Motherhood...?

Yesterday afternoon, my son arrived home from Dartmouth, standing at least two inches taller and looking every bit the newly-turned nineteen-year-old he was. My girls having returned from prep school on the thirteenth, I was already finding the transition from Empty Nest to Full House both daunting and delightful; nevertheless, as I sat on one of the cold, wooden benches of the Union Street train station, I found myself struggling to make sense of the fact that my son was, at this point, the age I was when I became a mother.

Of course, I found myself skipping yet another writer's workshop.

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