"Our twins" are S. and J., and I've known them since before they were born. When their mom and I met, our husbands were colleagues -- English teachers at a small school. And because it was a small school, these two literary types were both required to assist with football coaching. And because small schools revolve around sports, and because two youngish football coaches' wives had no children and no other excuses not to go, Sally and I hit the road together for an away game and had plenty of time to talk. We found out that we were both English majors, too. We discovered that we both wanted families but were struggling to have them (I'd had two miscarriages by that time.) We unearthed shared passions, and realized we loved one another's company. Our husbands were becoming friends, too, and so we were given the gift of that rare mix -- two couples, four friends, all of whom not only get along but thrive in one another's company.
Soon, Anne-with-an-e came along, and then Sally had the twins (she didn't find out she was carrying twins until she was seven months along ... can you imagine?!), then they had another boy, and we had Betsy, and they moved away. I worried that things would change (and of course, in practical, everyday ways, they did), but we have remained great friends. And our kids, despite the two-hour distance, have grown up together.
And now the twins are too grown up for my taste. Can't time stand still for just a wee bit while I catch my breath?
Quiet, lovely. Time to catch my breath.
Mass. (Thankful for our pastor, who so sensitively did not single out mothers to stand up for a blessing, but blessed all women at the end of the general intercessions, including spiritual mothers.) Savored this chocolate mousse cake, compliments of Atticus. Read this book. Napped. Thanked God for my daughters.
*****Looking forward to reading my two Mother's Day gifts -- Sally Thomas's Brief Light: Sonnets and Other Small Poems, and The Scent of Water by Elizabeth Goudge.
Finished reading last week: The Snow Child. Will need to post about it separately. Too much to say. Betsy read it on Sunday/Monday, and it was fun to discuss it with her.
Schoolish stuff: Schoolish hath endish. Pretty muchish.