Mom says time is a thief.
But like it or not, we all have to grow up. So, today I entered the 4th grade and Genesee began her journey as a first grader.


It was a relatively smooth send off, except for my non-compliance with the obligatory photo shoot on school grounds, and minus the part of me becoming too cool for public hugging, and nevermind the few, quiet tears that were shed, not by my 6-year-old sister, but by my 44-year-old mother, as she held herself back from the public humiliation of outright sobbing.






“Have kids,” they say. “It’ll be fun,” they say!
But as I grow older and wiser, I start to better understand the complexity of parenting, and all the hard things that likely go unmentioned in that handbook distributed to new parents at birth.
In fact, I recently overhead someone tell my mom that the parent/child relationship is the only one you enter with the goal of separating. And since there is likely some sadness that accompanies such independence and liberation, once I returned home and was out of sight from any onlookers, I made sure to give my mom the biggest hug my 9-year-old body could wrap her with.
Because time is indeed a thief, and so we have to love hard and intentionally.
















































































































































