Fifteen years (yikes!) into motherhood, and I am growing in this role. I no longer quiver when faced with a bleeding (or vomiting) child. I no longer tremble when challenged by hungry, filthy, bored , warring boys that seem to gain monstrous strength with each and every passing second. No, I have grown in mothering just as my boys flourish with each passing milestone, every grown inch, each hard won, exhausting, monumental, accomplishment. I stand in wide mouthed awe, amazed that, in spite of myself, their growth leaves me behind, small; but oh, so very much beloved! And someday, rather soon, I suppose, they will tower over me: souvenir of time's passage; my own growth.