I spent my birthday weekend at the Cleaves compound in Wimberley. On Saturday, we attended splendid Major family reunion put on by Peggy, probably the first time in 25 years all those Majors have gathered in one place. We lost the last of a generation when Aunt Patricia died in the spring, so it was amazing to see so many cousins together.
On Sunday, we had a quiet day at the creek. The only real excitement was when Ted seemed close to setting his arm on fire while cooking steaks over open flames, and Willow wailed over being separated from Lucy for the week before they go to camp. As the day wound down, Peggy and Ted left with Willow, leaving only our generation to cook, clean, organize and generally fend for ourselves (with help from Bonnie, a blessed token from the grandparent set).
My cousin Lauren made us dinner, while I half-helped but mostly just chatted and drank wine. Lauren: a cousin whom I hadn't seen in 20 years and last remembered as dark-haired cherub. She's now the mother of a dark-haired cherub of her own. I leaned against the pantry for a moment watching this girl-woman stir her gourmet chili, while David made an elaborate salad of his own garden tomatoes. It hit me: she is an adult, he is an adult, I am an adult. We are the grown-ups.
I decided not to panic.