while he is three, he will play

Me - Asher, I want to tell you something.

Asher - (eyes bright, runs right over) What, Mama?

Me - Today you are THREE. It's your birthday today!

Asher - oooooh. Will I get a balloon?

Me - Yes. Later today....what are you going to do this year, while you're three?

Asher - play wid Zach-Max (cousins)...and brudder...and you (pronounced jew. just sayin')....cause I missed jew (very very sad face, oh so downcast, oh his soul)

Me - Oh. When was I gone?

Asher - (long pouty pause, then giggles, throws his head back) I kidding!

Me - Oh, you're silly. I love you.

Asher - I wuz jew, too, Mommy.

(gives big hugs, then throws noggin back again to be silly and cracks said noggin on chair.)
(just keepin' it real, peeps.)
(he's totally fine.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cue The Cute:


End Cute.

Happy Birthday, Asher. Mommy loves you to the sky and back and back up and back down and back up and back down....infinity.

miles and miles and miles and miles and miles

On day one, you taught me that having a c-section didn't make me a failure
because I had you.


On day 2 I studied all your sleeping faces, all day long
and I loved even the frumpy grumpy ones
and you still make them
and somehow, I love them even more


In your first months
you showed me what peace looks like
and how it would feel when you're sick
always like I'm sick, but worse



You've always shown me
joy
pure joy
in the smallest things


In your first few years, I learned that so much of what I know and believe is because of you.
You are five years of love and light, struggle and growth and absolutely nothing I would trade.
Because of you I know what an old soul in a small body can bring to this life, and I know that I will always always love and accept you...no.matter.what. And I know that I say be careful too often, but please know I really truly want you to live out loud. Please live out loud.

You shaved your head with Daddy's electric razor.
And just for documentation purposes, let's not forget that
you stuck a nut (of the nuts and bolts variety) up your nose
and $450 later, a specialist got it out.
Strangely, these antics simply made me love you more.

