Home alone

I had all sorts of grand plans today. Dig through the pile of work that awaited me at home, start to clear my impossibly backlogged inbox and generally wrap my head around what I needed to do to catch up and get ahead. As soon as Debbie left for school with the kids, I turned to the dog, heard the deafening silence of the suddenly empty house and realized I was truly alone for the first time in a week. It wasn't a good start to the day.

Thankfully I got help from all sorts of surprising places. I spoke to colleagues by phone. I IMd with my brother-in-law. Friends pinged me in Skype and comments continued to pour into my Twitter and Facebook pages - and here, of course. A friend I've known almost my entire life took me out to lunch and, for a couple of hours, managed to get me to think life was normal. It wasn't, and isn't, of course, but the break was both welcome and treasured.

As the day drew to a close, I had somehow managed to corral the bulk of my out-of-control docket. I spoke to the key folks who had so graciously let me freeze everything for the week, and slowly began the process of moving my outstanding work forward. Tomorrow will be another day. As will Friday, and beyond.

It's hard. No sooner do I start reading through something than my mind drifts back to the sad reality now faced by my entire family. As much as I'd like to seek refuge in the staid, safe world of words, reality seems to intrude anytime it pleases. So I go back, and try it again. And again, until I manage to make it through without interruption or drift or tears. My head, already rattled by days on end of little sleep and endless worry, just doesn't seem as sharp as it once was. I'm told this will pass, that the brain cloud is an understandable byproduct of trauma and stress. But as a writer who's used to ripping through work with a sharp-edged pen as my weapon of choice, reversion to a dull-faced, slow-to-respond instrument is a shock to the system.

But I'll stop whining now, because my lot in life pales in comparison to my mom's. At the end of the workday, Debbie came back home with the kids. The dog, who while I was out got himself stuck on top of the kitchen table and needed to be rescued (third time this month, if you're keeping score), barked madly at the front door as the kids tried, repeatedly, to move his wiggly form aside and get into the front hall. The silent, empty house quickly filled with noise and laughter. I still have my family, my boisterous brood, my routine. I can't get it out of my head that my mother does not, and there's nothing I can do about it.

I suppose my challenge as a son is to change that as best I can. It's another form of discovery I wish none of us had to make.

The journey home. The journey away from home.

We moved away from Montreal almost 13 years ago. After growing up, going to school, getting married and starting our family there, it was time to replant our branch of the family tree in a city 730 kilometres to the west. Since then, we've become all too familiar with the endless stretch of asphalt known as highway 401 - Canada's, and arguably North America's, busiest - and the aggressively incoherent drivers who menace those who simply want to get to their destination in one piece.

Thankfully, tonight we safely completed our journey despite a long day of near-constant torrential rainstorms punctuated by brilliant sun and even more brilliantly painted skies. Along the way, we texted my sister and brother-in-law as we drove through Toronto, and bantered back and forth with their kids, our munchkins' little cousins. We messaged my aunt - my dad's sister - and uncle as they winged back to Florida. We twittered a huge and hugely supportive community of family and friends, and smiled as responses flowed back to my BlackBerry. We opened the sunroof to watch an Air Canada 777 on final approach to Pearson International Airport pass so closely overhead that it felt like we could reach out and touch its landing gear. We called my mom to make sure she didn't feel alone. We called my mother-in-law to let her know we're praying she comes home from the hospital, healthy and soon. We said a little prayer that we had access to such technology that connected us so richly despite the fact that we were speeding away from them all.

After the trauma of the past few days, our subdued little family pulled into a rain-soaked driveway and opened the door on a suddenly-changed home. The kids helped unpack the van as we tucked cordless phones onto our shoulders and called everyone that mattered to let them know we were here, and that we couldn't stop thinking of them. I walked the dog for the first time in what seemed like ages, relishing the simple pleasure of watching an innocently happy animal romp through the damp grass. We changed into jammies and lingered over tuck-in.

