My Kids, Today

Emily's graduation. May 2024

December 12, 2025

Today wasn’t marked by anything dramatic or celebratory.

No big announcements. No photos. No milestone captions.

Just small moments that needed to be recognized.

Desiree came home from school today—halfway through her second year of college. She caught an Uber. Navigated two big airports entirely on her own. In the past, her disability made things like this overwhelming, even from a far I always needed to hold her hand, not today. Today, she did it like she owned the place.

Emily called to tell me she’d received the email letting her know it was time to register for her cosmetology state board exam. She needed my credit card. Then, almost as an afterthought, she said,

“Say hi to all my friends.”

Her transition away from home was hard and now, just over a year later, she is thriving.

And Jack’s teacher sent me a message letting me know he’d taken his role as President in a mock cabinet activity seriously. That he showed thoughtfulness, leadership, and the kind of judgment that makes adults pause and take notice.

I read it more than once.

None of this required fanfare.

No one clapped.

No one announced, Look—you did something right.

But these are the moments I hold quietly.

The ones where I see who my children are becoming—not because I pushed or orchestrated it, but because they are stepping into themselves.

Thoughtfully. Bravely. Steadily.

Today reminded me that growth doesn’t always arrive with fireworks.

Sometimes it shows up as competence.

As confidence.

As calm.

And sometimes, the most extraordinary thing is simply noticing it as it happens.