One of my favorite memories, running in the sun-rain with you.

~~~~~~~~~~

Miles, you are my birthday boy and one of the great loves of my life. No mother can ever prepare for the way she will love her children. Every mother knows the wonder of it all, the unfolding of a human life in her care, the enormous learning curve and fear and happiness.

You are the perfect boy for me. I think that's how God does it, no matter how our children come to us, He gives us soul mates, and then we get a taste of Heaven.


Happy 5th Birthday, my Milesy. I love you.

Mommy- What can you always ALWAYS know for sure?
Miles- I belong!

Mommy- What do you think will happen in your fifth year?
Miles - I'll play baseball and I'll walk the dog. And I'll ride a two-wheeler and try not to fall down so I'll need to take balance. And um, let's see here...what should I do? Okay, I will play being a Daddy with Asher.

Good plan.

This dentist thing ain't half bad

Little Brother, you're up.
No really. It'll be okay...

No. You may not have either of them.
They are MINE.
The End.

Oh P.S. I want to say thank you for your comments on my last post. Because of this bumpy sobriety journey, that kind of post means much to me, and so your words of encouragement, grace, friendship, and love...well, they totally lift me up. Thank you.

I'm a fan

I'm a big fan of owls.

The other day, my friend gave me a big fat owl to sit outside my front door. He greets people.
(He's not a real live owl, he's a decorative one.) I would have taken a picture of him to show you, but it's pouring outside right now, so he's busy. I don't know what I mean by that.

Owls can turn their heads all the way around, isn't that mind blowing?
They're like mothers.

I'm also a big fan of garage sales. Yesterday we found an area rug that's just perfect for our family room. It has orange and gray in it, and so do our family and dining rooms. So it matches.

But my socks don't.
I'm not a fan of matching clothing.

Ryan is not a fan of germs and so he's a bit concerned that something horrible is lurking in this garage sale rug. He just told the boys, "First I'm going to vacuum it and then I'm going to steam clean it, and then I'm going to spray it with disinfectant and then I'm going to take it out to dinner."

I'm a fan of Ryan's humor.

I am 35 years old today, which looks really weird to me on the computer screen. I feel 25-ish and act 18-ish and maybe it's time to decide to fully grow up. I'll give that some more thought. Later.

Right now I'm just trying to be a fan of 35.

I had my first "using dream" last night. That's what we addicts call a dream in which you are drinking or using drugs even though you're sober in real life.

I am not a fan of using dreams.

In my dream, Ryan was just as forgiving as he is in real life.

You guessed it, I'm a fan.

He got me a Netbook for my birthday. Seriously. I love it. It's tiny and doesn't weigh very much at all and it can turn it's head all the way around.

Wait. I somehow went back to the beginning.

Oh well, that's what you have to do sometimes.
I'm a fan of do-overs.


{Last night I totally forgot to wrap up the giveaway for Life After Yes until it was past my bedtime. So I consulted random.org and then waited to tell you right now that Mainly a Midwife is the winner! Congrats, lady! Email me and stuff.}

P.S. I'm a big fan....

Miles and Asher~Miles' preschool graduation
May 20, 2010

(Samsung did not have anything to do with this post at all. I just told you what I got for my birthday and in doing so I generously gifted Samsung with free advertising. I hope it's their birthday.)


One last thing...I'm a fan:

It lasts forever

Tuesday~September 15, 2009

I'll never forget taking Miles to his first big event when he was about two weeks old. I was a mess of hormones, a lactating machine filled with angst, joy, and fear all at once. In short, I was a complete mess and somehow, I was absolutely loving it.

Those first days, they all ran together and felt as if they'd last forever. Such a strange thing, being so tired that you just want your baby to hurry up and grow, and yet wanting them to be newly born and in your arms your entire life. And then you want a break so badly, you come close to asking the mailman to babysit so you can run around the block. And then you want to wake that sweet little monster up after he finally falls asleep because you suddenly miss him...yes, it's crazy-making, alright.

My mom was holding him on the day of that first big outing, which was obviously a safe way to give my arms a break. We stood and talked and then she walked away to show little teeny Miles off to someone who had never met him. Confirming my craziness, I nearly screamed for her to stop. My arms suddenly felt very long and empty, and my insides felt as if they were being pulled along the lawn with my baby boy. Since his very beginning, it was the farthest he had ever gone from me, and I didn't like it one bit. (Even though it was only about 200 feet.)

My Dad and Ryan nearly had to hold me back, they could see it in my eyes that I wanted to follow, to snatch him back and feel whole again. My Dad said, "He's okay," with a reassuring smile (or perhaps a smirk), and I said that I knew he was. It was me that wasn't okay.

It felt like that again last year when I dropped Miles off at preschool for the first time. Asher and I were pretty lonely on the car ride home. It was so terribly quiet, and I realized it would only get harder in years to come.

To cope with her job of letting go, a mother learns to fill her arms with pride in her child's new accomplishments, and happiness over new freedoms. She turns up the volume of life so the quiet isn't quite so deafening.

And still, I'm pretty sure that pull will always be there, forever.


It wasn't nearly as painful this year, dropping him off at school and then leaving him.


After all, he was very excited...

So I was happy for him.

