05/21/2026
Mother’s Day just passed. I spent most of it at the airport, on a plane and in a car. The past six months have forced me to reinvent myself; my identity, what “I do for work,” who I am each day now that my children are adults raising their own children. This is the "shadow work" so many influencers post about.
On Mother’s Day, I was not with my mom, though I have endless gratitude for the way she shows up for me every day - I don’t need a Hallmark holiday or Google Calendar notification to remind me to call her.
On Mother’s Day, I went “home.”
Home used to mean Cerritos at my parents’ house, the place I grew up. Home used to mean the house where I paid the mortgage or rent. Home used to be defined by a building, a post office and a land-permit-designated address. But I’ve discovered home is where I am. Just being. And mothering is not the status of an elder female or someone who gave birth. It is an act of love. A verb, not a rank.
Two days ago, I "broke" my foot (dislocated metatarsals) while I was alone 🫠 - most of my children still in Texas, where I had just visited my daughter’s family. But I was far from alone. My youngest son drove over to handle my morning chores, feed and walk my dogs, clean, do the daily laundry and put away the groceries that my daughter ordered from afar, including what my body needed to reduce the sudden inflammation and support my healing. They both insisted on mothering me: “R.I.C.E., Mom.”
So yes, it may be a week and a half since everyone celebrated Mother’s Day, but my celebration is observed daily:
By my son-in-law driving to the airport eight times because, well, us...
By my daughters making sure there were comforts during our visit; home-cooked meals, our snacks and everyone’s favorite beverages (God forbid we all drink the same thing).
By my family loving each other in real time.
Thank you, Mad, for your newfound Southern hospitality. Thank you, Keaton, for giving my grandchildren a joyful home near their other family. Thank you, Jake, for carrying the daily burdens of our shared household (aka four dogs, one tiny apartment). And thank you, Lucas and Arwen, for knowing how to care for "Granny."
This is my "home."
