When you wish upon a star ...

Tonight, two really lovely young women from Make-a-Wish came to our house to talk with Little Warrior and find out what her wish is.

We asked her a couple of days ago, The Husband and I. She responded with, "To be a grownup." As in, right now. "Oh, you don't want to miss out on being a kid, going to school, being a teenager ..." I protested.

Have you ever seen a 3 year old roll her eyes at you?

And then after I explained that Make-a-Wish doesn't have that kind of power, she actually cut those self-same eyes at me. Like she knew they could, but I was saying no.

"Mom, quit harshing my buzz," she said.

Okay, she didn't say that. But all the rest is true.

Anyway, when they came out tonight, she told them that she wanted to go to DisneyWorld. To meet "everybody." The princesses, and Mickey Mouse, and Winnie-the-Pooh ...

(In case you haven't picked up on it, we're not one of those anti-Disney UU families.)

So, they have to do their paperwork, and contact our doctor to verify that it's okay for her to travel. If it's all approved, if they grant her this wish, then it's going to be ... well, beyond amazing. There's a special resort to stay at in Orlando called Give Kids the World that's just for wish kids. The resort itself is made to be a child's wish come true -- ice cream anytime you want it, a carousel, horseback riding, a life-size Candyland game. Their goal ... and the tears well-up every time I describe it, including now ... is to take all those family vacations that may not happen and jam pack them into one incredible week.

I was writing to my father about this tonight and I said that I understand how -- especially if you lose a child -- it would be easy to become bitter about life, about how hard it is. But based on our experience, it would be difficult to become bitter about your fellow humans. There's just something about sick children that seems to bring out the best in people. Well, my hero Louisa May Alcott said it best in Jack and Jill:

Jack obediently closed his eyes and listened while the boys sang "The Sweet By and By," softening their rough young voices for his sake till the music was as soft as a lullaby. He lay so still his mother thought he was off, but presently a tear slipped out and rolled down the red cheek, wetting her hand as it passed.

"My blessed boy, what is it?" she whispered, with a touch and a tone that only mothers have.

The blue eyes opened wide, and Jack's own sunshiny smile broke through the tears that filled them as he said with a sniff,

"Everybody is so good to me I can't help making a noodle of myself."

"You are not a noodle!" cried Mamma, resenting the epithet. "One of the sweet things about pain and sorrow is that they show us how well we are loved, how much kindness there is in the world, and how easily we can make others happy in the same way when they need help and sympathy. Don't forget that, little son."