(Yes, he dressed himself, and I thought he looked smashing.)


He was ready to clown around with pals...


And I'm proud of him because I know he makes a very good friend.

He wanted to make perfectly clear that he'd be fine, you know, since he's Spiderman...



He's growing up, and practicing his teenager face..."C'mon Mom, let's just go!"

Heaven help me.

He had a great time, wearing himself out to the extent that he asked this very good question when he got in the car after school,

"Are we still having the same day we were having when I went to school?"

"Yes, we are Sweetie, it's been a long day hasn't it?"

I wish it could last forever.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was so moved by the comments, tweets, and facebook messages after my last post. I have to say thank you. You people were handing me cups of grace all over the place. I'm just plain humbled and so honored to know you. So thank you. Really. Thank you.

Say What You Need To Say

Friday~August 21, 2009

We've been waiting for words. He's been waiting for words. He's still screaming and stomping, frustrated with our not reading his mind. We've been guessing and shrugging and apologizing for not knowing. We've been explaining his non-response to strangers with, "He's not quite into talking yet." We've been waiting with the doctor who said his words aren't enough, we'll see.

The words are still a bit stuck in his throat.



But he's finally trying. A little.

Scuuuse-E, he says as he tries to squeeze by.

Mmm-hummm, he agrees and UH EH, he protests.

And then just like that, he said two things that make the waiting the easiest thing I've ever done.

ASH...ER, he said as he pounded his chest and grinned. ASH...ER, spoken like two words,
two perfectly clear little brilliant words.

Then later, as I carried him to bed, nuzzling my nose in his neck.
Honey, I love you, I said.

Wub oooh, he said back.

Asher talks now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you're here from David's Post of the Day, thank you so much for taking the time to stop by. If you'd like to stick around and read some previous "hits," you might enjoy Layers, or maybe even my latest post, The Witching Hours. Thank you again for taking the time to hang out here.

Two looks good on you

Thursday~July 16th, 2009

Yesterday we made another trip to the doctor. Boy, you've spent a lot of the last two years in that place. This time, we were checking for a broken nose. You fall so much, child. I'm pretty sure the doctor is starting to wonder about us. So you'll have an x-ray on Monday because it's likely there's a fracture in there. You poor thing. For your birthday? A broken nose?

But you know what? You're just so happy and strong, you don't seem to mind a bit. The doctors and nurses love seeing you. They say there's just something special about your happiness. They can't believe how calm and peaceful you seem. They poke and prod and you quietly sit with me. They push on your shunt and feel all around your head and you kick your feet and snuggle me.

You're such a busy little guy, always climbing and exploring. (Hence, the possible broken nose.) You love gum, being outside, mud, music, Wall-E, and most of all, people. You grin and hop and run to visitors. You are joyful, kind, and so good to have around.

You were born around this time two years ago today. I type that with a lump in my throat that I can't fight because I love you, and I'm so glad we got to keep you. Asher, your life has not been a bowl of cherries. And yet, in many ways you seem undaunted. I think you're probably wiser than I will ever be. From the start, things have just been hard for you. We've felt helpless and scared, and we've wanted health and life free of pain for you. That's not possible, I suppose. But I'm more thankful than words can say today, on your 2nd birthday, that you've finally hit your longest stride of smooth sailing.

Well, aside from that whole broken nose thing.

Happy Birthday, my sweet boy. I love you.

(If you'd like to learn more about Asher's condition, hydrocephalus, you can click on The Noggin under Browse by Category in the sidebar.)

Warming Up

Tuesday~June 30, 2009

He was so excited to go, but when it came right down to being left on that field with all the other little gloved T-ballers, he just wasn't so sure. So he was the one, the one that battled his nerves and fought back tears. The one who didn't follow when asked to run. The one playing in the sand to avoid the unknown. I wanted to hover, to push, to control the situation. I wanted to take his nerves and add them to mine, leaving him peaceful and confident. But I couldn't, so I just waited, and watched from afar, hoping...


He stood at the back, silent, small nervous movements, chewing nails and hiding under that visor. Kicking at the dirt and peeking out the side. So unsure. So new. So hard. They asked him to warm up with running and with stretching. He stood frozen in his fear, motionless and chilled.


But just as they always do, when we give them time, the fears started lifting and the ball started soaring and the feet started running. The boy started listening, and he started talking. He was stretched and then he was warmed.

We were waiting and watching and we felt so far away. We felt it all with him, and we waited and we watched and we hoped.


He came home laughing and smiling and talking and quite pleased with himself. He pushed through the hard things, the overcoming of the many fears. It was a beautiful thing.


I showed him this picture and he said, "Look at those clouds where I was running." Yes, they're definitely a beautiful thing. Miles, I love your sweet, sensitive spirit. Take all the time you need to warm up. After some time, the hard things turn beautiful, just like those clouds.

This post is a part of Tuesdays Unwrapped at Chatting at the Sky
(Chatting at the Sky is a must-see-must-read blog, by the way-beautiful!)