…when you burst into the world in record time (less than 30 minutes in the hospital) and at a whopping 10 pounds and immediately demanded to be nursed.

You were ready for this world since before you were born.

…when the children’s librarian said you walk with such determination, like you know exactly what you want and where you want to go — at the grizzled old age of about 18 months.

You are at home wherever you are.

…when your preschool teacher, Noreen, told us during a parent-teacher conference, “Olivia loves everyone, and everyone loves Olivia.”

You are a kind spirit with an open heart and an open mind.

…when, at age 4, you decided to hoard trash and anything else you thought might be thrown away (other children’s artwork, for example) because you thought everything, even trash, was too precious to end up in a garbage can.

You see beauty everywhere.

…when you decided, at age 7, to become a vegetarian because you didn’t want animals to die so you could have dinner.

You put compassion before comfort and convenience.

…when you switched schools and hit the ground running at Elsmere with joy and excitement and anticipation of all that could be rather than sadness over what was.

You look at the future as filled with possibility, seeing “what if..” as a positive not something to fear.

…when you decided you wanted to take camps in blacksmithing, archery, and horseback riding one summer, which followed the year you did photography and Iroquois camp.

You were then and are now my Renaissance girl — beautiful inside and out, talented at everything you attempt, brilliant in school and in life, funny enough to make others laugh and laugh at yourself, self-aware but not self-conscious, full of joy and laughter, unafraid to try new things, unafraid to be who you are, unafraid to dream the biggest dreams you can dream up.

You say some day you’ll live in Paris or Hawaii or California, and I have no doubt wherever you want to go, you’ll get there. One minute you want to be a dentist, then a vet, then a marine biologist, or maybe a photographer or an actress or a chef. I love that you see the whole world as wide open, nothing impossible, nothing not worth considering.

I used tell people I want to be Olivia when I grow up. But now, as you head off to high school and inch closer to adulthood, I just can’t wait to see what you become when you grow up because I know that just going along for the ride will be amazing.

I love you. I admire you. I am so proud of you. Happy birthday, Olivia Irene.

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I decided to take a deep breath and head into Olivia’s room for a bit of de-cluttering today. We needed to move summer clothes out and winter clothes in, but it’s not nearly so simple with my beloved 10-year-old middle child. She is a collector, a pack rat extraordinaire. I dare any other 10-year-old to top her. And just so you know I’m not exaggerating, let me take you through just one drawer in her bedroom. That is where I discovered the items above. I’ll introduce you.

On the left we have her collection of “whistling acorns,” and, trust me, she practices her acorn whistling all the time. Next we have “Spoonella.” Yes, that is a plastic spoon with a pipe cleaner wrapped around it. You might not be able to see her little eyes and nose, but they’re there. Next in our crazy lineup is my personal favorite: Pinkie. When I pulled this little gem out of the drawer and started to toss it into the trash bag because it is the broken heel off a plastic dress-up shoe, Olivia screamed. It’s a dog. She turned a broken shoe into a dog and will not part with it. Need I say more? Why, yes. I do need to say more.

Bringing up the rear in our photo is the balloon she got at a gymnastics birthday party one year ago. Apparently she’s holding onto this one to see just how small it will get. That, too, was saved from the trash heap. And, what I wasn’t able to photograph for fearing of ruining furniture was the oozing bag of “goop” brought home from school last year. This mix of water, glue and who knows what else was seeping out of its sandwich bag and onto everything around it. That I threw away, despite the arguments.

So there you have it. I could go on and on…the shoe box full of “fossils,” the Hello Kitty tin of tags saved off clothing (she bequeathed this to Chiara today), the endless stacks of journals with one page written in each — the one to save the pandas, the one to save the earth, the one to document nature, the one to catalog fairies, the one for her detective “business.”

Despite my frustration over the disaster that is her room, this kid makes me smile and smile. Just writing this post and thinking about her wide-eyed face as she described Spoonella makes me happy. And Spoonella isn’t the only one of her kind. She has family somewhere among Olivia’s friends. Did I ever have an imagination this amazing? I don’t think so. How I wish I could go back to that magical place if only for a day.

Go ahead, open a drawer. You never know what kind of treasures you might find.

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Olivia, our middle child, is one of those kids who can’t see someone hurting without wanting to do whatever she can to make it better. It’s a quality she’s always had. Even back in preschool, I can remember her teacher sitting down at our first conference and saying, “Olivia loves everybody, and everybody loves Olivia.”

Olivia, 9, has a heart of gold. Her love for everybody and everything is the main reason she became a vegetarian almost two years ago and has never wavered. She stated it simply: She did not want an animal to die so she could eat. Where other parents may have insisted she eat what everyone else is eating, we could not. Why? Because there was no denying her decision was pure Olivia, and we weren’t going to squash that spirit.

After our dog died, we told the kids, “No more pets.” But about six months later, as Olivia trolled the website of the local humane society, our resolve began to weaken. “Never” became “maybe,” which eventually became “after vacation,” which finally became “Get your coat; we’re going to the humane society.” We headed there for one cat in particular: Fred, who was described as super friendly and able to get along with kids and general chaos. Perfect for our house. We left the shelter that day with Fred and an unrelated but incredibly cute kitten named Mirabella. Without Olivia’s caring heart and constant badgering, we would not have this feline pair that, I have to admit, adds a little bit of fun to our house despite the damage they sometimes do.

