I wasn’t sure if I ever wanted to have a family.
I love kids, but I always asked people why they had kids, and I felt like no one ever had a good answer. I made up my mind that before I decided to procreate, I sure as heck better have a good answer for that seemingly simple question. After I met my husband, and after my nephew, Carter, was born, the answer was obvious. I going to have kids so they could do amazing things and be on this Earth to make it a better place.
But: Las Vegas, New York City, and now Sutherland Springs, Texas. People are dying because of hatred, and it’s really weighing heavy on my heart. I know that usually, these kinds of things are done by men. As the mom of two sweet, soft, stinky little boys, it’s all I can do to make sure that they are enlightened and happy and fulfilled and successful.
I want them to really feel the pain of a family pet dying, to figure out how to work through it, and openly talk about it. I want them to see other faces that look very different than theirs and wholly accept them, for no other reason other than the fact that they’re a fellow human being. I want them to fail—fail big time. But instead of going into a complete rage, I want them to turn that energy into practice and hard work and then feel the blinding delight of a hard-earned success. I want them to be comfortable in being happy, or sad, or mad, or anything, but to be able to feel it wholeheartedly and with total passion.
There are so many wants for my babies, and I’ll do what I can to raise them in a way that backs up that answer to my question so many years ago.