I can miss my babies so much – truly, genuinely – and simultaneously rage at the fact of having one. I can feel sorrow for the end of our baby era – truly, genuinely – and never want to do it again.

That feeling when: You have the chance to really see your children with the gorgeous perspective of distance.

A quick run-through of some things that have been on my mind lately, to the women who always get it.

“Hi mom!” peep the shining faces as they pop around the screen then duck away giggling. Try writing. Just try it. With half your sleepy brain on right-fit words and half on “Can I has more more gam cackah?”

I have a bad habit of thinking two-day-old rituals are about to change my life.

 In birth order lore, middles are peacemakers. But what happens when middlehood splits? Do the middle children go through some sort of quantum shift in which their strengths become their darkness? Do they go from Peacemaker to The Equalizer?

If a single drop mellowed her even a little bit, God, I’d dunk her in that baptismal font so fast.

Such a cool kid.

We worry so much about babies talking. Then we spend the rest of their childhoods wishing they would hush.

These past six years have been a slow, painful peel of two things once joined.

We all deserve to see heroes that look like us and – for whatever reason – Santa is his hero.

Our younger two children will always and forever have a road not taken. And that’s confusing.

Have so much fun.

With the butts gone, I can see that the majority of Paige’s pictures are actually of June’s face.

It’s not a vacation, it’s a slow-motion train wreck that will make us some memories.