The Hardest Part Is Just Watching The Train

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When my eldest children were two or three, I thought the hardest struggles of parenting were potty training them and getting them to stop biting each other.
When they were 10, I thought that the hard part of parenting was protecting their childhoods from the culture around them that introduced them to adult topics when they were still small-ish children.
When they were 12-13, I thought that the hardest thing I’d do as a parent was to guide them through the changes of puberty with its mood swings, flaring tempers, changing bodies, and first crushes.
When they were 15, I thought it was the heartbreak of mean girls, unrequited love, social pressures, and growing up.
Now they are in their late teens and early twenties, and I’m finding that I was unprepared for the heartache and worry that can come from being the parent of an adult or nearly-adult person

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I’m the 40-something-ish wife of my beloved Computer Guy.

I’m the adoring and incredibly proud mom of nine children…two saints…seven in training.

I’m my brothers’ sister and my parents’ daughter.

I’m a devout Catholic, an avid political junkie, able debater, aspiring home-maker, amazing friend, and I make the meanest Chicken Fried Steak you’ll ever have the pleasure of eating.

I’m a homeschooling guru, a writing addict, a sometimes public-speaker, and an advocate for staying true to the person God created you to be.

I can’t live in a house with white walls, sing Billy Joel songs while I wash the dishes, will read anything you put in my hands, and am completely obsessed with rhinestones and cute shoes.

I am just like moms the whole world over, and then some.

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