Tuesday, September 08, 2009

My Three Children

Let me start by saying I don't want to start labeling my girls with adjectives that will someday serve them as self-fulfilling prophecies. It's not necessary to me that they see themselves through my eyes. Quite the contrary. I would like for them to look in a mirror and define themselves, rather than let the perceptions of another define them. I try not to refer to one or the other as "the smart one," "the creative one," "the moody one" or any of the like. That being said, my two girls evoke such different emotions from me.

Lauren is pensive. She looks worried and carries a furroughed brow much of the time. I feel such intensity from her...such sensitivity. I stare into her eyes and see my own reflection in her soulful, blue irises. She causes me to reflect. She causes me to search her face for clues. I want to see what she sees. I want to know myself as she knows me. There is no lying to those eyes. I want to hold her close and tell her that everything's going to be just fine. Sometimes, I don't feel that she is at peace unless she is in my arms.

Brooklyn makes me laugh. She smiles a lot. Sometimes all it takes is to make eye contact. She bursts into sunshine and I am showered in her warmth. She's generous with her hugs and you are never quite sure if you are holding her or she is holding you. She clings to my side like a spider monkey with absolute confidence. Her posture becomes perched. She's not quick to cry, but when she does, it is heart wrenching and inflicts a wound to the soul.

Max is often a contradiction of description. He can be sensitive and loving and then oblivious and rough. He will teach my girls to be tough. I'm glad, because it will help them to develop confidence. He still has an air of innocence, that can so easily start to slip away, even at such an young age. Yet at times, he broods like an old man. He is struggling with independence and beams with delight at his accomplishments. In moments of peaceful stillness, his tender expression comforts me. If I could give pause, I would stop the universal clock from ticking in those moments.