Or Maybe Less.

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about time.

Not in the dramatic, existential way that social media likes to package it. Not in the "live every moment like it's your last" kind of way.

Just in the very real, very ordinary way that sneaks up on you when your kids start looking less like little boys and more like young men.

As I'm stepping into a new season of life and spending more hours working outside the home, I've found myself constantly asking:

What matters most right now?

And the answer comes easily.

Them.

My dudes.

It will always be them.

Not in a sacrifice-myself-on-the-altar-of-motherhood kind of way.

Just in a way that says no matter what opportunities come my way, no matter how busy life gets, no matter how much I love my work and helping other people...

I will always find a way to make room for them.

Because this season is changing faster than I ever imagined.

The Conversation That Wouldn't Leave Me

On Saturday, I spent some time with a friend.

Like most moms of kids this age, we eventually found ourselves talking about our children and how quickly they are growing up.

And what surprised me most was what we both agreed on.

We love this stage.

Absolutely love it.

The conversations.

The independence.

The jokes.

The sarcasm.

The opinions.

Watching their personalities fully emerge.

Seeing pieces of ourselves mixed with pieces of someone entirely their own.

There is something incredibly rewarding about finally getting to know the humans you've spent years raising.

We're here for all of it.

Every bit.

The Twist Nobody Warns You About

What nobody told me was that one day I would stop wanting to get away.

When my boys were little?

I dreamed about getting away.

A night away.

A weekend away.

A chance to breathe without someone needing a snack, a ride, a hug, a referee, or a superhero.

I loved my kids fiercely.

But holy hell, they needed me constantly.

Back then, escaping for a weekend felt like survival.

Now?

Now it feels different.

Now when I'm away, I feel like I miss things.

A joke around the dinner table.

A conversation in the truck.

A random story from school.

A soccer game.

A hockey practice.

A moment.

Nothing earth-shattering.

Just life.

The ordinary stuff that somehow becomes the important stuff.

I've become a bit of a homebody, and honestly, I never saw that coming.

Maybe it's something that happens in your 40s.

Maybe enough of us wake up one day and realize that the things we once tried to escape are now the very things we don't want to miss.

I Finally Understand What They Meant

People have been telling me for years:

"Cherish it. It goes so fast."

And if I'm being honest, when my boys were little, I hated hearing that.

Not because it wasn't true.

Because it felt impossible.

How exactly was I supposed to cherish being exhausted?

How was I supposed to soak up every moment when I was drowning in responsibility?

How was I supposed to appreciate the chaos while I was still trying to survive it?

I wasn't wishing my life away.

I was simply tired.

And I think a lot of moms know exactly what I mean.

The truth is, sometimes you don't realize how special a season was until you're standing in the next one.

The Math Nobody Talks About

Jayden turns twelve this summer.

Twelve.

Which means, if we're going by the famous saying, I've only got six summers left until he's eighteen.

Six.

That number alone is enough to make me stare into space for a minute.

But then there's another reality.

If he reaches his goal of getting drafted into the OHL one day?

I may not even get those six.

I may get four.

Maybe less.

Because hockey players leave.

They chase dreams.

They move away.

And that's exactly what I want for him.

But wanting it doesn't make the thought hurt any less.

People always talk about having eighteen summers.

The truth is, some of us don't even get that.

Sometimes we get fewer.

And we don't know which ones they'll be.

So What Matters Most?

The funny thing is that this realization hasn't made me want to work less.

It hasn't made me want to stop chasing goals.

It hasn't made me want to put my life on hold.

Quite the opposite.

It's made me crystal clear on my priorities.

Build the business.

Teach the classes.

Write the blogs.

Chase the dreams.

But never at the expense of the moments that matter most.

Because one day the hockey bags won't be piled by the door.

The muddy cleats won't be scattered across the garage.

The late-night snack requests won't happen.

The truck rides will become phone calls.

And the little boys who once needed me for everything will need me in completely different ways.

Maybe That's The Real Gift

Maybe the gift isn't having eighteen summers.

Maybe the gift is finally understanding that they were never guaranteed in the first place.

Maybe it's realizing that ordinary Tuesday nights are worth paying attention to.

Maybe it's choosing to stay for one more conversation.

One more game.

One more drive.

One more laugh around the kitchen table.

Because someday you'll realize those weren't the little moments at all.

They were the big ones.

And if you're lucky enough to recognize that while you're still living them?

That's a gift many of us spend a lifetime trying to find.