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At the bus stop with Little One, age nine, a Kindergartner was hyper. She was running all over the place, making silly noises and generally just enjoying the heck out of herself.

Little One is a serious child and she was getting pretty frustrated. I leaned over and whispered to her, “She’s little, and it’s our job to take care of her and keep her safe. Be patient. Isn’t she cute?”

Little One’s face went blank, thinking mode.

The next time the little girl ran over to us, Little One looked up at me and smiled. I could hear her brain tell her, “Isn’t she cute?” and I couldn’t help but smile back.

We can change the way our kids think. That is scary and amazing all at once.

When we do it on purpose, it’s one of the best things ever. We can help them be the people they want to be. We can help them get over fears, deal with frustration or just realize what a great world this is when we take a minute to look around and lend a helping hand.

Ah, but the scary part is that we’re always doing it. Even when we don’t mean to. When I’m distracted, when I’m tired, when I’ve had enough and I want to quit – I’m still adjusting the way my kids think.

And I don’t get a do-over.

I want Little One to see that she can make changes that matter. They start with yourself. They spread to another. Then together you can create a change for the better in the world. Try it and see.

I am a lucky girl, and I know it.

I have a good husband who is crazy about me, and after 17 years I’m still in love with him, too. I can appreciate him even more because my first marriage wasn’t so warm.

I have two smart, beautiful daughters.

I was able to keep them fed, safe and loved throughout their developmental years, and now that they’re a little older, we can provide a few extras for them, too. I know I appreciate my children, because I once lost one.

I have a good life.

I give because I know what I have is precious, and I want everyone to have a chance at a life they’ll love as much as I love mine. It doesn’t hurt me at all to give blood, so I do, as often as I can. I make more. Maybe I bought someone else some more time here. A little of my time for their life? Bargain.

When I’m gone, I’ll be an organ donor.

I’ve informed my husband and kids that they are, too. They don’t really care either way, their attitude is, “Well, if I’m not using it … “ Exactly. It would help to know that in our loss, someone else will be spared the same pain. It would hurt me far more not to give.

I also signed up recently as a bone marrow donor. I’ll tell you why.

I’ve been raging a little internally about my own helplessness in the face of death. A friend of my daughter’s killed himself. One of my friends is fighting breast cancer, again. And my favorite uncle has an aggressive cancer in his brain. There’s not a thing I can do about any of it. I hate to feel this helpless. I was nearly swimming in my despair, it was so deep. I was letting what I couldn’t do become the focus. So I shifted my train of thought and wondered what I could do.

I remembered Trevor Kott.

Trevor was a beautiful little boy who needed a bone marrow transplant. A match wasn’t found in time, and he died. I wanted to sign up for Trevor – or anyone like him – but I was too late. Faced with my fear and feeling useless, Trevor’s sweet little face came to mind. I realized I can’t do anything about the people that I have lost, or the ones I may lose sooner than I want. But I CAN help someone else in their battle.

I went to the National Bone Marrow Registry and signed up. I paid $52 to cover the cost of tissue typing and was sent a little kit with what looks like ginormous Q-tips. I rubbed the swabs around in my mouth a little, like I was brushing my teeth, and now they’re ready to drop in the mail.

I feel better.

I hope I will be a match for someone. If I am, I’ll give up about 30-40 hours of my time. They’ll check to verify that I am indeed a good match for that someone in need, and then the doctors will decide how to collect bone marrow from me. It will either be similar to giving blood, or it may be a simple surgical procedure where bone marrow is removed from my hip. Either way, have at it. I’ll make more. I might be sore for a few days, but within six weeks my body will replace everything I gave.

I can save someone, and it won’t hurt me to give.

I realize: I am lucky I have $52 that I can spare. I am lucky that I have been loved so well in this life that I can’t bear for anyone else not to get a chance at life, too. I am lucky that I heard about Trevor, because he helped me feel better when I was really lacking hope. I am lucky that sometimes good health is something we can share.

Thank you, Trevor, for what you gave me.