If we couldn't live vicariously through our daughters, how could we live?  I can imagine myself wearing a pair of cute low rise jeans and a really tight top because I can see how Mara looks in that outfit.  I can relive my prom dresses and dates through Ashley's prom plans.  And I can experience my frustrated musical dreams whenever I hear my daughters play their violin or cello.

But where I was once a supportive orchestra mom, now I'm a jealous one.   Last Friday night Mara called me, bubbling over with excitement.  She had gone to see the Chicago Symphony concert that night--Boulez conducting Stravinsky and Berio--and I thought she as calling to give me a review.  No no.  She was able to go backstage after the concert, thanks to her violin teacher.  There she met not only Maestro Boulez, but also the mezzo-soprano Susan Graham.   I am so happy for her, but also so jealous.

I never had musical training as a girl.  I did the normal girl stuff, Brownies, Girl Scouts, cheerleading, but what I really wanted was to play a musical instrument.  I wanted to be able to read those mysterious black marks with the little flags, I wanted to be part of an ensemble that created something together.  The only ensemble my culturally challenged mother and sports addicted father approved of was the cheer squad.  Ouch.  So instead of singing I danced.  When I was on the football field in my short skirt and tight top leading a cheer I really longed to be in long pants and a structured sexless jacket in the band.  I so wanted to be a band geek.

So now my older daughter is at the conservatory studying violin and having great musical adventures.  My younger daughter is in two orchestras and a trio.  I've been studying piano for ten years now, but I can't even come close to knowing what has become instinctual to them.  I have to be content with having expanded my knowledge of music and music theory, if not my ability to make music.  Just now Bruckner's 7th Symphony has come up on my I-tunes shuffle--I'll take that as a sign.

 I am so proud of both my daughters;  and even though I'm a bit jealous of them, it could be worse.  At least I'm not jealous of them for being young and pretty.