Eliana Osborn

The most important things my mother taught me included work from Neil Diamond, Billy Joel, Wham! and Whitney Houston.

I’m not there yet. But I need to be honest—I’m closer to 40 than any other multiple of five.

I look tired when I stay up too late. I also look tired if I get eight hours of sleep.

In Anchorage, Alaska, there are 5 hours, 27 minutes of daylight on December 21. The good news: The numbers only go up for the next six months. The bad news: December 22 has merely seconds more light.

I cried every single day of my life until I was 18 years old. I did not know this was abnormal.

I’m full of emotions: pride, awe, fear, nerves. The spelling bee first, then the piano recital. Two different kids, same mom. Same me, wanting to prevent my boys from pain and discomfort. Same me, biting my tongue and smiling broadly in support.

If he were an a--hole to my kids, things would be easier. But he’s not. He’s good with them. He’s his best self. It makes me alternately happy and heartbroken.

They were horrible.

My husband is worried about stigma, about Owen feeling different, about epilepsy being part of his identity. Those are sweet concerns, really. And I get it — I love the kid too. I’d never want to make his life harder in any way.

I am going to have amazing posture. My neck will look so skinny just from the way I hold my head.