Dear Gage,

It’s two months past your 7^th birthday, but I’m sure you won’t mind the timing of this, since you are the direct reason I don’t have time to write.

You’ve had quite a year between 6 & 7. Some good, some bad. You ended Kindergarten, Take One with a good start to Kindergarten, Take Two. For the first time ever, you started the school year somewhere in the middle developmentally with your peers.

In late June, you were getting more aggressive and it was not fun to be around you if you were the weaker one. It became apparent that you either needed to attend boarding school, appear as a guest on the show Nanny 911, or we would need to re-direct this behavior with the help of a trained professional. Enter in Dr. KATB (the man who Knows All Things Behavioral). By July we were instituting The Program, and things were slowly changing. It was not a fun process I tell you. All of those list-keeping and program-tweaking behavior modification changes on our part and all.

You entered school in a good place behaviorally and we had high hopes. It seems you would prefer to keep us off balance by testing us to the very core. At times we thought you won. But it turns out that we, in fact up to this point, are smarter than you (take that

little boy), and after months and a couple of thousand dollars, switching of classrooms, some tears (from Mommy), and a well-rounded program that is so complicated we need charts and graphs, we have found what works for you. It turns out that it is a mix of many programs, not just one, because you are complicated like that you know.                                         

You had some good times too. A couple of camps over the summer, visits to see cousin Andrew (who says “Right Gage?”

after everything he says), swimming lessons, tutoring, a week at the beach with Andrew and his ‘rents, actually playing with your sister, instead of teaching her the skills of a boxer, zoo trips, garden trips, aquarium visits, and the not-so-good times that have to do with those kidneys we lovingly call our mutant genetic history.

You are on a total of 11 medications now. Most of them are twice a day and of course that weekly shot that we both love so much. I love what the shot does I must say – it gives you energy to play. While you have spent the last year and a half running from me, having to be wrapped up with my legs and tears sometimes from both of us you no longer fight them. About a month ago you said “why do you pinch me when you give me the needle?” After I explained that I wouldn’t have to pinch if in fact you weren’t moving so much, you wanted me to show you how I would hold your arm if you didn’t move and I could literally see your mind at work. You actually let me give you the shot with no moving, no crying, and it was over. It only took you 18 months to come to terms with it all. That’s about right for you.

I used to think when you were a baby that you were an old soul. It turns out that your slow turning eyes – what I thought was soulful, deep thinking was really OMA. And probably your soul has never been here before. And you have to experience it all RIGHT NOW OR NOTHING IS RIGHT WITH THE WORLD.

Your biggest achievement so far into your 7^th year has been your starting to read. I didn’t believe your Interrelated Teacher last March when she said it would just “click” this year. In fact had she bet me $100, we would have not been able to pay for your swimming lessons. She was right. You starting recognizing words and it took off. For about two months you’d been reading the basic sight words in easy reader books. Now, you are starting to actually sound out letters and words. It’s all so magical to watch your brain cells grow. It’s a joy to watch you figure out how to read WHAT and WENT. Seriously. Some of the best memories I have are reading with you before bed. And picking you up after school the day you earned the Accelerated Reader 10 point button was a moment I’ll never forget. You wanted me to take your picture when we got home and you made Daddy come up from his office to share in the excitement.

You love to play outside and climb trees. You love to play cars and teacher. You love to garden and sweep. You love to clean and organize. You love to play funny little tricks on us and cinnamon and butter sandwiches are still your favorite. You don’t like meat. Or veggies. And soon, a nutritionist will meet her most challenging client ever – you

.

You are an amazing human. You’ve had some tough times in your little life. But somehow you act and think it is all just normal. Because I guess for you it is normal. Since you were three, we’ve talked about the medicine you take and that your kidneys don’t work like ours. And recently as your kidney transplant is no longer in the distant future, I’ve started talking to you about you getting a new kidney. I see you try to wrap your little mind around it and I know you just can’t right now. Just know that we’ll do whatever we have to do to help you find your way through your challenges.

And Gage, while your uncertain future is my greatest fear in life, your life and how you lead me to help you live in each moment is my greatest achievement. You’ve taught me so much more about the world and faith and persistence than I would have ever known without knowing your little soul. Thank you for being in my life.

I love you,

Momma