FIVE

That was then...

This is now...

You are so ready to be five.
So fun.
So kind.

So Tom and Jerry.
So clever.
So Star Wars.

So smart.
So loving.
So Legos, Legos, Legos.

So hilarious.
So full of sunshine.
So, so, so glad you're mine.

Happy Birthday Presto Majesto!

You are loved beyond words.
We feel so fortunate to be your parents.
A front row ticket is all we ask--a front row ticket to see what amazing things you'll accomplish with the bright mind and strong will with which God has blessed you.
Honor your talents, honor your passion, and we will do all we can to help you find your way.

xoxo,
Mom and Dad

Open Letter to Paul Cardall

Dear Paul,

I attended your concert on Monday night (with 2,699 of your fellow admirers). I sat in the 12th row, very near your parents. Black sweater. Skirt. Boots. I'm sure you saw me. We met once before--at Gracie's funeral. I thanked you for being 30-something and alive. My little McKay was just a few months old and I needed to see a boy with a broken heart grown into a man with a pure one. You were inspiring to me then, but Monday night you transcended into something more.

As I stared and wept and wondered at your miracle so eloquently represented through music and video and tribute, I had an epiphany of sorts. And it's that gift of revelation/realization for which I need to thank you.

You see, because you are who you are, because you're living the life you're living, it is not naive or strange for me to cling to the vision of a man with a family, career, and dreams for the future as I think toward tomorrow for my own little fighter. It's not strange because there you are.

It's not foolish for me to think he will have friends, passions, and adventures. It's not foolish --because you do.

It's not wise for me to protect him from life, to shelter, to guard. Your mother let you live and you found reason to keep doing it.

And it's that living, really living, I admire most. Whether my baby gets 20, 30, or 100 years on this planet I pray he will fill his days with the kind of living you've done. Living to glorify the gift of today. Living with appreciation for moments big and small. Living to honor his maker who created him with all the heart he'll every need.

Thank you Paul! Thank you for hanging on when it was more than anyone could have asked of you. Thank you for sharing your journey and your spirit. Thank you for reaching out and changing fear into hope, uncertainty into vision, worry into gratitude. There are so few true heroes on this planet--you are among mine.

With all my heart,
Mindi (McKay's mommy)

Now That's Service

You know you've reached an entirely new level of the medical stratosphere when you call to request a-right-now-if-please appointment with your pediatrician and they not only make it for you, but have the office manager call back to assure you're happy with the time.

Most of the time service like this follows some sort of near-disaster or temper tantrum, but on my honor I swear we've not been a party to either. I think we've finally hit the high-rollers club. It's not Vegas, but we'll take what perks it has to give. Today, it gave us a much needed appointment to check out Mac's ears.

McKay is holding his own as far as the RSV goes. I believe the monthly Synagis injections he receives during RSV season to help mitigate the effects of the virus are really doing the trick--at least for his lungs. His nose and ears are an entirely other story.

We greeted an absolutely inconsolable McKay about 3am this morning. Unfortunately there was nothing to be done for his whimpering but wait it out until morning. His right ear had begun to drain a horrible brown fluid that had infection written all over it. As I understand it, McKay will still get ear infections even with his newly-placed tubes only now there is a hole in the eardrum that allows the infection to escape rather than fester. Last night gave me my first visual confirmation of that theory--not pleasant.

The pediatrician assured me this was an indication that the RSV has probably reached its peak as Mac's little body is producing as much fluid when and where it can. He sent us home with a prescription for ear drops and a back up prescription for antibiotics should the ears not improve quickly. A clean $111 later for the drops and we were on our way home.

He's taking a much deserved nap now after a rather traumatic morning and breathing just fine. We'll visit with the ped again next Tuesday (hopefully no sooner!) just to maintain our high- roller status and make sure Mac's on the mend for good. He's one tough cookie.

On with the Show

I've been waiting. Waiting. Wanting. Wishing. Hoping. Waiting to make my next post because I was just sure the next entry should be about McKay's first words. I guess I should of remembered what my grandfather taught me about wishing. "Wish in one hand and spit in the other--see which one gets full first."
McKay's ear tubes and echo went so well that we packed up that very night and drove down to Southern Utah for the weekend. I love running the annual half marathon every January and McKay seemed as right as rain so we hit the road.

We made the trip with friends and it was a busy, but fun weekend of doing something--ANYTHING--different. It felt good to get away.

All the stress of the week paid off as I ran and ran and ran my way to my best half marathon time yet--a 1:45! They even had photographers out on the trail this year to capture the journey for me. They obviously used a high speed camera to capture such a crisp image of my wind-like motion :).

The kids had a great time exploring the red rocks with their friends. And Ty celebrated his second of what seemed a never-ending month of "I'm 7 Now!" cake and ice cream events. Whatever. Birthdays are magical--the only day (or month) of the year that's YOURS. I love to do them up right for my boys. And Ty is just about as great as they come. I feel like everyday he's becoming a new person. One I have to chat with and interview and ask hard and bendy questions to make sure I understand where he's coming from. In many ways I feel like I'm meeting him for the first time. And you know what's even better? I like who he is. He makes me proud. He is smart and funny and kind. His heart is solid gold. In fact, we may need to switch faiths in order to join a religion with a paid clergy. He's just that good, through and through.

Then we came home and I waited. I waited for the miracle that was supposed to be tubes. "Oh! Your life will be completely changed," people told me. He'll sleep through the night. He'll eat better. He's react and move and light up to sounds like he's never done before. So I waited. And I watched. And I loved on him. But the only thing that's changed with my dear and darling Mac-aroni is this:

Despite our very best efforts to isolate and protect and provide all the best preventative medications, McKay somehow, somewhere, can't-think-about-where-it-came-from-or-it-will- drive-me-right-to-the-edge has contracted RSV.

He's home. We're watching him. Giving him steam sessions and syringing every drop of mucus we can get close to. And we're waiting. Waiting. Wanting. Wishing. Hoping. Hoping that somehow his just-last-Tuesday dose of Synagis will ease the symptoms and prevent the virus from multiplying as it normally would. We're beyond hoping for words this week. We just want him to breathe. So far, so good.

Tonight it's on with the show at our house. And in our version of normal, we're shrugging our shoulders and counting our blessings. All in all things are good. I have spent today weepy with a sense of gratitude for the gift of perspective Christ continually gives to me. Just when I seem overwhelmed with worry or want for something I cannot control, God consistently steps in, let's me know He is there, and redirects my path to more productive pursuits. I have talents to give. I have love to offer. I have pain to feel. But mostly my life is joy. And I have His tender mercies to see me through it all. No more waiting. No more wishing. Because He will make sure today has everything I need.