It seems that when I began this random blog, the names that popped into my head for the members of my family were dead on accurate and pleasing to all but one person. Yep. My oldest child.
Granted, she is aware that, as a full-grown adult, this jealously is a bit childish, yet there it is. All of the other members of the family, including the dog, got cutesy descriptors and she got stuck with...The Eldest. She claims it reminds her of all of the times we introduced our children as a collective group. This is #3. She is eight and a black belt in Tae Kwan Do. This is #2. She is eleven and has X number of swimming medals. Oh, and this is #1, The Eldest. She clearly forgot the fact that we followed up with clarifications such as, "she is in two different bands and plays more instruments than we can count," and "she's in the sixth grade and just won an award for a dramatic monologue she wrote based on a character from To Kill a Mockingbird." Or how about "her sculpture is the only piece selected in the entire county to be displayed in a district art show and IT WON!" All she heard was, "The Eldest" and in her mind acquainted it with descriptors such as Harold the Bandy-Legged and William the Loon.
Needless to say, that was not the image in my head when I wrote that epithet for my first-born. As I characterize my children on these pages, certain pictures pop into my ever-changing brain waves. The Cinderella does not invoke a Disneyesque image of a poor pitiful child forced to scrub floors while singing arias to her pet mice or even the made-up doll in her twinkling ball gown on her way to happily ever after. Rather, the view in my head is of a two-year old, clunking around in a pair of mom's high heels and dad's t-shirt, pushing a doll stroller through the kitchen, singing the Barney theme song at the top of her little lungs.
The Free Spirit is not Tinkerbell or even a throwback to the Sixties, as badly as she would like to think she is. Her picture is always the one of pre-birth, when she had her days and nights mixed up. Just as I would lie down to sleep, she would decide to wake up and play. All night. Every night. She still does.
The Eldest has always been the go-between. She was 6 when the Free Spirit came along and 9 when Cinderella made her appearance. She was the leader, the teacher, the imparter of wisdom to her younger siblings. They have always looked up to her and have tried to follow her lead in most of their big decisions. They invariably take her side in any argument and when it is "gang up on Mom day" (which is pretty much every day), Mom never wins.
Now, I like to think that we have reached that stage where we are more than mother and daughter, that we have become friends. I depend on her a lot more than I used to. She is my interpreter, my sounding board, my encourager, and sometimes, my conscience. So, no, daughter, the image in my head is not Gandalf. More like Galadriel if you want something concrete, but way beyond that. I may, on these pages, name you The Eldest, but, you have always been and will always be my very best friend in the whole wide world.
Better than Chase and Meredith and Carly Acky.