And as the dog curled up in a tiny, impossibly cute ball on my side of the bed, I tiptoed through the darkened house, stopping in each munchkin's room to kiss their heads and tell them that I loved them. Dahlia and Noah were fast asleep, but Zach was still awake. We chatted for a couple of minutes before I held him one last time and headed back to bed. My dad used to tuck us in the same way, and as I trundled back into our room and carefully moved the dog over, I felt a tiny twinge of connectedness to a man who may no longer be alive, but whose spirit clearly lives on in those of us who carry his name and his legacy.

I hope to find more twinges like this one in the days and weeks to come.

Forget the past. Embrace the future.

We've been living in quite the bubble for the past week. It's almost unfathomable to me that at the very moment I write this, we mark exactly one week since my father died. As unreal as the whole thing still seems, I suppose there will be many such milestones ahead of us, where we simply stop and think it's been X days, weeks, months, years since it happened.

And as my incapable brain has absorbed countless words of comfort from countless friends and family members, the one that continues to resonate in my mind revolves around the past and the future. A dear friend of our family since long before I can remember pulled me aside in shul (synagogue) tonight and said the last thing I want to do is dwell on the past. Nothing I can do will ever change it, and focusing on it will only bring me pain. The future's the thing. And we must do everything in our power to build a strong one, no matter what may have happened to us up until now.

Of course, I'm not explaining it right. I can't formulate words all that well right about now, and I'm praying my writer's voice returns, in force, later this week when I return home to a growing pile of deadlined work. Somehow, I know it'll get done. And I'll reach into a reserve I hardly knew I had before last week to find new ways of being there for my mom and reaching out to my sister and my brother. I'll also need to be an even better husband and dad as I figure out how to help my wife and kids adapt to this new, sadly changed reality.

How this will all happen, I have no idea. But it'll happen somehow. It has to. I told my wife earlier tonight that I feel broken. Although I have no prior experience, I suppose every loss like this leaves us all changed in some way. I know none of us will be the same, but I still find myself looking for the good, and knowing that he'd want us all to figure out a path that takes the lessons he taught us and helps us build a more vibrant future.

As I figure out the how, I'll do my best to share it here. I hope you'll do the same, because I can use all the advice I can get.

Waiting. Haunted.

This is one of the waiting rooms at the Jewish General Hospital in Montreal. It's where I found myself earlier this afternoon, after we completed shiva in honor of my late father (still coming to grips with seeing these two words in stark black and white.) My mother-in-law had just come out of surgery and was in recovery...a story for another day, but for now, I hope you'll join me in praying for her health.

As I sat there wondering about life, death and sickness, I realized how this very place had figured so centrally in so much of my father's journey. I thought of how often we had gathered right here as a family for him. And how we were doing the same thing for my wife's mom, who I also call "Mom", now.

It reinforced that life, in whatever form, goes on. And that this place will haunt me for longer than I care to admit.

Quick note: Yom Kippur - the Jewish Day of Atonement - starts tonight. As we're in Montreal, I'll be marking the holiday, with a heavy heart, with my family at my father's congregation, the Young Israel of Chomedey. It's a place where his impact is felt in almost every nook and cranny. I also practically grew up there. Expect radio silence until later tomorrow eve. Whatever traditions you follow, please know I wish you only good health, happiness, community and peace in the coming year. Gmar chatimah tovah.

Update - Feb. 28, 2013: Apologies for this note from the future, everyone. But I'd be remiss if I didn't somehow connect this moment to the here-and-now. My mother-in-law passed away on Feb. 22, and I keep thinking back to this day over three years ago in the hospital, and the conversation we had when we first saw her after my dad's funeral. It was brutal then, and it's brutal now. Loss is never easy, and I'd be lying if I said I had any idea how to navigate any of this. Updated link here. Entry 2 here.

