Boy, You'll Be A Man Soon

It's hard to ignore your son is leaving childhood behind when you get his school portrait proofs the same day you post a photo of him holding his baby sister five years ago.

That baby face. Those tiny teeth. The sweet, open smile.

It's all gone, gone, gone. Our Javi is sprouting hair in places no one wants to talk about (or smell, as I have to tell him several times each day). He has his own key to the house and does his homework in his room all by himself.

He takes phone calls (none from girls ... yet) and will likely get a limited-plan cell phone in the next six months. He went on a tour of his middle school last week. Sixth grade ... just one summer away.

He's still our kid. He writes notes each day on his whiteboard, snuggles up with whichever parent has a free side (space is limited now that we've rescued a cat -- crazy, right?), and loves one-on-one time.

But he's driving top-speed, headlong into manhood.

I'm not ready.

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At Five

Five years ago, my body was beginning its slow crawl to pre-pregnancy and pre-birth functionality. My sweet, sweet girl was swaddled beside me, still exhausted from the 22 hours of labor she and I shared. Life was a haze of adrenaline slowly seeping away, my own exhaustion nibbling away at my energy.

Five years ago. This.

And today, five years later, a different kind of exhaustion. A different, unforeseen joy in watching that sweet, sweet girl bask in the attention she's always received. In hearing her thank the people in her life for their kindness and generosity. In feeling her strong hand in mine as we travel the long hours of each day together.

Five years later, that worn-out baby has become a child with an open heart and a spirit of generosity. Today's her big day, but her eyes got big and her smile got bright when she asked me if she could give her class a gift, too, and I said of course she could.

Five books, one for each year of her life. Five books that will remain in her preschool classroom long after Bella is gone. She was more excited to present those books to her teacher than she was to blow out her birthday candles.

That's the girl I've been given. Today, and all days, I am so blessed.

Happy birthday, Bella!

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Happy Spring!

It's springtime in the Southland! (Technically, it's been spring here for a while with 80 degree temps since late-February and a thick yellow coating of pollen on every outdoor surface.) But today was official and we commemorated it in our favorite way: Spring planting. This year, however, my most avid helper had her own little planting to do -- thanks to a gift from her grandma.

The Chia herb garden. It's a long-standing joke in our house that you have to get at least one silly, as-seen-on-tv gift and that was Bella's this past Christmas. She jumped through hoops to be able to do her planting and took the job very seriously. (And she made sure to wear her "shade hat" to protect her eyes even though we'd be inside [see early comment on the pollen].)

May the next six months or so -- which are guaranteed to be miserably hot and buggy -- be as sweet and fun as our little afternoon of planting was.

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The Beauty of a Bean

Hi. It's been a while. Things are great. Ashley's great. She, Jeremy, Kate, and I update quite frequently here. In other news, there's been birthday party planning, surgery-recovery assistance, website building, and non-fun real-job writing. Let's call it even and start fresh, yes?

Something special happened a few weeks ago. We -- Kate, Jeremy, Ashley, and I -- were in Ashley's hospital room. Jeremy had just been discharged, so he and Kate had stopped by to say their goodbyes and were half out the door when the hospital mail staff came in.

A little birdie had told Kate and I that something was being delivered for Jeremy and Ashley, but we didn't know much else. When the mail cart had two identical boxes, we knew something special was about to happen. There was no way to prepare for the surprise and delight we'd get when Jeremy and Ashley opened their boxes.

Inside a plain brown box was our first hint: White tissue paper with fancy gold lettering we didn't pay much attention to at first. Cradled inside that paper? A tell-tale blue box that sent the girls squealing (and Jeremy wondering what in the hell was happening).

Jeremy, three days post-surgery, wearing an I Heart Guts "When Urine Love" tee. 

If you have two X chromosomes, you recognize this box. Yes. Tiffany's. And it wasn't one little blue box -- it was three of them, complete with thoughtful personalized letters from Rob Waters, the director of Charlotte, NC's Tiffany & Co.

Nestled inside those boxes were three stunning Elsa Peretti necklaces from the Bean collection. Delicate, perfectly crafted, and the one thing that brought home to us how one kidney had changed our worlds.

