A few days ago I rounded the corner from our kitchen to our family room and saw a masculine figure sitting at the computer. It took a second look to discern whether it was my husband or my older son.
Later that same day while I was upstairs in my bedroom I heard a deep male voice singing in the living room. It took a few more seconds before I could ascertain which of the baritones in my family it belonged to.
Yesterday the younger of those two baritones led the chanting of Psalm 4 at church. There was a time when I used to read Psalm 4 to that same child almost every night before bed: "In peace I will both lie down and sleep; for you, alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety."
It's getting harder and harder to tell who's playing the piano at any given time, and to sort out the socks and underwear, and to talk to a male member of my family without looking up.
I think I'm seeing a pattern here, and it's wonderful and depressing at the same time.