That's hard to say. When I asked my oldest son, he said, "You're just my mom." In the beginning, I was their home. I was everything, but now things are a little... different. I wish I could say they thought I was the most incredible woman on the planet. That they listen to every word I say because I'm just that wonderful. But, even better, I think they probably see me more like this:
I am the blue ninja.
I am target practice.
A stepping stone.
The one who runs the roller coaster.
The one whose arm is long enough to reach.
A scratching post and a traffic signal.
So, when my son tells me that I'm "just mom," my hope for that is, as the years pass by and for forever and always, he sees me just as he did in the beginning -- as home.