Wednesday, October 6, 2010


Today my baby Robin turned thirteen.

This photo is from a band concert last Spring.  He was quite proud of his "fro" and was known around school for it.  It was a huge part of his identity, a way to stand out during the difficult middle school years when everyone is trying to show somebody they are somebody.

This is Robin shortly after he had me buzz his precious fro to show his support after I lost my hair.  He buzzed my head.  I buzzed his.

We still have our sheared woolly locks, each in a plastic grocery bag.  I don't know why we kept them.  We just did.  If you open and peek inside his bag, it looks like a Halloween fro wig.  Mine looks like a dead Pomeranian.

In the photo he is wearing an old pair of his Dad's glasses he was actually able to use.  He wore these for a few days after his glasses broke, and while we were waiting for his new ones. The size of those rims are Harry Potter like, and he is wearing his Halo headset.

With Husband gone to work, and Batman on tour all summer, there were so many days that Robin was my caretaker.  He was my gopher, housekeeper, and constant companion, flopping on my bed and hanging out during the early days of chemo when I was mostly in bed.

This precious child now teenager is an old soul with a kind heart.  He's an "A" student on the honor roll, an excellent musician, and a writer of very funny gross fiction.  He is an animal lover, and knows how to give a "pat pat there there now" better than any boy I've ever met.

He loves to tell me big fat white lies just to hear me say "You are kidding me!!!!" and then he says "uh huh" with an evil grin.  I fall for it every time, he is so convincing.

We called him "psycho baby" when he was a toddler; he'd get this crazed look in his eye and chase his cousins and growl as they would laugh hysterically.  Psycho baby is now psycho teen, has already had his first heartbreak, prefers boxers to briefs, and his favorite food, mac n cheese, has recently been replaced by fettuccine Alfredo.

Now he knows more about his Mom's boobies than any son his age should ever have to know.

For a long time, he wore a pink ribbon pin on his band sweatshirt every day.  One day in the boy's locker room some punk came up to him and teased him about the pin.  He didn't say anything, just gritted his teeth.  He told me about it and asked what should he do if it happened again.

I told him he had my permission to say the following to the bully:

"Look dickface, I wear the pin because my Mom has breast cancer.  Any questions?"

He laughed and loved that answer.

"I can say dickface?" he asked, grinning ear to ear.

"Yes son, in this circumstance."

Robin doesn't say much or ask much about my breast cancer or treatment.  He doesn't reveal much about his fears, although if I'm a few minutes late picking him up, he texts a lot just to make sure I am coming.  One night a few months ago, he said he woke up from a dream and was sobbing and sobbing, and didn't know why.

All that Robin needs to know he gets by looking at me.  Even on the days I was sickest, he never worried as long as I had a smile or a joke for him.  I always did.  

I wrote this early in my blog and let me say it again tonight.

With whatever I have accomplished and however I have failed and whatever is still out there for me, there is no greater thing I will ever do in this life than have, and love, and teach these boys.

No greater thing.

Happy Birthday Robin.  I love you son.  From the moment you were a pink plus sign on the stick I peed on, hoping I was pregnant.

No greater thing.

Love.  Love.  Love.


Anonymous said...


You have been soooo blessed with such a wonderful young man, Happy B- Day Robin!!!!!!


kim said...

Happy Birthday to "Robin"!! I remember when he was born. It doesn't seem like that long ago. I have pictures of him playing at my house. Mine turns 13 in a couple of weeks. Hard to believe. You have done a fantastic job with your boys.

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