Road Trip

This year, as the miles rolled by outside the van, we visited the unlit places of our interior landscapes, unraveling mysteries less outwardly monumental than where to live, but powerful, all the same. Once again, we drove to New York to see my sister and her husband, who joined us as we continued through New England to Quebec, the homeland of my great grandparents. Watching my children doted upon by their adoring aunt and uncle always feels like finding out in the middle of a conversation that I've been mispronouncing a word repeatedly. Somehow, beloved others always bring forth facets of my children's personalities that I've either failed to see or taken for granted. I realize at these times that I don't know everything, even about my own family--and myself.

The daily grind--housework, phone calls, projects, work--can blind me to my children, and instead of Sophie, Max, and Lillie, I see the ride to be given, the shoe to be tied, the hands to be washed. But during vacation, I spent many hours sitting beside each child, visiting, playing, resting, reading, thinking. With all of you as my witnesses, I will not, I vow, allow the various responsibilities of my life to dull the pleasure inherent in my children's company. These are the best of times.

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