Monthly Archives: May 2009

Today my younger brother graduates from college. There is a nine-year age gap between us, so he has always seemed almost impossibly young to me, but now, he is moving into adulthood, not my “little” brother anymore. He’ll be getting jobs, making a home for himself, and generally growing up.

It’s funny to think now that all of my parents’ children are adults. None of us will live at home anymore, and now my parents will be moving into the next stage of their lives, a stage that seems incredibly far away for me, the “empty nest” or “golden” years of retirement and grandparents.

I’m very proud of my brother– school was never his favorite way to spend his time, but I think he surprised himself at college and found new strengths and skills he wouldn’t have suspected he had. I think fully assuming a newfound independence might be a bit tricky, especially financially, especially in this economy, but I think he will dig deep and find the persistence he will need.

All in all, I’m proud of him, and I think we children have made a good showing for all of our parents. All of our parents were the first in their families to go to college, and now they have safely seen us through earning our first degrees. I don’t know if this is the end of schooling for my brother, but either way, he has a solid achievement. Now it’s up to us to finish the job of adulthood.

This Friday, my girls turn seven.

Since they turned four, I’ve been saying that each age is my favorite age, and this age is no different. I’ve always wanted to write funny, clever and heartfelt essays about my darling girls, but I seem to have trouble writing about my girls in any interesting way– something about watching them develop as personalities, like photographs in a darkroom, leaves me completely inarticulate. Today I thought I’d try some quick snapshots though, just so I won’t feel too neglectful. Expect more details about the birthday festivities as the week unfurls.

At seven, Lucy is meticulous and conscientious, loves art and music, is still the pickiest eater I’ve ever known. She tolerates no ambiguities, is truly a tough cookie, but has a wonderfully endearing way of rubbing her head against you like a cat who wants a cuddle but won’t beg for it. Her precision and sense of color in her artwork is distinctive– I always know which painting is hers in a room full of children’s work. If she loves you, you know it– when you enter a room, her sense will alert her, and she will barrel towards you, launching into an embrace that has literally knocked me off my feet.

At seven, Sophie is dramatic, hilarious, brash but tender-hearted. She plunges forward bravely, then falls back with welling tears, then plunges forward again. Her quicksilver curiosity keeps me guessing, and her powers of perception often stop me in my tracks. She has the same aptitude for delicious silliness that her father has, and watching the two of them bounce off each other is a delight. She has an incredible ear for music but is most often dancing to her own tune.

What surprises me the most is how much of this was evident in their babyhood, but still manages to jump out at me from time to time like light from a hidden mirror. What frightens me the most is that the more they grow and unstretch their hidden selves, the weaker my powers of protection become, and the more I have to trust that I’m doing a good job at this mothering thing after all.