Moms writing their way through an ever-shrinking pool of time and attention. We write for our sanity, and yours. Welcome!
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They’ve stayed up to too late every night for 400 years. They’ve watched every show on PBS Kids, Disney Kids, Netflix Kids, and you’re tempted to introduce them to TikTok and never see them again.
But, as one does, I realized that 5 a.m. alarm didn’t feel so good. I missed it once. I missed it again. It wasn’t great. I wasn’t Good Mom – I was pretty cranky with my raring-to-go family. But school was close to done; did it really matter if everyone wasn’t exactly fed and dressed? Then, school was done and where did they need to be, anyway?
I barely even recognized my ten-year-old face when I looked in the mirror!
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But I want her for me. I want all of them for me. I find myself greedier and greedier for my kids’ childhoods as it becomes clearer and clearer just how little of them remain. I want to eat them up.
But this isn’t a story about things lost. Youth. Running. Identity. Or, at least, it’s not only a story about that. It’s about the inevitable morphing one does in big and small ways. It’s about what that morphing takes, no matter how old we get