Happy reunion

While I wait for a painting to dry and since I've almost dipped my paintbrush in my coffee for the fifth time, it is obviously time for a break. Hi. How ya doin?

I picked my kids up from school yesterday having not seen them all weekend and they were HUGE. They each grew nineteen inches. My son had a mustache and my daughter had boobs. My kids were running the school. Making phone calls in the office. Decorating the bulletin boards. I said, excuse me? Sir with the mustache? Do you know where my son is? He's about forty inches high and hasn't gone through puberty?

And he said, mommy, it's me! You were gone so long. A lot has changed. Now I'm in charge of preschool. I drop Aba off at work and then drive here in the black car. The curriculum focuses primarily on cell phone technology and dress-up. Would you like a chicken nugget?

Me: What about your sister?
Him: She works with me! And her kids are in preK! We missed you mommy.

It was amazing. They had changed so much. And as we got in the car and drove to swim class the shock of having not seen them in three days wore off and they returned to their normal prepubescent selves. And when my son started crying at swim lessons because he wanted to be back in level one, then I knew it had all been a trick of the imagination and I was reassured that I had not actually missed that much and all was back to our version of normal.

Wednesday's Child

This past Sunday we hosted the first annual reunion of the Lubell siblings and the Rubin brothers. The Rubins are a family that grew up with us - elementary school, Little League, July 4th parties. You get the idea. The youngest Rubin was three years older than I am and a year younger than my middle brother. The middle Rubin was my oldest brother's age and grade. And the oldest Rubin was two years older than that. So I was significantly younger than all of them. But somehow, when I was about 16, I reconnected with the oldest one, Adam, who was then 24, and he became a kind of mentor to me. We've stayed in pretty good touch over the years even though our brothers, much closer in age, lost touch after Bar Mitzvah season.

Anyway, my husband and I went to Adam's wedding back in March and I got to hang out with his younger brothers - two extremely funny and likable guys. I decided then and there to host the first annual Luby-Ruby reunion and get everyone together with spouses and kids at our house for pizza and beer. Amazingly we found a date that worked for everyone and I have to say it was ridiculously fun to hang out and reminisce. There's something about growing up with people. There's a crazy bond that goes along with living on the same street for ten years or carpooling to Hebrew school with someone that makes you connected forever. And so the Lubells are connected to the Rubins.

But all that is just set-up for what this post is really about. Half an hour into the love fest, the youngest Rubin, Matt, said something like, weren't you kind of brooding and freaky as a little girl? Who remembers that? And the other Rubin brothers chimed in unanimously in agreement. Adam's been telling some version of this narrative for the last twenty years but they went on to paint a picture of me as Violet from the Incredibles - thick-banged, awkward, painfully shy. Or Wednesday from the Adams Family - just plain creepy. Really? I can imagine at social gatherings where I was the youngest by many years I probably didn't have a ton to say. I certainly wasn't playing capture the flag with the rest of the pack. But I wasn't casting voodoo spells on people either. I was too busy lacing their drinks with laxatives. After I defended my endearing, if not peculiar, childhood mystique we moved on to making fun of the size of Adam's hair in the early Eighties.

That's maybe the one downside of childhood friends. Their perceptions of you are locked on a particular moment in time when you were who you were for whatever reason. You had mean brothers. Your parents' friends didn't have any kids your age. You were extremely shy and fiercely independent. You were the only four year old on the planet who wore glasses...where am I going with this...

Oh yes. I even see it now with my own kids - how I already have them labeled the sensitive child and the free-spirit even though there is obviously so much more to each. I'm reminded of one of my favorite quotes by George Bernard Shaw, not to be confused with value vintner Charles Shaw, who wrote:

"The only man I know who behaves sensibly is my tailor; he takes my measurements anew each time he sees me. The rest go on with their old measurements and expect me to fit them."