It is another rainy morning. I love the rain.
I appreciate the way it quiets the world and softens the rush of the day before it even begins. The rain has always carried a sense of cleansing and purifying for me. Not to erase, but to reveal.
To gently clear what feels heavy, to lighten the weight of thoughts that cloud my mind, and to bring awareness to what is asking to be understood. It offers a pause, a moment to reset, a chance to realign with what is steady and true.
The house hummed with movement earlier, as it always does; breakfast, lunch, backpacks, practice bags, reminders exchanged in the hurried rhythm of morning. Then the drive, familiar routes, same turns, unpredictable traffic. Each day carries something different, a thought, a song on our playlist, a conversation that lingers.
My boys step out of the car and into their day, moving toward something bigger than home. A doorway to school, a doorway to practice, a doorway to the spaces where they grow, learn and push forward.
The weight of these years settles around me; it is not heavy, although that is what it sometimes feels like; but rather, full. The fullness of my life, my responsibilities, and my days are never a burden. This fullness is a testament to my love for my children.
It is presence. It is devotion.
Full of love, full of motion, full of the knowing that time is moving, and I will never take these mornings or moments for granted.
On the drive home, I watch the rain gather in quiet streams, tracing the edges of the road, slipping into cracks in the pavement, and disappearing beneath fallen leaves. It does not force its way forward; it follows the open path, moving where it is needed. Some of it will rise again in the air, some will be drawn into the roots of trees and soil, and some will linger unseen beneath the surface.
There is something about watching the rain; its rhythm, its quiet persistence, and the way it fills the spaces it touches that makes me even more aware of what it means to be a mother. How each day unfolds, whether hurried or quiet, whether noticed or unseen, and how within it all, there is the quiet privilege of getting to do these things. The driving, the packing of lunches, the reminding, the waiting, the planning, the cheering on, the countless small gestures that may go unnoticed but never unfelt. The shared glances, the inside jokes, the fleeting exchanges, the unspoken presence of care woven so seamlessly into our lives that it becomes part of who we are, held together always by an unwavering, infinite love.
I sit with this truth; not wanting more, not wishing for anything to be different, and not taking a single moment for granted. I just hold it completely with my whole heart, grateful beyond words for the love, the responsibility, and the honor of being a mother to my two boys.
You are loved.
This is a message on the school wall, but also something I hope my boys carry with them in ways they may not even realize. It is there, in the smallest moments, in the simplest of things; the quiet rhythm of our days, the rides to and from school, a wave from the driver’s seat, knowing they may not always turn around, but hoping they still feel it. These are the moments that may seem ordinary now but will one day be stitched into their memories.
Love is in the details, in the steadiness of presence, in the certainty that remains long after they step out of the car. It is the kind of love that grounds them, strengthens them, and reminds them of who they are.
My boys, as you step forward into this day, heads held high, please trust and know that…
YOU ARE LOVED.
Forever and Beyond. ♥️
