My baby on the far left!

It’s tricky business being the parent of adult children. I hold and attempt to live into a strong sense of their right to their own autonomy. The rights and inclinations I had as a parent of them as children are no longer viable.

A parent of an adult child can be met with great consternation when breaching that edict. (Like when I spontaneously and authoritatively asked a waiter to bring milk for my then 18 year-old son, now 28, out of concern for his burning mouth, after downing a jalapeno. No, the milk never reached the table.  Apparently even with a burning mouth he maintained the ability to speak his mind.)

However, apparently sticking too arduously to that edict can ALSO be met with great consternation from one’s adult child. In which case:


On Friday, June 2 I neglected to mention anything about my daughter Christina’s birthday in my blog. (But I sent her an email note early that morning. I typed it in rainbow colors. It took a long time!)

I made an even greater faux pas by blogging about her little 13 year-old brother who turned 13 a week before – to the day – (notice the palindrome: 13 & 31) – whose birthdate, BTW, incensed my then 18 year-old daughter because his arrival usurped both her birthday AND her graduation from high school. (To say nothing of the horror of having a pregnant mother bouncing all over town when you’re 17-18 years old – well – actually – no longer pregnant the day she turned 18!)

I could not have been more blessed on that Monday, June 2, 1986 at 3:38pm when, after 26 hours of labor, Christina Elizabeth Campbell arrived out here on Earth.

To be joined by a kindred spirit on one’s life’s journey – and to find that kindred spirit in one’s own daughter – is a precious gift.

Blessings, Bean.