That Time Of Year Again

Last year I celebrated Pippa Day — the annual observance of the day we first met and welcomed Pippa into the family — by the usual expression of maudlin affection and by displaying a couple of pictures of her as a much younger person, and she struck back by writing a deeply moving note about her own feelings relative to the kooks who love her so (it’s offline, now; I think I saved a version of the page somewhere, but I can’t link to it). This year, when I’ve expatriated to Scotland and she’s started down the path of independence by boarding at Interlochen, I’ll go light on the sentimentality. Instead I’ll just say: the best things Margaret and I have ever done have involved our spectacular, wonderful children, all of them. And those best things have usually seemed strange, impractical, daunting, lonely, frustrating in prospect — but I can’t underscore strongly enough how tremendously all those challenges are surpassed in the staggering marvelousness of Nate, Si, Pippa, Jennifer, and now Laura and Laura (warning, Laura: I realized this week that I don’t have enough photos of you, and I will be aiming to rectify that deficit when we visit this year).
Whatever else I do right, in whatever days are accorded me, I can’t imagine that they’ll amount to more than a hill of beans compared to taking part in these folks’ lives. What a gift that is to me! And Pippa — lest I miss the chance to return to the presenting occasion for today’s post — thanks for icing the familial cake for us. I can’t wait to see you all again, soon!

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