So, apparently I needed a good cry. Mine are 10 and 14 now and needing me less every day but what I’m finally realizing as my daughter tries to navigate puberty and I try to survive it is that no matter what happens — how angry she gets at me, or how rude she is to me, or how embarrassed I am that now I embarrass her — when the rubber hits the road, and she feels like she’s drowning, it is me she wants. It is always me. Just like for me, it’s always my mom. She may not need me, but when it matters, she wants me. We are tethered together, she and I, by the invisible umbilical. And that never changes.

I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up, but I know I want it to be spelled right and punctuated correctly. I guess that’s something.

I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up, but I know I want it to be spelled right and punctuated correctly. I guess that’s something.