We are at the dock and you are nearly setting sail. All of the clocks are set to count down for a blast off in 72 hours and counting.

Why am I thinking of telling you all of the stories that I didn't tell you, growing up? You are grown now. Stories have to be relevant. I trust that this one is.

Once upon a time, not really very long ago, far far away, you were sent to us and we are eternally grateful for the gift that you have become and were from the initial onset. It wasn't that we needed another girl or anything. That is the wonderful gift of being the fourth child. It was just the wonder of your individuality and skating into our lives at a settled season. We were neither wanting nor aggravated in your season. That was a small pocket of time that lasted for a very short time. There is never a want for complaining in any size family and we were given to our share of discontent, I must confess, to my shame. You were certainly not a part of our complaining. The girls were girls and that seems so very long ago that I have to stretch my mind to think of it. They always thought they were women, but they played girly things and sometimes you became a baby doll to them.

Enoch was a boy. So totally different from the girls, but a very boyish fellow. His boyness could have easily been swallowed up in their girly play. I was always trying to find a masculine character to insert into their girly game, here and there. Often it was the security guard or the safety inspector or some other rule enforcer. {It seems he's grown into those game roles, somewhat?}

Well then there was Evvie. She was absolutely the most placid part of our lives in that season. Not a rabble rousing 4th child. Not an invisible baby. She and you seemed to fit perfectly into the puzzle. It was as though you had always been there. We had school in the basement and much ado was there about your participation in our school day from birth. What is 6 times 3, etc.? When the girls had trouble with their cyphering, I would tell them, Evvy was born knowing that fact. They knew this wasn't true. We did a lot of laughing and a lot of adventuring. Sands Point Museum and the surrounding park were often our distinct pleasure to invade and study and learn from. We went to the beach often and the close parks, nearly everyday, for sometime. My four dearlings of which you were the baby for a long time.

Now we are 18. I do say we because I as Evvie's mother am 18. You are an eye-opening child for me. You are helping me see the me that I can be with a baby girl travelling far from me for a little while. I am looking forward to that aspect of growth for myself. I am looking forward to see how the skills of interpersonal interaction will help you in a broader sphere and how the broader sphere will impact you, as well. To me, you will always be the little lady on the bus with Rosa Parks, nursing her baby. I laughed that you seemed so connected to me in school as you were. We will survive this separation time. We will grow and we will get back together, Lord willing, with much to share about our adventures. I am grateful that you shared yourself and your struggles with me so much and often through the years and hope we never stop being the friends that we've become. I love you! MOM.