I remember holding my kindergarten class picture while snuggling with my mom one night at bedtime. She pointed at each face and asked me to tell her something about that kid. Was he kind or funny? Was that girl a good friend? We still have inside jokes that came out of that conversation, like the classmate I said was nice, "but…he farts." We've laughed a lot about that description over the years. We certainly did that night.

Looking back, I realize she had so much to do in the evenings—she was a full-time working mother with a husband and two kids. But I never felt that she was looking at the clock. She had time for me. She wanted to know what's going on in my world, and what I thought about it.

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