A beautiful, elegant, truthful reflection on being a mother. Love the term, “the interiority of parenting.” I knew my mother’s interior world because she shared it, demonstrated it, made time for it. What a gift, this other self she shared. She was less a mystery than my father, whose work defined and contained him. When my kids were toddlers, they knew I was not always available, that I had passions that needed tending and that their father would be their care taker on that day or evening. This worked beautifully because then he would get to share more of himself with them, even if that was watching movies and eating junk food. We were different, complex, evolving and that’s rich food for butterflies.