again, she was still my Mom.

When she had a day off, and we went to the grocery store and rented a VCR and some movies, and we stayed up late watching and munching popcorn, she was my Mom.

When she had to let me go to Kansas with my father for a week, two weeks, or for the summer, she was STILL MY MOM.  And I missed her so.

And even now, whether she's on her way to work or home with my family, she's still my Mom.

And I'm theirs.  Our time together is great, and I will always cherish it.  I will always be grateful for the time I got to be home, no matter how long or short it remains.

And I'll always be Mom.  Whether at the band hall or the ball game or on the bus, at home playing video games inside or in the backyard playing or at the doctor's office with them, I'm still their Mom.

Thanks be to God for Ryan, for his love for me, and for his response.  And for the different shapes, sizes, types, and kinds of moms everywhere.