Symbiosis on hold

It's no coincidence that the first word in social media is "social". As a new-millenium communications medium, it raises the art of two- and multi-way communication to a new level. People who missed that memo and use the tools for one-way messaging without somehow finding a way to leverage the value of everything that flows in the opposite direction are missing a golden opportunity.

So it's with great difficulty that I see, fleetingly, the wave of incredible support that friends and family have been providing all week, and I barely have the time, cycles or emotional capability to acknowledge any of it. Detailed, supportive emails, Facebook comments and instant messages pour in from everywhere - around the corner, Georgia, Israel, California...you name it - and all I can do is read them on my BlackBerry when I have a free moment and pray that the sender knows how grateful I am.

So if I haven't gotten back to you yet, please know that I got the message, it touched me in ways I could never have imagined, and I'll close the loop at some point in time when I feel ready to get back to the keyboard. For now, please accept my deepest thanks and appreciation. Knowing how blessed we are by the community that surrounds us has given us immense strength these last few days.

Random observations from an unreal journey

I had a few free moments between waking up from non-sleep and letting the fog of a massive headache settle back into its now-near-permanent place in my head, so I thought I'd start jotting down some things I've noticed over the past couple of days.

With apologies for bad formatting - I'm doing this on my BlackBerry, tapping it out intermittently through the morning, in between visits from friends and family - here goes:

- I find myself staring at people I've known my entire life as I try to remember their names. Inevitably, after a few uncomfortable seconds me me flailing around in confusion, I fail and have to ask them who they are. The response, usually in a "I can't BELIEVE you don't remember me" tone, sets me straight and reminds me just how compromised my head is these days.

- I sometimes jokingly blame my memory issues on my sudden-onset "brain cloud" - a reference to an old movie that nobody remembers (bonus points if you guess it right.) The attempted humor doesn't seem to bring smiles to their faces. I find myself wishing I knew how to recapture the funny.

- It's impossible to put into words how blessed we are with friends who dropped everything and ran cross-country to be here for us. I don't know what I ever did to deserve friends so remarkable that I see them as family, but whatever it is I'm glad I did.

- People don't change. Those who have always been mean-spirited, petty, self-centred and/or vindictive are renewing my belief in the inability of leopards to change their spots. Whatev...I've got other things, and people, to worry about.

- It's easy to feel that you're ok when you're surrounded by a room of people. Conversations about anything and everything - catching up on kids, careers and lives and arguing about the Canadiens-Maple Leafs - keep the dark, sad thoughts that hang over you temporarily at bay. But once it gets quiet, you're left alone with your thoughts. Or someone close to you starts to cry and you rush to be there. Or you catch sight of a picture and realize what you've lost.

Either way, not my best day.

More soon...

As the sky lightened...

...this morning, I stared at our kids as they slept. They tossed and turned restlessly, largely due to the fact that in a period of barely 24 hours, their entire world had been turned upside-down and they now found themselves sleeping on floors and couches hundreds of miles away from home.

I did the same thing early yesterday morning. I stood in our youngest son's room and watched him sleep. Peacefully, with that look of mixed contentment and happiness that he seems to carry with him every moment of every day. I secretly wished that I could slow down time, because I knew when he woke up and we told him what had happened while he slept, that look of contentment and happiness, that bubble of childhood innocence that I've long written about, would evaporate. I knew nothing would ever be the same for him, and I knew there was nothing I could do to change or fix it for him.

So I hovered, and tried to remember every last detail of what he looked like at that, fleeting moment. Of what that bubble looked and felt like before it went away for good. Or at least a long while.

And sure enough, as night turned to day, he stirred. And when he did, my wife and I were there to tell him what had happened just a few hours before. And he cried. Which only made us cry. So we held him close, our tears falling on his neck, and told him it was okay to cry. Because that's how nine-year-old boys, and their parents, learn about incalculable sadness and loss. About how despite a parent's seeming invincibility, there are things they cannot fix.

