I had finished the main part of a fairy themed quilt and was deciding about borders. One was the same fabric as the blocks, another was a bright yellow, and the third was spring green. I had varying amounts of each, which can dictate which order they go in. The first to go on needs less yardage than the last one. My strip of fairy fabric was the shortest and would therefore make sense to go first. But it would blend into the blocks. I had to start with the bright yellow. Then the fairies could come next without being lost. 

 

One of my friends growing up was the third in a line of four blonde girls. Their hair was the kind people pay good money to get, but her little sister did not want to be the fourth. She refused to blend in, so she shocked her parents by dying it black. Badly. Not quite Anne of Green Gables badly, but enough to make you cock your head, or giggle behind your hand. Unless you are the child's mother. Then you just get mad. 

 

When I was falling in love with John his music was the clincher. He composed piano pieces that made me swoon. When we got engaged I imagined the little pianists we would have, sitting beside him on the bench learning arpeggios. Between his skills and my guitar we were practically guaranteed to have kids who loved to play. 

 

It turned out they didn't. They all enjoy music, and probably sing in the shower, but none of them clocked years on any instrument. We offered, hinted, begged on occasion but it was not their jam. Our firstborn married a marvelous musician which is a blessing. He even installed the sound system in a hotel room for the CEO of Sony when he came to LA for the Oscars. He uninstalled it the following Monday. 

 

The thing is, in my expectations for what our kids would love, I left little wiggle room for the fascinating pursuits they would choose. Plus it helps us all remember that they are not just the second version of someone else.