The Now

She calls herself a Navy wife. I call her my sister. She teaches me every day about patience and care, routine and flexibility. About living right now.

When we care for children, in a sense, we become children. We inhabit a world in which time doesn't exist. I watched my sister become a mother and I learned from her that we only have the now. We can only do one thing at a time.

We must plan and prepare for the future, devise a reasonable schedule, have expectations, but be ready at any moment to change when, for instance, your son doesn't take a nap when he's supposed to or the U.S. government screws up your health insurance. You must roll with it, glide, like we did when we were kids sliding across linoleum in socks.

As caregivers we are right in this moment of spilled milk and bruised knees. And we are constantly doing laundry.