love

Anna, at nine and a half years of age, disarms me completely sometimes. Her pixie-esque voice, from out of nowhere, has created this habit of saying so convincingly "I love you" as she is dropped off for dance, as I'm leaving for work, as she's being tucked in for bed. I don't know where she's gotten this. Sure, we say this in our home, but it isn't the ritual that Anna's established. Actually, it isn't even a ritual for her, but part of her nature, so that it comes out of the blue but simultaneously fits her, just like her red hair, her gangly legs, and her tendency to have a book wrapped around her nose.

Grace is different. Grace explained to me the other day as we were listening to a Billy Joel favorite of ours that It's Still Rock and Roll To Me "used to be my favorite rock and roll song before I heard [Kanye West's] Love Lockdown." Grace sings along with the electronica infused rap hip-hop from her booster seat in the second row of our car; and when her 6-year-old flute of a voice emotes, "I've been down this road too many times before," I smile every time.

I could try to further describe the difference between my daughters -- hair, eyes, voice, tendencies, posture, interests, etc., but the contrast between "I love you" and "love lockdown" mostly sums it up. Nor does it even scratch the surface.