There’s a picture pinned to the bulletin board in my kitchen, half hidden by silly greeting cards and bumper stickers that I fancy, which is our iconic family back-to-school photo. In it, my oldest two children stand on the front step of our old house, a basket of late-summer impatiens drooping behind them, on the occasion of the eldest’s first day of preschool, just shy of his fourth birthday. These were the days when they dressed in what I picked out for them, so they are wearing patterned, elastic-waist shorts – his in plaid and hers are floral – with their polo shirts neatly tucked in. …

Had I a bristly beard and jaunty cap, you might have mistaken me lately for Tevye, walking around my house muttering and wondering where all my babies went. With the graduation of my oldest child from high school last week and my third child from the eighth grade tonight, I am beginning to realize that those little babies are starting to pack their satchels and leave this little village I’ve created for them over the last 18 years. Of course, it’s not going to happen all at once. First, one will break free to start the next chapter his life and the others will follow suit over time. But I …