Today he'll hold onto his older brother and sister, and to us, as he attends his first funeral, his Zaidy's. I know he'll cry, as will we, for a grandfather he'll always love and always miss and always hear and see in his mind's eye. And tonight I'll hover over him again. And watch for signs that the bubble, albeit irrevocably changed and scarred, has returned in some form.

2:23 a.m.

It's never good news when the phone rings in the middle of the night. Tonight was no different.

It was my mom. My dad died suddenly earlier tonight.

I don't quite know what to say or do, except our kids will be up in a few hours, and I can't even begin to imagine how I'm going to find the right words to tell them.

Some days, I wish life could be easier. Or longer. Today is one of them.

Relics of an industrial past

Where beer is made
Montreal, QC, August 2009 [Click to embiggen]

The scene: Late afternoon. I'm walking along the eastern edge of Montreal's downtown core with our oldest son. I've just finished the second of two national television interviews and we're making our way back to the car. It's been an adventure for him, as he's gotten to see what I do in a place we moved away from when he was a toddler. We banter about everything and anything as we decompress from the intense couple of hours we've just experienced. It's a day I hope he carries with him for a long time.

We walk past the Molson brewery. The fact that I barely drink anything, let alone beer, doesn't faze me as I admire the multifaceted old building in the golden glow of a lovely evening. We stand on the sidewalk and stare intently at it because it's a perfect example of function dictating form, and a proud icon of a city that's lost so many stalwarts since I was a kid. But not this one. It's also the perfect excuse to stretch our alone-time before we have to head back home.

Your turn: A moment you remember from your childhood. Please discuss.

About this photo: We're (slowly) winding down this week's Thematic Photographic theme, urban (click here to toss yours into the ring.) Tomorrow (Wednesday) at 7:00 p.m. EDT, I'll post the launch entry for next week's theme. And what will that theme be? Glad you asked:

Temporary

If it's here today, gone tomorrow - or gone in a blink - then I'm hoping you'll consider sharing it. Check back here tomorrow to see what all the fuss is about.

Mackenzie Phillips, please go away

The headlines began quite ominously earlier this week. Mackenzie Phillips, the star crossed child actress whose ongoing battles with drug addiction have scarred her career and her life for the better part of the last three decades, was scheduled to appear on Oprah Winfrey's show this Wednesday. She was going to drop a bombshell.

Pause for dramatic-sounding music from your favorite entertainment "journalism" program. There, I'm good. Let's continue.

If my deep and extensive research is on target, her big bombshell revolves around allegations that her late father, John Phillips (aka Papa John) of The Mamas and the Papas, raped her on the eve of her wedding, and later carried on an ongoing sexual relationship with her.

Pause. Ew. There, I'm good. Well, not really, but the initial wave of nausea has passed. So let's continue.

I wasn't there, of course, so I can't validate or dispute her claims. Coincidentally, neither can Papa John, who died in 2001. But I can conclude that this is an integral component of a perfectly orchestrated plan to sell more copies of her book, High on Arrival. Also coincidentally, the book is being released...tomorrow.

It's almost as if the great big daytime media machine needs an endless supply of sad sacks to keep the masses titillated and primed to buy whatever it is that keeps the machine oiled and fed. Wait, not almost. It is.

I find myself wishing Ms. Phillips would fade into an obscurity that allows her to finally heal. But even if she mercifully does just that, there's a never-ending lineup of celebs waiting to take her place.

Your turn: What compels people to bare all in public? What compels regular folks to lap it all up like bees consume nectar?

Velo at rest

Parked curbside
Toronto, ON, May 2008 [Click to enlarge]

About this photo: We're celebrating urban week as part of the latest Thematic Photographic. If this seems somewhat cryptic, please click here for some background.

The lowly bicycle gets precious little respect in the big city. Motorists honk it off the road. Building owners force riders to lock up outside. Thieves lurk in the shadows, ready to claim your ride as their own.

