Two chicks home...

My oldest daughter arrived home last night. She barely managed the window between the two big storms that have hit New England this past weekend. I was so happy to see her; hear her voice, smell her head - all those little ways that we identify our children, even when they are adults.

She hasn't changed in the way she looks or giggles or smiles, but there are other ways, much more subtle that I take notice of. Actually, what I am noticing is my desire to tell her how things work in the world. Soft lecture mode. It's as if I want 'in' to this process through which she is beginning to form her adult self. I want her to consider and think about my viewpoints as she comes into her own adult views. Luckily, like I said - I noticed - and I've been able to mellow my own need to speak at her and force myself to listen. What I hear is a young woman who is separating from her childhood - not in a bad way, but in a significant way that tugs at me with sadness and joy. And when I'm just listening, when I ask questions into her experience, I have to sit with my feelings: the fears and anxieties of letting go. I have to see the adult emerging - the differences. The choice then becomes whether I will celebrate this brilliant new blossom or will I try and put it back in the hothouse?

The answer is obvious - and hard. I celebrate her - and I stumble a bit as she differentiates. We get to figure out how to continue to move in harmony as our family dynamics change.

So, one more chick to get back in the nest. He'll be home Tuesday.