Shock and awe and joy and totally inability to do anything but keep looking to make sure it's real. (And Kate making sure no one threw away that gorgeous tissue paper!)

Ashley, three days post-transplant, not yet as cool as Jeremy.

Thank you, Mr. Waters, for your kindness and generosity. And thank you to the special little elves who I have a feeling have more than a little something to do with this random act of extreme kindness.


Every time I look at my bean pendant or see it on my sister's neck or Kate's (who feels like a sister at this point), I am reminded that a person can move mountains ... so long as she has the shoulders of an amazing community to stand on.

Thank you for being that community.

(You can see more photos and read Kate's account of the big moment on their blog, where they are detailing their experience with kidney donation.)

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A kidney for a cutie

It's happening. My baby sister (who's not actually the baby anymore, but I can't help but think of her that way) is being prepped for surgery. The surgery. The transplant she fought for when all the odds were stacked against her.

She's excited and hopeful. Her donor and his wife are excited and hopeful with a good heaping of nervous. The rest of us still can't believe it's actually happening.

If you'd asked me just six months ago if Ashley would be getting her transplant just five short months from our first big fundraiser, I would've laughed in your face. I would've rolled my eyes and secretly seethed at your naivete.

I've found that my nerves can't handle people who think things magically happen, people who say things like, "God won't let that happen" or "In His time, not ours" or "If He brings you to it, He'll bring you through it."

Maybe He will. I mean, yes, He will, and He has. But he didn't do it without the blood, sweat, and tears of a team of hard working men and women from across the globe. He is bringing us through it on the backs of flesh-and-blood friends and family and strangers who feel like family.

And so, tomorrow. A girl gets to make a five-year plan. A boy fulfills a spiritual mission that feels ordained. The stars are aligning and three separate families are coming together to move the molehill that started out as a mountain.

I just want to thank each and every "virtual friend" who donated to Ashley's medical fund, bought a tee shirt, sent up a prayer, or reached out with a kind word. Life is spinning further and further away from calm, so I'm not here as often as I'd like, but I'm paying attention and so is she.

In twelve hours, my sister gets a new lease on life. There aren't words to express our gratitude. I have to settle for, simply, thank you.

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Married Ryan Gosling

I need distraction. And distraction comes in no form more safely smoldering than Ryan Gosling. And so I present for your amusement: Married Ryan Gosling.

You have to click on this one to get the full effect.

See?

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Tales of a Fifth Grade Something

My son is obsessed with football and accuracy. In that order. Javi wants to be right, always, and cannot hold back from gracing the world with his opinion on all things.

Therefore, it shouldn't have come as a surprise when his name was announced not once but twice for winning top honors last week. Young Authors state winner. Fifth grade science fair winner. Labels that no one could've forseen my inattentive, impulse, argumentative, over-reactive boy ever wearing.

ADHD is an insidious thing in that it hides behind beautiful brown eyes and a wide smile. It sneaks in when you think you've cast it off. But, sometimes, it convinces you to lower your expectations, cast down your eyes, and pray that your child will only blend in and never stand out.

And so, Javi's ability to shine shouldn't have surprised me, but it did. That's the trap ADHD set for me.

Despite the pain of getting caught in a sharp-toothed trap, the realization that I've underestimated Javi hurts worse. I've been holding on, white-knuckled, to hopes of anonymity. Let him not stand out. Let him be a middling student, a face in the crowd, a voice that speaks neither too softly nor too loudly.

Let him be average.

After six long years of public education, six years of phone calls and letters and constant complaint. He can't sit still, he won't stop talking, he argues, he jumps, he hits, he stares off into the distance.... Six. Long. Years.

Of course, two top awards and one week don't erase the weariness of time and effort to appease and fit in. And, unfortunately, the world doesn't stop spinning at fifth grade.

We're facing middle school and beyond. Tougher academics, heavier social demands, a maturing student body that may well leave my sweet Javi far behind. Yet, the lesson's been learned, for me, the hard way.

I will not push my child to be less than his very best self. I will not cloud his potential to shine. I will not allow ADHD or anything else to mask Javi's particular combination of intelligence and creativity under the guise of average.

Congratulations to my oldest on excelling in both writing and science. You are a wonderful student -- and an even better teacher.

***This post is part of Wordful Wednesdays.***

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