Years ago, when I commuted to a decidedly bike-unfriendly office, I bought a beater mountain bike to ensure the thieves picked someone else's ride when they came by. And sure enough, every couple of weeks, another newly bikeless colleague would post a forlorn notice by the bike racks at the back the building, asking if anyone saw anything before said set of wheels disappeared forever. (Rule #1: Never have the nicest bike on a shared rack. Rule #2: See Rule #1.)

Security aside, when I see a sturdy old bike locked up outside, I feel a little stab of hope that the city won't be completely swallowed by the almighty car, that the motor-driven chaos that defines life in these green-free zones can slowly be clawed back by silent citizens spinning their pedals. It's idealistic of me to think this way. And probably a whole lot of unrealistic, too. But all revolutions, no matter what form they may take, have to start somewhere. May as well be a sun drenched sidewalk on a gorgeous afternoon.

Your turn: Who rides this bike?

Caption This 137

Please caption this image
[Click here for Caption This instructions]
London, ON
March 2008
Click photo to enlarge

About this photo: It's urban week all week long, and this scene supports that vision of our not-quite-natural surroundings. To see where it all began - and hopefully share a Thematic perspective of your own - head over here.

The building that once stood around this forlorn doorway no longer exists. For the record, it was a worn out, utterly forgettable three-storey apartment block at the edge of a neighborhood that most of us would usually avoid at night.

The modern apartment building that is now going up on this site will soon welcome new tenants - and hopefully a new sense of security and community for a part of town that has long had little of either.

Your turn: Got a creative caption for this photo? If so, please click the comment link and share as many suggestions as you wish. Winner gets posted next Sunday. If you're new to Caption This, click here to see where it all began.

About last week's photo of a bird in flight: We're two weeks into the school year here, and I already miss the beach. Nothing stops us from returning, of course, but the day just isn't the same when you're not surrounded by crowds of like-minded city folks, all hoping to escape the heat. Maybe we simply need to reset our expectations as the temperatures continue to fall. Until then, this photo reminds me of what it felt like to have warm sand on my back and the sound of our happy children in my ears.

Mojo's "Mile High Club" takes the cake this week, because it gave this scene a much needed dose of levity. If you've ever wondered whose work I study to try to become a better photographer, please visit his blog, Why? What have you heard? for confirmation. In a word, he's got vision.

Ticky tacky boxes

My main drag
London, ON, April 2008 [Click to enlarge]

About this photo: Thematic Photographic explores urban this week. Please click here to participate. In the meantime, Carmi explores the intricacies of the Jewish New Year (5770, if anyone's counting) and is otherwise happily occupied with family, friends, personal reflection and a whole lot of eating. Thank you, Google, for implementing forward-timed entries. Back live Sunday eve.

Dundas Street runs east-west from the river that defines the midpoint of our city right out to, and beyond, the eastern edge of town. While it eventually turns into a bucolic regional highway that rolls through staggeringly beautiful farmland, this stretch of it is known as the spine of London's long-suffering downtown core, a street that used to be a magnet for the region, but is now struggling to overcome decades of suburban flight, botched urban planning and endless political small mindedness.

In so many respects, this road is little different than similar ones in other major - or even minor - cities anywhere on the planet. Except this one's in my town, and the never-ending discussion of what to do about it has colored my life here since the day I moved here. I so wish I could roll up my sleeves and fix it.

Troubled as it is, Dundas Street still possesses the capacity for hidden beauty. Walking along on a bright Sunday morning, it's easy to forget about the difficulties that plague this place. The storied facades that could tell us so many stories stand proud against a streetscape that's waiting for someone to write its next chapter. All we need to do is take the time to look and listen.

On this morning, I'm glad I did just that. I hope you are, too.

Your turn: Urban renewal. Please discuss.

