Double Digits

July 20, 2017

Double Digits

Dear Elijah,

My baby, you are 10. I.Cannot.Believe.It. I still remember when you were in my tummy, waking me up every night with your persistent hiccups. I remember getting to the hospital and the nurse saying I couldn’t have pain medicine because you were coming too fast. And I remember holding you in my arms for the first time and thinking, “What the heck do we do now?”

Well, you made it this far. Mostly by the grace of God and not necessarily Daddy’s or my parental efforts. Nevertheless, we are incredibly proud of you, proud of our little boy who has grown into a thoughtful young man. Proud of your inquisitive mind, sensitive heart, and generous spirit. (However, your cheesy puns and bad “Dad” jokes I could live without!)

You love reading and Legos and learning facts and playing games. (Particularly rummy-You're on a BIG rummy kick. Grandma Bare would be so pleased!) We especially enjoy watching you get excited about new things. When you started trombone this past year, I was skeptical because 1) It weighed as much as you -and- 2) Your Dad and I have no musical talent whatsoever. Thankfully you followed in the steps of Granddad, Uncle Scott, and Great-Grandpa Duff, as you’re pretty good. After persevering in practice with Granddad (even if it was mostly for the ice cream reward), now you can play mean theme song renditions of Jaws and Star Wars. The important stuff, obviously.

Also, you made it to Maryland's geography bee this year! As if winning your school bee wasn’t enough, you took an online test and got to compete with the other 100 top 4th-8th grade geography bee scorers IN THE STATE. Totes wish we could take credit for this in some way, but it’s 100% you. I can’t even begin to name every ocean in the world (or element on the periodic table), much to your chagrin.

But, more than any of that, Dad and I are proud of your compassion, a.k.a. showing kindness how Jesus did. Most recently at our adoption yard sale fundraiser, your entrepreneurial/bake sale skills flourished! And then, without any prompting from us, you set aside a fourth of your proceeds for 2 children we sponsor. You separated those funds from the total profits and stacked them on the kitchen island. In your mind, that money was never intended for you. That’s weird in the best kind of way! Admittedly, this past year has been full of obstacles AND opportunities. Starting foster care required a learning curve for us all. You hadn't shared your house or your parents’ attention before! But you did better than we could’ve ever hoped. Not that it was always easy -M broke a lot of Legos and N woke us up early- but you mastered patience, compromise, and the art of distracting a baby! Honey, you are going to be such an awesome big brother. Seriously. I know that transferring our adoption was NOT part of the original plan. It’s been an unexpected and -at times- tough change. But I think God had something awesome in store for our family, your baby sister included, when He redirected us to India! And you get the side benefit of flying to Delhi with us-Woot woot, world traveler!

EPIC LIGHTSABER BATTLE!!

When you were a week or two old, Daddy and I strapped you into the stroller for your first official walk around the block. Clearly a monumental event. During our slow promenade, we were met by a neighborhood couple walking their Newfoundland. (A HUGE black dog. Bigger than Sirius or Bronx, like a giant, hairy muppet!) As we talked, their dog squeezed his enormous ugly mug through your buggy's canopied carrier. I repeat-His Chewbacca head was Inside.The.STROLLER! As we attempted to shift the beast, my brain went crazy-mode producing frenzied headlines: “Newborn Devoured by Rogue Local Muppet.” -or- “Hierarchy of Bad Moms from Hitler’s Mother to Laura Gross.” But instead of clamping your newborn noggin between his jaws, he merely gave you a massive lick and ambled on -dragging his apologetic owners behind. I was convinced we had just experienced the scariest moment of your entire life. Which *might have* been true at that point.

But then you kept growing and things got scarier. You learned people you love can mess up, get diseases, hurt your feelings, or even die. You found out that bad guys occasionally win. That the “d” word is actually “damn” not “dumb.” That during a school lockdown, you have to hide in a secured bathroom. You realized the Bible can be confusing and some people use it as a pretense to fuel hateful actions. You discovered the world is a broken place, where children don't always have loving homes and dreams might not come true. Just like we couldn’t shield you from that Newfoundland, we couldn’t protect you from this reality. (Although turning you into a bubble-wrapped burrito boy HAS crossed my mind.) Overbearing attempts to guard your heart would backfire, since you’re too perceptive for sugarcoated accounts of adversity or injustice. It’s hard but we give it to you straight. And I worry the traits we value in you -innocence and vulnerability- put a target on your back during these brutal days. But consider the experiences you’ve grown from: Playing bingo at the nursing home, so G’ma Bare could show you off to her friends. Lifting patients’ spirits by trick or treating through the more permanent resident wings at Dad’s hospital. Observing small town mindsets about race and history, then writing a short essay titled, “Why Martin Luther King Jr. should be President.” (Favorite Line: “If he DID become president, we would have to make more room on Mount Rushmore for his face.”) Preparing your very first bake sale and voluntarily donating part of the earnings to March of Dimes in memory of your friend Gabe. Attempting to better understand your sister’s heritage by immersing yourself in geography and world knowledge. This isn’t little stuff, buddy. You’ve handled difficult situations with the capacity of an adult. (A high-functioning, moral adult at that!) Dad and I continue to be impressed by your character and integrity.

Lastly, let me take you back to 2012. After an unsuccessful year of praying for a biological sibling through pregnancy, you asked me a question. “Mama, why can’t we have a miracle?” I can picture your 4 year old face saying it. And I still regret not responding, “Elijah, I have my miracle: YOU. We’re just waiting on a second one.” That’s the truth, son. You bring us so much joy, you make us investigate our beliefs, you challenge us, you crack us up every day. My blessing boy. Even though you prefer lemon Italian ice or orange sherbet to a chocolate PB cone (Sacrilege!), I can’t imagine these past 10 years of life without you in them. (Well, I can but they’d be SUPER boring and filled with stupid things like sleep.)