layers of legacy.

The other night I was changing Eli's diaper before putting him to bed. Gabriel was wandering in and out of the room -loudly; his usual, distracting contribution to the routine- while I sang, "My All In All." Eli is a fighter on the changing table. Up to the point when we potty-trained his brother, Gabriel would often relax while we cleaned him up, even tucking his hands underneath his head as if he were on a beach at some resort rather than having his fanny wiped by his mother. But not E... He's the reason seatbelts are included with changing pads nowadays

Something struck me as off about our nighttime ritual. Singing around the house is not unusual for me... In fact, earlier that evening I had been torturing the boys with my horrific, off-key version of "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer." It dawned on me: I was singing the wrong song! Somehow, in a completely unplanned fashion, I ended up assigning specific hymns to both my boys when they were newborns. Gabriel's is "My All in All"; Eli's is "Nothing But The Blood." I switched tunes and Eli settled in against my chest, reaching up to press his tiny, cold hand against my cheek in what I decided was his form of baby-gratitude.

I recently returned from a visiting blitz to see my parents and grandparents on the West Coast. Perhaps because I haven't been back in several years, perhaps because it's been a handful of years longer than that since I've seen the extended family together in consecutive meetings, tiny details -the microscopic fibers of my family- stood out like bright beams of light poking through a usually tame tapestry. In my absence, many of my family members became two-dimensional in my mind. The lack of face-to-face interaction had flattened their individuality to me, outlining their personalities like thick-edged cartoons. In the first moments of reunion, though, they were themselves again. All the memories that provided a basis for how I fondly remember them emerged from behind the draperies.

It was surreal to watch my two-year-old squeal excitedly over the toys I recall playing with when I was a little girl. I even remember getting to the age where I kicked around my grandma's playroom, grumbling with my cousins over these same toys we felt we'd outgrown! My 8-month-old ate his meals in a retro high chair from which my mother and aunts also slurped pureed food. Twenty-something years after the initial wave of grandchildren swooped down on them, my 80-something grandparents wield the same tactics with the front-runners of the great-grandchild pack. My Avo followed Gabriel around for three days to ensure he didn't break any of the numerous glass figurines on display, to pry him out from behind her curtains, to shoo him away from the old record player's handle. And my Nonno enchanted both the boys with nursery rhymes sung in Italian, with sneaking "bull rides" around the living room before Avo discovered them on the imminent road to danger.

There were other layers to the observation: I was humbled to notice subtle similarities between my mom and her parents- gestures, voice inflections... I had to smile when I realized my brother and I have the same arguing style, coupled with an array of forceful facial expressions. I purse my lips exactly like my dad when I am unsure how to respond to someone... In the kitchen, I chop food just like my mom. These are things that are obvious to most people, oftentimes whether they have the privilege to see their family frequently or not. Yet somehow during this visit, my absorption of them carried weight I'd bypassed as a child. Of course, in my youth I took for granted the pennants flying above us all, the reminders both small and large that we... We share a bond. We hold hands on this journey of life.

I wonder how long I will hum my boys' hymns to the them while I stroke their foreheads as they nod off to sleep (Will I assign hymns to my grandchildren?) Seeing my family lightened the crushing pressure I take upon myself as a mother; their faces assured me, "The responsibility is welcome; the legacy is worth it."