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It’s done. The caps have been tossed. The gowns returned. Twelve years of school. A diploma in hand. He has gone from “the boy” to “the tween” to “the teen” to the “oh god, aren’t we done yet?”…and back to “the teen”…and now we move on to “The Adult.” He has big plans. He hopes to be in Florida by October. Working for Disney by 2017. Growing up and moving on. But he will always have a place right here. In the heart of our family. And he will always be my little boy. (I am tempted, but will not show the baby picture of him in this post…soon, I’m sure. Very soon).   Read more »

18 Years Old (Part 2)

More often than not anymore, our conversations turn toward what’s coming. Toward his inevitable departure. How he will move. What he will do when he is gone. How we will handle the adult things. Like a car. A job. Where he’ll live. What he’ll leave with. And come back for. There is no talk of college anymore, and I’m okay with that. Because he has plans and dreams. A lifetime career in the land of the mouse. He is taking a leap. A leap I never dared to take. To chase a dream. And we are ready to rally behind him, and encourage such reckless dream chasing. Or not so reckless – after all he’s a planner, a saver, a stingy penny-pincher, willing to go the distance to achieve his end-game. And yet… He is leaving. If all goes well, in seven or eight months we will get in a car and I will take him south, get him settled, and leave him to his future hundreds of miles away. The first to leave the nest. To strike out on his own and take chances, make friends, create a life. And I can only hope that we have given him the tools he needs to succeed. To live a life to its fullest. To care for his CF. To care for himself. To create a home. And while I have my worries, as all mothers do. I am proud that he is taking a risk to chase a dream. I have a strong feeling he’ll succeed. Read more »

by Sarah Cass

Multi-published author. Mom of 3 special needs kids. Wife to 1 good man.
Redefining Perfect every day.

Eighteen Years Old (Part 1)

This past week has been a momentous one. Denver turned 18, and got his driver’s license.  I am so proud of the man he’s become, but before I extol on the virtues of the man he’s become…I wanted to bring back this oldie but goodie birthday post of the past, nice and loaded with pictures of the younger Denver..because what would a birthday be without a little look back to the past? Time sometimes flies like a bird, sometimes crawls like a snail; but man is happiest when he does not even notice whether it passes swiftly or slowly. ~Ivan Turgeney Eighteen years ago as I was in labor, I still thought he was a girl.  The ultrasound said girl. Everyone said girl. My dreams said boy. My morning walk to induce labor I stopped not at the girls clothes rack, but at the tiny little suits, ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the teensy little ties. After three false labors I was forced to sit in the hotel room my Mom had reserved until I “Finally” stopped screwing around and gave birth already. (For the record, Denver was only 1.5 hours “early” for his due date.)  When my contractions were finally 3 minutes apart, my mom called my OB, who then demanded to know why we waited. She, in her dry and sarcastic glory informed him that she wasn’t about to take me in if I wasn’t going to actually have the baby. And so Denver made me a parent. With his perfectly round head and surprise appendage that made him decidedly NOT a girl, & made me wonder how in hell I was going to raise a boy. But he was perfect. The gorgeous blue of his eyes made me fall in love in an instant. Everything on time. Every milestone reached at JUST the right moment.  Every clothing size changing right at it’s declared time (0-3 months? Gone at three months. 3-6? Gone at six…it was eerie). He was happy.  Smart. Playful. Loving. He was my world. He was my mom and dad’s world. The first born grandchild. The first born great-grandchild. The star. Our family grew. It changed. Not always in the best, most fair ways for him. It never made him less loved. In many ways, being the parent of a teen is infinitely harder than raising the young ones.  He isn’t satisfied with easy answers.  He sees the world around him in such a different light.  He sees things that a younger child wouldn’t.  He understands and absorbs everything.  Things that I sometimes haven’t the slightest idea how to explain to him, to clarify. In his heart – he is a good kid, nay, he’s an excellent adult.  He is smart.  He is loving. He is annoyed with his parents.  Embarrassed that his mother has a tattoo and plans more.  He hates failure.  He strives to do his best and no one is harder on him when he fails than himself.  Interested in photography. Science. Math. Writing. Cross Country. He dreams big dreams. Of working at Disney to bring joy to others. Of volunteering at Give Kids the World to spread the love and caring he received at that marvelous place. He achieves big things. Advancements in Boy Scouts, Junior Honor Society. He struggles to fit in. He is 18. In so many ways. He is my baby. In so many ways – he always will be. Happy birthday to my oldest, my first born. 18 is a big number.  But you’re just getting started.   Read more »