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I stared out the windshield and waited for what seemed like an awfully long while -- a full tank of gas is just enough time for my mind to wander -- still, I didn't bother with the radio and continued to listen to my children go on about their day, reminding me exactly how much I hated school.

Oh, they're doing fine -- it's me.

I wasn't the happiest kid in school. The dichotomy of being raised in a household of traditions, often times viewed as offbeat and out of step during the 70's and 80's, proved to be a challenge -- not to mention growing up taller than most, fleshier than a lot and even living on the wrong side of the tracks to some -- my parents just didn't know.

Just as paper covers rock, transcending the past and embracing the future took precedence over what all the cool kids were doing.

I didn't understand then -- I do now.

Even at the most difficult and painful of times -- like, when I do or say something my kids (or anyone else, for that matter) assume as, "So not cool, Mom!" -- paper still covers rock.

Sitting in my minivan and listening to my youngest child talk about her latest crush, I closed my eyes and made a wish; for strength of mind and body to raise my children not to worry so much about being the hippest-tallest-smallest-smartest-whatever-est kid in school.

I'd settle for happy and hopeful.

Oh, and to absolutely adore their mother ... soooo much ... that every one of their milestone dedications be made out to me!