Smoggy morning

Choked
Shanghai, China, May 2007

It's 5:14 a.m. local time. I'm sitting in the empty restaurant/bar at the very top of my hotel, hoping that I'm not pushing things too far by being here. On my last foray up here (floor 66, if it matters), I was 'discovered' by an employee who didn't speak English, but seemed perturbed that I was even here. So while he expressed his displeasure in a language I could not understand - and presumably skittered off for reinforcements - I did some skittering of my own and ran, chicken-like, back to my room.

I'm silly that way, risking international incidents in exchange for photo ops.

This photo speaks urban in ways I couldn't even begin to describe in words. Just don't breathe in.

Your turn: If you've got an urban vision, please pop over to the launch entry for this week's Thematic Photographic and go to town. Literally.

Thematic Photographic 67 - Urban

90 degrees from nowhere
San Francisco, CA, July 2008

This week's Thematic Photographic theme, urban, reflects my belief that the seemingly endless process of paving and repaving the planet leaves lessons behind that we'd do well to learn. It's not a question of, to quote The Hulk, "Urban/bad, nature/good." Rather, it's a reminder that we should never be in such a rush to get through the day that we don't stop and wonder how the places that surround us came to be.

Because if we lose the ability to ask those "why" questions, we may as well pack up our tents and head home.

Your turn: Thematic Photographic is your opportunity to share your photographic vision with like-minded folks. Here's how it works:

• Every Wednesday evening, at precisely 7 o'clock Eastern, I post a new Thematic Photographic entry.
• Each entry has a unique theme. This week's is...urban!
• You post a similarly themed image over on your blog.
• You paste a link to your entry in a comment here.
• If you've already posted something that fits (on a blog, Facebook, MySpace, wherever) simply post the link to the existing entry. Old or new, all photos are welcome.
• You may post as many photos or links as you wish. For the next week, I'll be supporting this theme with a related picture/posting each day. I encourage you to do the same. This is all about sharing, so feel free to share to your heart's content!
• Please share this link with friends, too, and encourage them to join in. The more, the merrier.
• And please accept my thanks for your enthusiasm. Your participation has made TP a true highlight for me each and every week.

Windows on the world

Glassy cubism
Montreal, QC, August 2008 [Click to embiggen]

Say what you want about modern architecture - that it can be boring, repetitive, uninspiring, or completely lacking in imagination - but when you combine large expanses of glass with densely built up neighborhoods, you could spend days simply walking the streets and enjoying the ever changing, kaleidoscopic results.

To wit, this streetscape in the middle of downtown Montreal. I grew up in this city and worked for years mere blocks away. Yet it took a quiet morning's walk with my wife to realize I had never really taken the time to appreciate everything around me.

I need to get out more often.

Your turn: The appeal of windows. Please discuss.

Coming up: New Thematic Photographic theme launches tonight at 7:00 EDT. It will be:

Urban

Happy mulling. See ya after 7...

What's left of shiny

Expensive leftovers
London, ON, August 2009

What starts life as aesthetic perfection often ends up a forlorn pile, ignored in the shadows by those who pass mere footsteps away.

A sobering thought on so many levels, no?

Your turn: After the shine wears off, what's left?

About this photo: Thematic Photographic's week of shininess ends tomorrow at 7 p.m. when we unveil the new theme for the coming week (new theme suggestions welcome.) Until then - and even beyond, as deadlines apply only in the real world, not in my make-believe blog one - please feel free to click here to share your own shiny vision.

Caption This 136

Please caption this image
[Click here for Caption This instructions]
Grand Bend, ON, September 2009 [Click to embiggen]

About this photo: The sun is shiny. Coincidentally, this week's Thematic Photographic theme is shiny. Are you shiny, too? Of course you are. Head here to close the loop.

I often point my camera at the sky. It'll always return something different, and it'll always be challenging because cameras don't necessarily like having their sensors bombarded by a gigantic bag of galactic gas. The sun may be 93 million miles away from our planet, but it still does insane things to the exposure meter.

