Last night I went out to dinner with my married son who called me out of the blue with the idea. It was just the two of us, and was a first (but hopefully not the last). We had a great time together, talking about all sorts of things, and the food at Carrabbas was fabulous. At some point we got into a discussion about things he remembered from his childhood. I must admit I have some dread of that topic, fearing the worst and remembering the difficult years when yours truly was struggling to be Superwoman and failing (with my boys being inflicted with the fallout). The funny thing is I have a difficult time remembering specifics from the past and it takes someone else recalling something and thereby triggering my own memory to bring it back. The truth is I’d love to do a few of those years over. In the end, though, I know that’s not possible and remind myself that we did the best we could at the time. Now we must trust that they’ve been given the tools, the training, and the faith (which they must make their own) they need to get through the hard times that will come because life is like that. There are good years and there are bad years, and no one gets through life without scars and pain. But someday (Lord willing) when they have children they’ll understand just how much they’re loved.