I hear you. I see you. This post has a letter from me to you.

I have two daughters—20 and 14 years old. They are my world. They are my best friends. I love to cook with them, drive around town with them, travel and explore the world with them, laugh hysterically with them, cry with them when needed, listen to all their stories—school stories, friend stories, good, not so good, and stories of their day-to-day happenings and struggles.

I loved to read to them when they were little and to feed them, even through tightly pouted lips that didn’t want to taste any veggies. I loved to wash their thick, curly, vibrant hair and brush and comb through every lock until my wrists ached. The end product was always worth it though—the two thick, bouncy, perfect curl balls: pigtails. Super-cute end product that made me a proud mom as I dressed them up, curly pigtails and all, and ventured out into the world with them. I loved to observe the twinkle in their brown eyes as they discovered every new layer of life as it unfolded before them.

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