If I’m not careful, I will miss my whole life.

2016 was the year that bullies of all ages returned to the forefront. It is the “Trump Effect” as some educators have dubbed it.

For years I went away—not just from this house—but consumed by the fire of motherhood. It took those years of motherhood for me to become a mom.

I endured by convincing myself that as long as he had that gaping space in his mouth and the sweet lisp that accompanied it, he would stay my second, last, and squishy baby boy forever.

Hopefully when you look back, from a great distance and see your picture you’ll see love.

You might think opening their locker or having seven teachers is the greatest worry for sixth graders on that first day of school—but it’s not. In general, their biggest source of angst is knowing how they’re getting home.

This type of back-and-forth banter was something I longed to relive on the stretch of weary mornings also known as the year my youngest son went to kindergarten and was diagnosed with severe separation anxiety.

Perhaps that's the secret, really. Wrapping my arms around the present, and holding still for what is happening, instead of planning for what is coming.

One hand wants to hold on tight for just a little bit longer and the other wants to nudge him along and send him to fly.

I’m so sorry, and there’s no sign of our small, blonde child—I looked away for a second and he was gone.