When the Haitian earthquake hit, Olivia saw images of suffering Haitian children on TV and said, “We should adopt a Haitian baby.” She said it not as if she was asking a question but as if she was making an absolute statement. It was beyond difficult to explain to her that as much as we would like to be able to do such an incredibly generous thing, we simply are not in the position to do it. “We have no room,” we said. “Chiara can share my room and we’ll give the baby her room,” Olivia responded. “Adopting a baby costs a lot of money,” we said. “You can have everything in my piggy bank and anything else I get,” she answered.

It was touching and heartbreaking to see how desperately she wanted to help those poor children. Olivia cares deeply, but does she care too deeply? Is it possible to care too deeply? I pondered that and thought about the more radical saintly people of our faith – St. Francis of Assisi, Blessed Mother Teresa, Dorothy Day. These holy men and women would have said, “You can never care too deeply. You can never give too much.” Nevertheless, the ways of the world simply don’t allow us to give away everything when we see people in need. We have to strike a Gospel-centered balance, but that’s not easy.

As we headed to church one Sunday, Olivia and Noah loaded their pockets with allowance money for the Catholic Relief Services collection to benefit Haiti. After a quick mom-dad conference, we sent them back to their rooms and helped them come up with a more reasonable amount. We were trying to honor their generosity while teaching them how to give intelligently and carefully. And they, in turn, were reminding us that we are called to give more with our hearts than with our heads.

I look into Olivia’s eyes and see an ideal, the way we all could be if we lived according to God’s ways and not the world’s ways. And I have a feeling that she’s going to grow up and show me and everyone else that it is possible to live that ideal because Olivia is not going to let a little thing like the world get in her way.

To read previous Life Lines columns, visit my website at www.marydeturrispoust.com

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With Noah labor went on for a while. The first time around, I ate an egg breakfast, took down our Christmas tree, paid some bills and did some cleaning, all with contractions about five minutes apart. I expected more of the same with Olivia. When Dennis called the midwife around 2 a.m. and told her I was already on the floor, she told us to high-tail it to the hospital, which we did — with me insisting that we could park in the regular garage instead of emergency. But, fortunately, calmer heads prevailed and we parked in ER, zoomed up to labor and delivery and waited for my sister to arrive to watch Noah and the midwife to arrive to catch the baby. Midwife got there and immediately put on scrubs, which confused me since I expected to walk around and breathe heavily for a while. Nothing doing. We called my sister to find out why she wasn’t there yet (We wanted Noah present for the birth but knew we needed an adult to keep an eye on him). The car was still parked in ER. The camera was nowhere to be found. Noah was shoeless because of our mad dash out of the house. It was all a blur.

Less than 30 minutes after I entered the hospital, and only minutes after my sister arrived to hold Noah’s hand, Olivia Irene blasted onto the scene — all 10 pounds of her. I don’t really even remember pushing. Maybe once. She just powered her way out and then proved herself to be a champion nurser to boot.

Nine years later, I look at my girl in amazement. She is smart and funny and beautiful and artistic and athletic and curious and kind and all of the things I had hoped she would one day be. She was a gift when she arrived in that Austin hospital in the wee hours of the morning, and she is a gift today. We are blessed. Happy birthday Olivia. We love you. Here’s a brief look at Olivia’s life in photos…

Her baptism in Austin in the chapel at St. Edward’s University with Deacon Orton and godparents Aunt Linda and Uncle Fred:

At E-ma’s 90th birthday party almost seven years ago:

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The fighting began. Chiara was screaming at Olivia in the family room, “Open your eyes! Open your eyes!” When Olivia did not open her eyes or respond to questions, Chiara ran into the kitchen to tattle. Dennis and I immediately called to Olivia and asked, Why? Why? WHY???!!!??? wouldn’t she just answer and look at her sister. We told her to go to her room, and she did, crying hysterically the whole way. When the crying continued to get louder and more frantic, I went up there to put an end to the insanity. That’s when Olivia told me, through barely contained sobs, that the reason she had her eyes closed and was not talking was because she was following the instructions in the Centering Prayer book I brought home for the kids from Denver.

That’s right folks. We punished our daughter for practicing Centering Prayer. Can anyone top that? I really doubt it.

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We had lots of giggling and screaming and little girl politics, which can rival anything going on in the presidential campaign these days. People often think that girls are so much easier than boys. The reality is that girls are just different than boys but certainly no less challenging. When it comes to boys, what you see is what you get. There are no hidden agendas, no whispering, no hurt feelings. Girls may not be as loud — although these girls certainly held their own — but they are just as active in their own ways.

Between splashing on the slide and eating pizza and cake and watching movies and eating popcorn (lots and lots of eating), you would think that our five slumber party girls would have crashed on their sleeping bags in 10 seconds flat, but, as is often the case with sleep overs of any kind, sleeping wasn’t really the point. As midnight approached and one girl was cold and one was hungry and one was hot and one wanted her mom, Dennis and I had to take off our fun party faces and put on our serious parent faces. Eventually we just had to tell them, No more talking! Or whistling. Or humming. Or singing. Period. They slept until sunrise and then were right back where they left off while I made pancakes and smoothies.

I think it was a good birthday weekend for Olivia, though. Hopefully these are memories that are going to stay with her for a very long time. I know I won’t soon forget this weekend, especially when Chiara turns eight and asks for the same.

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Looking back, it was actually a lot of fun. The moms did a lot of laughing and the girls did a lot of learning. Actually, I think we all did quite a bit of learning on this outing. We learned that no matter how bad it sounds from the warnings on the label, DEET is our friend. And that’s coming from someone who never uses bug spray. I was dripping with DEET by Sunday morning and proud of it.

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