We live in a “smallish” town. We go to church, school, dance lessons, and the ball field all within about a five mile radius. Most of the places I shop know me and my kiddos. So, when we go somewhere these days, I hear, “where is your little boy?” A little piece of me dies every time. I explain in the most politically correct way that I can and I keep moving. It hurts. It rips off the bandaid. But, I’ve just got to keep moving.