By Erin Wyble Newcomb
Illustrated by Annie Dwyer Internicola
It was a cool, sunny spring morning. My husband and I dropped our kids off at art class. The farewells were affectionate but brief. We didn’t spend a lot of time looking back. Nobody cried.
If someone had told me five years ago that this scene would even be possible, I might not have believed it. It’s hard to have a broad perspective in the trenches of parenting small children, yet the reality is that we’re not really raising children. We’re raising adults. The idea is to render ourselves unnecessary. We work to put ourselves out of jobs.
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