Fall is a tough season for me. At the peak, I'm easily working 70-80 hour weeks. In some ways, after so many years, I've become accustomed to it -- the ebb and flow rhythm of my cyclical schedule, the absurd amounts of caffeine I consume to keep myself awake, and the pure delight of my students, as they share this small but wonderfully crazy part of their lives. I love it. Truly, I do.

But when I sit at my desk and watch the skies grow dark, there's always that corner of my mind, that tiny piece of my heart, that wonders what's happening at home. I miss dinner, I'm not there for bedtime, and Felix and I are reduced to mere passersby. I used to squeeze phone calls in between appointments, awkwardly hoping my toddlers could trade a few words with me before they drifted off to sleep, but hearing their sweet baby voices would just as often bring tears rushing to my eyes, so I didn't do it very much.

Instead, to my joy, as my kids have grown older and more adept at communication, the means by which we can connect have also improved. I don't deny the problems -- as a society, we're too wrapped up in our gadgets and addicted to our internet connections, glued to a screen instead of engaging face to face. Yet in those moments when I'm watching and laughing over Ellie's antics, or I glance down at my phone and see that Keira's sent me a text, I can't complain. Sometimes, it's just what I need, and for that, I'm simply grateful.