We writers often complain that no one understands us. People look at us strange when we profess writing as more than a hobby and yet have nothing published. Family members clammer for attention on all sides just when we finally sit down for some solid writing time. They don't comprehend how much time and work go into revising, editing, querying, and then the publishing process itself, that it's like raising a child.
We look at all of this and forget about the positive things they do for us. They sit and listen to us ramble on about something that doesn't make a lick of sense to them. They let us push the dishes back another hour and bed, too. Or they make their own dinners when they hear the clack of the keys. They offer encouragement and support through texts and shipments of notebooks.
Recently, I posted about getting three flash fiction pieces in an ebook, no big deal seeing as it was a collection of Campaigner challenges and all three pieces were Campaigner challenge entries, but my family was pleased as a plum. My mom spent two hours (Two hours!) on the phone calling and texting anyone and everyone who would listen. All who could immediately went and purchased a copy. And then, on Thanksgiving, I got the picture you see above. Though I wasn't even there (my parents were too sick to drive six hours), the maternal side of my family had erected a banner in my honor. The feeling of love and being loved still fills me when I think about it.
And that's what really counts. Those are the the things we should really remember.