the saddest, possibly rudest, question i’ve been asked as a full-time working mother.

so…who is raising your kids?

laced with judgement, you gave my heart a paper cut of sorts, so i thought i’d answer it as honestly as possible.

i am. in tandem with their father.

and here’s who else: their kind preschool teachers who joyfully greet them each morning, and on whose lap they’re sitting contentedly, reading books, when i pick them up. the checkout servers who smile and make eye contact and good-naturedly ignore the fact that my youngest has already eaten half a packet of chips before we’ve even finished paying. our friends who play endless circuits of ‘chase-ies’ around the house, and let them jump on their backs (even when plagued by sciatica because we’re all in our 30's and so old and tired). their grandparents, who swoop in whenever they’re needed, and shower them with that certain type of love-avalanche that only grandparents get to bestow. the uber drivers who pick up their dad when he’s going on yet another trip away, and drive away slowly so the boys can watch out of the window and wave, and the neighbors who bring in our empty trash bins just because it’s a neighborly thing to do.

so you with your judge-y face and condescending tone, fear not. my boys are watching and learning and growing from every person who comes into their orbit. they are being ‘raised’ by us in a world where they have support on all sides, laughter and joy in abundance and everyday heroes ever-present.