1. Order carrot cake -- no nuts!
2. Potluck or make food?
3. Stop playing back the scene where I first see Emily, in the Intensive Care Nursery, just three days old, gray, and chemically paralyzed, every orifice filled with wires -- nurses and doctors rushing in. The floor was dingy, the room crowded and loud.
4. Figure out where to stash the dog during the party.
5. Add, “Sorry, kids or adults with colds, please stay home” to the invitations.
6. Cry for two minutes. Wish I could smoke.
7. Breathe in grief. Breathe out gratitude.
8. Decide about food. Making food occupies thoughts.
9. Jumpy house for kid guests?
10. Send first annual love letter to pediatric cardiologist.
11. Maybe Martha Stewart appetizers -- those freaky tiny ones like stuffed grapes?
12. Decide how much furniture to take out to make room for the party.
13. Soften not knowing when she will need the next operation or the next or the one after that.
14. Remember how much of a miracle it is to be able to celebrate this day.
15. Update Emily’s baby book. (Buy one first.)
16. Ask Caroline to play games with the older kids.
17. Assign unflaky friend to write down who gave which gifts.
18. Buy thank you notes -- 75-100.
19. Call hospital for where to donate gifts.
20. Have camera memories cleared -- video and still.
21. Emily: Cardiology appointment on Thursday at 1 p.m.
22. Remember the moms who don’t get to have their babies' birthdays.
23. Borrow extra tables.
24. Send cigars and single malt scotch to Emily’s surgeon; mark Post-Op only!!!
25. Breathe in. Speak kindly. Breathe out. Love generously.

by Avvy Mar

Labels: Avvy Mar, birthdays, cake?, gratitude, thanks, To-Do-List, video camera

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My writing FINALLY seems back on track, even if my words are sometimes stuck behind the locked door of the train’s caboose.

It was nice to see the members of The Writing Mamas Salon and hear a great speaker.

The hour and a half went by quickly.

A few members told me about a retreat they had taken. Another said she would be unable to attend our final meeting next month because she would be in Argentina.

Another country!

Exactly!!!

That’s just where I needed to go.

And I know which one – Iceland!

I’m not sure why, but lately I’ve been obsessed with visiting Iceland. A friend suggested I visit her in Seattle instead and then we can head to Vancouver. 

She’s probably right. So why the need to retreat?

After nearly a week of the kids being home sick, living with cancer for more than two years, no real vacations (family get-togethers are lovely, but they really do NOT count), and having foot surgery that I thought would heal in a month but recently learned will be closer to a year – somehow it all seems too much.

Any one of these things could make me feel down, but combined, well, where’s the nearest overstuffed couch?  

Then I realize that none of them are the reason for feeling the way I do.

Monday is.

November 24^th would have been my brother’s birthday -- that is if he were still around. He’s been dead for nearly 25 years.

Russell has now been gone longer than he was here.

As I write, I look at a small hammer he made with precise care in a metals class in junior high. He carved his initials, R.F., into its head. The tool has an almost modern design to it. Russell was an artist. Maybe one too sensitive for this world. Somebody who tried to ignore his demons but in the end they proved overwhelming. He died by his own hand. His creation sits on my desk. It is a reminder of him. Something he made. The touch of Russell’s hands still upon it.

When the anniversary of his death, or his birthday comes around each year, the enormity of his loss is present.

Perhaps the gift is in the remembrance.

There is a cemetery that I visit when I miss my deceased family members. I drive to the very top of its hill. There sits the Jewish area. I’m not sure why, but I seem drawn to it. I look at the headstones. I say silent prayers for each person, none of whom I know. I find comfort.

I will go there tomorrow. I will think of Russell.  I will lay down three stones. I will miss you.

By Dawn Yun

Labels: birthdays, By Dawn Yun, Death, Russell

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“Mama, I don’t want to have anymore birthdays,” my daughter announced the other day in a quavering voice. “I just want to stay four.”

You’ve got to be kidding me, was my first reaction. She’s already worried about getting older? What’s next—a trip to the dermatologist for a little Botox?

And then I felt a twinge of sadness. If you only knew, I thought, how much I wish you could stay four forever, too, or at least a bit longer. It seems impossible that she’ll be five next month and off to kindergarten in the fall.

Hugging her, I tried to explain that no one gets to stay four-years old. Getting older is how you get to be a Big Kid, I told her.

“Besides, honey, don’t you want to have a birthday party?” I said “You can invite all your friends and…”

“I don’t want a party!” she snapped. “And I don’t want to be a Big Kid!”

This wasn’t the first time she’d been upset about getting older. The subject started coming up about a year ago. Not often -- and usually only when she’s over-tired -- but often enough to concern me.

Where is this coming from, I wonder? Did I worry about birthdays when I was her age? I don’t think so. I only remember anticipating a day that was all about me and the party, presents and cake that went with it.

I probe and dig, trying to figure out what’s going on inside her little head. Though I don’t really have a clear-cut answer, I suspect she senses that behavior that’s perfectly acceptable now won’t be when she’s five. Already, for example, she’s getting the message that it’s not okay to flash her panties -- or other body parts -- when she does a somersault in the park. And it’s starting to sink in that Cowie, her favorite stuffed animal and best friend, won’t be able to go with her to kindergarten every day like she does to preschool.

Let’s just say she’s not happy about either development.

I have a feeling she’ll eventually be thrilled to be five. I just wish I could erase her anxiety about growing up. Like birthdays, though, change is a part of life I know she’ll have to come to terms with in her own way.

By Dorothy O’Donnell

Labels: birthdays, By Dorothy O'Donnell

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It was my daughter's birthday. This meant that EVERY DAY for a solid week, was another celebration for my daughter.

Labels: birthdays, By Dawn Yun, complaining

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