10 Years Ago . . .

Ten years ago, our nation was still trying to make sense of the terrorist attacks which had devastated us the year before. We were battling in Afghanistan, and were debating a second war in Iraq. The first tremors were hitting our economy with names like Enron and WorldCom. In the midst of all that, on June 4th, after an anxious but relatively easy labor, I met my son for the first time.

I held him, tiny enough to fit from hand to elbow in one arm, and felt a giant sense of relief. Past the point of no return, I could no longer fret over the decision to bring a child into this terrifying world. I fizzed with excitement.

Some children are old souls. You can see the wisdom in their newborn eyes, and know that they'll make it through. Sam was different. He shone with newness and was truly an innocent. When he slept he alternately frowned and chuckled as if angels were talking to him, as if they hadn't quite let him go yet. Everything was a wonder. I was awestruck with the incredible responsibility of protecting him, and teaching him.

In ten years, Sam has been as much my teacher as I have been his. He expanded my emotional capacity like a balloon inflating. Thanks to him I have know greater joy, stronger anger, unbridled frustration, and breathtaking fear. Above all, unquenchable love.

In our house today, wars involve Nerf guns and our battles are over homework. Sam's life has -- of course -- been shaped by the aftermath of the year in which he was born, but he has a brilliant innocence and quirkiness that eclipses current events. His gift to me is a constant undercurrent of hope. I am blessed to have him in my life. He has made me a better person, and I look forward to knowing him for many, many more adventures. Happy birthday, beloved son.

Not so little girl

Yesterday we celebrated Violet's 4th birthday. Holy Cow! We had a Tinkerbell cupcake-cake, she got several princess-themed presents, and she proudly told Mimi and grandpa all about her new baby doll. I suppose she's meeting all the right milestones, but lately I look at and listen to her and I feel like I'm at the wrong end of a telescope. It's like she's a fully formed person, and I'm seeing a distant echo of her. I barely recognize her - she's taller and more delicate than ever before, and she uses words like preposterous and actually and definitely, even though she still can't even say them correctly. She's also working on her ability to bat her eyes and manipulate people (doesn't work on me so much) and how to drive her brother crazy with just a glance. She is everything I want to see in a young woman, but I can't quite handle it now. I am a very lucky person to have my Violet in my life. Many happy returns, little one!

Seven

I'm astonished. Sam is seven. He's been seven for more than a month now. Seven years since I first met him, welcomed him with a sigh of relief that confounded Will. I look across these years and I can't remember so much of them; I am grateful for the pictures we took that captured who he was because he's so much more now, but I regret not memorizing every last moment, especially the trivial ones not worthy of a camera.

Sam is my salvation. Not on a personal level, but on a grander scale. He is, in every sense of the word, a child of September 11, 2001. He was conceived just before then, my pregnancy was clouded by those events, and that event will always be part of his culture. But my boy, my sweet child, carried me through. When I got scared or anxious about the world I was bringing him into, I promised myself that, in having a child right then, I was not only expressing my hope in the future, I was _making_ a future - one of love and family and goodness.

I remember the joy that filled me as I ran to his day care to see him, and the lightness that filled me when he lay (drooling!) in my arms. Now he challenges me and exasperates me and astonishes me, and I don't think I'm as good a parent as I could be, but I do know that my son is love and joy and heart, and I am grateful for the chance to know him.