The one on the right just graduated from eighth grade. He is taller, at least five inches, than I am, long and lanky and topped with a poof of blond hair. He was, just recently, voted Most Likely to Become President Someday. I have no trouble imaging this at all; he is bright, witty, charming, a snappy dancer and completely comfortable talking to anyone about anything. The first time we met he threw up all over me but has not once done so since, and I thank him for that. Yesterday he introduced my girls to his cool eighth grade friends as "the sisters he never had", as if I didn't love him enough already.
The one on the left no longer fits in those boots. She is tall and blond and just won, with her team, the state lacrosse championship. One night, very long ago, she woke me crying, not feeling well, and in the middle of the night I rocked her and found out just how lovely children could be. Once calm, I promptly put on her diaper, backwards, and, begrudgingly put her back to bed. She has always been the child most likely to roll with the punches, falling down and bouncing back up immediately. She is silly, articulate and fun. She leaves notes for her mom on Facebook that make me cry and has never shied away from adults, a quality I find amazing given her advanced years.
Their mothers are two of my best friends, the first to have children in my gaggle of dears. Two mothers I looked to, and modeled, when faced with this daunting task myself. And now their soon to be quasi adults make me a little less scared of the teenage years that lie in front of us. These two are nice people who love their moms, well done ladies.