School Photos, Triplet Trivia, and a Reflective Pause

I do not know if it just their age, or the cascading effects of sending the three to school full time; maybe it is the fact that I, in this briefest of years, am working at their same school, getting to see them more frequently than usual--maybe it's my age--whatever the reason, Kiefer, Scout, and Charlie seem to be growing up fast--real fast, and I am not sure how I feel about it.  In any moment, I can catch myself trying not to beam with pride in them, and then, in that same moment (--it's not even the next moment--more like an aftertaste), I think I am already preparing to say goodbye to them.  Don't grow.  Don't learn.  Don't leave, my sweet ones.  Don't become seventh graders.  Or is it, keep going, kid, keep strutting your stuff, keep bringing home new stories, meeting new friends, hearing new things--grow, do, go, become, move, buddies, move--on--ever on?

We have a running joke with Scout where I keep forgetting to pick up shrinking pills from the grocery store.  Every time I am struck by how much cleverer or taller she seems, I howl, and then chase her around, catch her, tickle her, and announce that I won't forget those pills next time.  "Are you growing up?" I ask accusingly.  She smiles, gets herself ready, and then says, "Yes." Charlie and Kiefer are in on it too, now. The other day, they kept spelling words in front of me: they would ask Mommy how to spell "cat" (or something), run into my room, and say, "Dad, cat, C, A, T."  And then there would be a great big row, laughter and running and involuntary, proper defiance, and a not totally false frustration with life's impermanence.

Every now and again at school, I'll see them holding hands with their classmates, making their way to P.E., or back to class from Music or Drama, walking by my classroom, unawares; and I always stop my lesson, go to the window and watch them--smiling--accidentally (--I always notice afterwards).  My students let me have the moment: they notice my distraction, then hush and wonder, then see an answer to their curiosity and seem satisfied--satisfied enough, and they remain silent; or, at least, I imagine this is the case (--a wistful afterthought).  It doesn't matter really: my attention is completely absorbed--it slips and I let it go, and I gobble gobble up the sight of those three majesties.  And the frequency never diminishes the surprise, nor its meaning--more meaning than I can fathom, let alone convey--some basic truth that stirs awe, even in seventh graders--and is all the more profound for that.

Yes, all life is miraculous, of course, and it is sheer felicity to contemplate it, howsoever you come by the chance, but when any one or all three of these parts of my life appear, it is as though some divine finger came out of the sky and pointed at me, accompanied by some ear-shatteringly silent decree: "Behold!"  I am rapt, and I flail, and then, the eclipse passing, I realize I'm smiling--a child's smile.

But what is bitter in this?  As I write presently, I ask, "What is bitter here?"  Nothing.  Who am I to demand or wish for more?  Why should this joy carry its own negation?  What nonsense.

Oh, life.  Life!  How sweet you are.  Blast this ingratitude--bitterness, here, can only arise from it, not from the moment itself.  The impressionistic, ephemeral blur is part of the sweetness, defining it, not diminishing it.  What fool laments his bread?  You know that old Irish proverb about having the serenity to accept the things you cannot change?  It's great--so great, I assume anyone who has ever breathed knows or knew it.  But serenity is not some tired old acceptance of life's hard truth, not even in the context of this proverb; or if it is, then blast it as well.  That wisdom "that knows dark is right" is insipid, and I don't need Dylan Thomas to announce it to me anymore.  The years have spent themselves on me, but not uselessly, it seems.  Serenity, I now understand, is that refinement of taste that knows how to relish what it craves, how to savor what it has, how to smile at the truth it knows--the miracle unfolding, the crowning fortune of any chance, the forked lightning of a resonant thought. Don't wince at life's greatest gifts, my friends.  Take it.  And take it, my little ones, and run with it--run, and sing serenely from the heart of your every experience, and catch yourself, each time, smiling--accidentally--instinctively.

When I held you literally, I did figuratively too, and that I shall I always do--always you will know the essential joy you authored in me.

...Anyway, the point is we have many newsflashes to share, but rather than just tell you about them, I am going to make a game of it.  Move over "Infant Olympics;" here comes "Triplet Trivia."  How does it work?  I will tell you a newsflash--some interesting and new tidbit about one of the three, and you have to guess which one, Kiefer, Scout, or Charlie.  You can write your answers as a "comment" to this post, if you like, or email them to Suzy, if you want to go on record; or you can just think you know what you know.  Then, in a week or so, I will come back and revise this post and give you the answers...

Enough stalling already, let's get on with it:

1. First play-date on his/her own?
2. The one we call the accountant, because he/she loves counting money, and making it?
3. The first to get a negative referral from school?
4. The one who speaks Spanish most frequently?
5. The most independent one (--which is to say, he/she pays Suzy and I no mind if we encounter all of them, by chance, at school)?
6. The one who ties his/her own shoes almost every morning?
7. The best staller, especially when it comes to taking medicine?
8. The one who believes the horse in our front yard is in love with him/her?
9. The nurturer--that is, the one who most relishes the chance to take care of one or both of the other two?
10. The one who is already a teenager in that he/she sleeps in and has no trouble using up all the hot water in the shower?

There are many others, but let's round it off at ten for now.  All right, go for it.