Yesterday we passed by a memorial. Flowers planted under a fence line next to a crooked wooden cross. A name, and “6.21.18”. All those strangers were right.

Defeat followed me the rest of the day. Embarrassment taunted me. Something happened when I reached the car. I became aware of the real battle I’d fought all afternoon.

It was in those who-is-the-adult-here-moments that my husband wove into our children’s lives something which didn’t come easily for me.

Budget worries, schedule conflicts, deadlines approaching, sleep scant. It all left my mind buzzing. How can mothers choose to thrive above the clutter and chaos?

I knew once I saw the number that I could not unsee it. My heart sank. The last thing us parents need is guilt. We need a plan and some encouragement.

“I won, but I don’t feel good about it.” My friend’s words rang in my mind the very next day. No, sometimes “winning” in parenting hardly feels like winning.