We’ll leave Maine tomorrow morning, heading south, back to Grandma’s (my mother-in-law’s) house. On Friday we’ll head east to a wedding, leaving these lovely kids of ours with Grandma for a couple nights, along with their uncle and aunt and cousins.
It’s been a lovely trip. A lovely month, all in all. Our children grew before our eyes, in the presence of their much older and much younger cousins. Our parents beamed, from all the kids’ reflected energy. I’ve seen my husband relax and enjoy himself. I’ve spent real time with our kids, without a schedule, without anything familiar to occupy or distract us.
We learned that our daughter is fearless, and our son is brave. She asked me what the difference was.
See, this girl of ours likes to climb, move forward, see new things, reach limits. Especially when all such things are over sharp, slippery rocks hanging over the Atlantic Ocean. And our son, he gets tired a bit more easily, needs a bit more food than his sister, and a bit more incentive. He needs proof that something will be fun, it would seem.
Fearless, I told our daughter, is when you just go, and nothing scares you. Brave, I told our son, is when you do something that requires a lot of you, even though you’d rather not.
They are a trip, these two. They are good sports, they are curious, they are funny, they are happy, they push, but they give. They give a lot.
I’m home with them every day. And I’m only just getting to know them.
I am a lucky, lucky girl. Again.