I woke up Friday morning, groggy from a week in Vegas…opening my eyes to a smiling boy.

“Mama! Welcome Home! I am going to wear pink to school today because no one believes me that I like pink!”

A small grin creeped across my face.

“Awesome buddy!”

Later that day, a crestfallen boy got off the bus.

“They laughed at me. It was awful. So I took my sister’s sweatshirt off and put it away.”

Tears slid down his round cheeks, little drops of disbelief landing into puddles of shame.

My husband, Erik, and I hugged him.

Tightly.

Thus began a conversation about standing up for what you believe in. Being strong, being fearless, being brave.

The difference between letting what other people think ruling your world and being an individual.

His sister talked about her time in goal.

He bit his lip for a few minutes.

“Will you buy me a pink shirt this weekend?”

It took everything in our power not to leap off the couch in joy.

This morning there was uncertainty. Fear. Tears.

I told him it was his choice. He needed to decide what his heart was telling him what to do.

A few minutes later this sweet face came bouncing into the living room.

A few minutes later he used my label maker to proclaim:

and

So, yeah.

I’m that Mom.

The one that blogs to the world that her son is the strongest, toughest kid she knows.

As my friend Lisa said when I sent her a text today:

Today….He’s my hero.