In the midst of living busy, over scheduled lives, where home was simply the place you laid down your head before the next succession of days, we began to believe that living happens outside of the home.

Our best lives were lived on vacation and at backyard parties, yet Home is where you live. Home is where you really are alive, because home is your sanctuary.

She came downstairs for the third time. It was about midnight. I was tired and frustrated and annoyed. Not a good place for mommy to be.

“What’s wrong now.”

“Mommy, I’m sorry, I just feel weird. I can’t stop thinking about stuff.”

“What are you thinking about?”

“Just dumb stuff. I’m just worried about if people like me. I’m nervous about my play. My mind just won’t stop and I’m just thinking about all kinds of stuff and I don’t like it.”

In that instant my frustration was swept away.

In that instant I saw myself in her blue eyes.

In that instant I was reminded that she wasn’t a little girl with little girl fears, she was growing into a woman with real emotions and hormones and insecurities and fears.