So as I recorded a lone bird flying under the shiny source of all known life on our planet, I smiled at how peaceful the moment felt, and how I'd like to spend more time sitting on the ground wondering about the ever changing world above.

Your turn: Please come up with a smart-sounding caption for this image and share it in a comment. Participate as often as you like, as we encourage serial captioning. For more info on how Caption This works, click here.

About last week's photo of my father in a cemetery: This was a very hard picture for me to shoot, as it forced me to think of a lot of things I'd rather not think about. But life's got a way of evolving in its own way, and we rarely have the chance to fundamentally change the route it ultimately takes. So we accept whatever it is that gets thrown at us. Honorable menschens - and sincere thanks - go to Lissa for "Grave reflections" and Quilly for "I still grieve."

MorahMommy takes it for "Through my father's eyes." As many of you know, she's my wife, and she encouraged me to take this journey on this day with my father. It's through her eyes that I've been able to have the life that I have. If you haven't had a chance to introduce yourself, please drop by her blog, Adventures of Motherhood, and say hi.

No one puts Baby in the corner

Patrick Swayze has died. The star of Dirty Dancing and Ghost succumbed earlier today to the cancer that defined the last 21 months of his life. He was 57, the same age his father was when felled by a heart attack.

I have little interest in the cult of celebrity that worships at the very altar of those who choose to lead their lives in front of the camera. The mere sound of Entertainment Tonight fading in - complete with Mary Hart's voice of faux-concern - is enough to give me hives. But given the pervasiveness of pop culture and the near-universal impact it has on everyone, every day, I find it fascinating to see how the rapid evolution of new media influences how we hear about celebrity milestones.

For example, most people would have heard about the sinking of the Titanic via newspapers, the end of WWII by radio and the fall of Saigon on television. I heard about Diana Spencer's death by the web, and Michael Jackson's passing via Twitter. Same thing with Swayze. I wasn't looking for it: it simply cropped up multiple times as I logged into the service.

I guess we have a new early warning system, and it lives, quite firmly, in new media Be that as it may, I hope this new world of celeb coverage gives his family members the peace and privacy they deserve as they grieve his loss. At some point, you just wish the Twitter feed would simply stop.

Your turn: Where you hear about stuff. Please discuss.

She grows up

Shiny happy person
Grand Bend, ON, September 2009

She'll give you the last of whatever she has. She'll drop everything she's doing to help. She'll listen to you for as long as you need a friendly ear. She'll find the person in a crowd who needs her most and make sure she's there when the time's right.

Sandwiched in the middle of two brothers, she's grown a spine seemingly made of titanium, but is still so sweet that my wife and I often wonder how we got so lucky to have her. I know parents are supposed to be proud of their kids. But even if that unwritten rule hadn't been written somewhere, we'd feel the same way. She's the kind of daughter any parent would be elated to have.

She turned 12 yesterday, which was a bit jarring given how it was only yesterday that I stood over her newborn form and wondered what had happened to the rest of her. She was a tiny little thing, born early on a dark, rainy morning in a city that was still new and strange to us. As she's grown, we've grown, too, laying down roots in this place and making it our home. In so many ways, she's helped us find our way. She makes friends easily, finds her groove without our help, dives right into whatever she's up to - school, homework, taking care of the dog, whatever - and just gets it done. Of course we worry about what the future brings all of us, but we don't worry about her ability to navigate the world.

She has so many chapters ahead of her, and I have so many words left to write about a delightful life that continues to enrich our family. I'm already looking forward to seeing where she plans on taking us all.

Your turn: It's a weekend of happies around here, as Dahlia was born the day before Debbie's birthday. Which reminds me, I need to get cracking on her cake..bye! While I'm gone, what should they wish for in the year to come?

One more thing: Debbie shared her thoughts on our young lady's big day on her blog.