I remember the moment so clearly. I was a mom of three small boys ages 4, 3, and 1. It was a beautiful spring day so the boys and I packed up the stroller to walk down to our park. As the older boys ran and jumped and played, I pushed my giggling little guy on the baby swings. Not meaning to eavesdrop, but being too close to avoid hearing, I listened in on a conversation between two moms.
It was Mother’s Day two years ago. My mom had come to my home for dinner. We exchanged flowers and cards with one another. As I pulled my card from its envelope and read the inside, I paused.
“Love, Barbara”
I remember having a conversation with a college friend about what our future plans after graduation would be. I wanted a big city job, with a big city paycheck, and big list of accomplishments. I wanted to dress in my tailored suits, carry a briefcase, commute to New York, and have the corner office. Married life was not a priority, and the thought of being a mother was not even on the radar.
Life in the Van 