I wish I had my video camera handy tonight. Or at least a witness. But I'll try to paint the picture for you...
John wasn't home yet, and I was working on getting dinner together.
Adam was crying (simply because this is the fussy time of day for my two-and-a-half month old baby).
Josiah was in his own little world, playing with his cars and singing 'Mary Had A Little Lamb' at the top of his lungs.
Lucy decided that this was THE moment she just HAD to explain something to me about the game she was playing on the computer. In a voice loud enough to be heard over both of her brothers.
And I just busted out laughing. How could I help it? This is my life. And I love it. I love my little noise-makers.
But next time you try to call me, realize that this is probably what's happening on the other end. Which is why I most likely will not answer.
In honor of Memorial Day, I wanted to direct you to one of my favorite blogs and this amazing spread of photos that brought me to tears for so many reasons.
There she goes. The last time she'll look so tiny walking into her school, carrying a backpack that is half as large as she is. The last time she'll be among the smallest and youngest kids going through those doors.
A whole year of school is behind her. Finished. Accomplished. She's grown so much, and I don't just mean that she's taller.
Today was the end, but really it's just the beginning--of our first summer break! And of realizing and trying to grasp that I have a six year old first grader. *Gulp*
We had a fun morning celebrating with her class, but as she gave her teacher one last hug the tears began to flow. I almost lost it, too, but managed to hold it together and give her a comforting hug. Phew!
From those who have gone before me, I'd love to hear that it gets easier with each year, or at least with each child. But I have a feeling there are very few words of comfort out there for this sentimental mama to hear...
My sweet Lucy is six years old today! About two weeks ago, John and I realized how quickly her birthday was approaching. We also heard her telling other people she was going to have a party. Hmm, interesting. We thought we should maybe put something together for her. We let her invite a handful of friends, and she chose fellow Kindergarteners from both school and church. Kind of last-minute, but it worked out great!
Lucy wanted a Littlest Pet Shop theme, and she and I went last weekend to pick out some decorations and party favors. We kept it simple. When the girls arrived yesterday afternoon, each one got to pick out a Pet Shop temporary tattoo to wear. Then, because of my utter lack of planning, we gave them a few ideas and sent them into the backyard to play. John set up this game of "hoop freeze tag," and they loved it. Then it was on to "pass the hoola hoop" without breaking the circle. Pizza and cheesy bread were on the menu for dinner. And while they ate and chatted and giggled, guess what I was getting ready to do? Mmmm, homemade whipped cream!
At her request, we sang regular "Happy Birthday" (with no "cha cha cha" at the end, which they apparently do at school, and which she apparently loathes). Lucy nearly caught her hair on fire. In fact, I think I saw a few little extra puffs of smoke as she leaned over to blow out her candles... ...until I came to the rescue. Phew! Triple chocolate sour cream cake, strawberry ice cream, freshly-whipped cream, extra sprinkles, and a cherry on top made this worth all the ear-piercing squeals and please-don't-run-in-the-house-with-lemonade-in-your-hand reminders.
You know you want some. The birthday girl thoroughly enjoyed her special Birthday Cake Sundae. After loading them up with sugar, they all sat in a circle... ...and I taught them how to play spin the bottle. Oh, yes, I did.
Tattoos, sugar, and spin the bottle. That's how we roll!
Okay, before you judge me, realize "spin the bottle" was to decide whose gift Lucy got to open next.
And we'll all pretend that's the ONLY way to play.
Each girl went home with a goody bag. Honestly, this has always been one of my favorite parts of throwing a party. It's not only fun to send the kids home with something to say thanks for coming, but I have fun picking out and creatively packaging the treats for the kids ahead of time. These included a mini notebook, pretty pencil, temporary tatoo, and a bead craft. (I got to re-use the tulle from Adam's diaper cake to put these together and make them look extra frilly and special.) It was a very fun afternoon. John and I feel we did a pretty good job for it being our first time to host a kid-only party. And I just wish I could have bottled the giggles that filled the air and the joy of my sweet girl getting to celebrate her special day with some fabulous friends.
I've been relatively quiet over here. Just hiding out at home and enjoying a little of this: (I know, the dimpled double chin is almost too much for me, too.)
Not to mention watching this one take after her mother. (I would have lived in a tree when I was her age, if I had been allowed.) And of course, little brother had to give it a try, too, with a little help from the slide. Love those chubby feet! It means summer is almost here...
It seems that someone has been subtly influencing my two-and-a-half year old. Or perhaps someone has cloned him and replaced the original child with an identical duplicate.
A child with a Southern accent.
Very recently we started to notice some interesting verbal trends. He is dropping his r's and adding unnecessary syllables to certain words. For example, over there has become "ova they-uh." Snack is now "snay-uck." And bath is either "bay-uff," or a whopping "bay-ay-uff," if we're lucky enough to hear it.
If you are reading this and happen to live somewhere below the Mason-Dixon line and see my sweet boy wandering the streets, would you send him back to us?
But if not, this one is pretty cute and I suppose we'll keep him.
On another note, we are entering garage sale season, and I could not be more thrilled. I love the hunt and the bartering and the victory of finding a great deal.
But this year I'm switching things up and I'm going to be the seller. Since my children have entered a lovely phase of sibling squabbles, I've decided to sell everything they have. They fight over the same object so many times throughout the day that I lose track. And nearly lose my mind.
Sometimes it's a bouncy ball. Other times it's a book. Or a toy car. Or a pencil. Or a-- you get the point.
So I've decided to sell the playroom. All of it. Okay, I might keep the carpet and light fixtures, but everything else must go.
Except for one toy.
I haven't decided which one yet, but since they always want the very same thing at the very same time, what's the point in keeping all the rest of it? It's just more for me to have to dust.
Think it will work? No, I don't either.
*sigh*
Now if you'll excuse me, I have some dusting to do and a silly little boy who needs a bay-uff.
It goes without saying that I've been up a lot during the night lately. Having a new baby in the house means lots of wakefulness at odd hours.
The other night while I was up cuddling with my new little bundle of joy, with my hubby softly snoring beside me, I heard what I believed to be illegal activity going on in our neighborhood. I snapped quickly from my drowsy state into wide-eyed alertness, wondering if I should be calling the police to report these shenanigans.
In my sleep-deprived state, it sounded distinctly like there were drag races going on outside on our street. I was sure of it.
I listened for a bit, not knowing exactly what to do. But my sleep-deprived body took over, and the next thing I knew I was waking up to silence. I knew I had to tell my husband in the morning, and he would help me decide what to do if it happened again.
A few nights later, my sweet hubby was up, changing a diaper, and he heard it, too. He went to investigate (by looking out a window, go figure) to find the culprit:
Yes, our milk delivery truck sounds like a hot rod.
And apparently they deliver our milk at 2:00 a.m. Ugh.
If you've been following my blog for a while you may recall the fiasco of last year's Easter photos. Or, rather, our lame attempt at taking them. This year wasn't much different. But we added a new member to the cast of characters. Needless to say, he got to sleep through the whole thing.
Lucy pasted on her fake smile for the camera. And as much as she wanted to "hold" Adam, she was very much hands-off. It was a little precarious in the rocking chair.
Josiah simply would not smile unless John tickled him. But then there's the issue of the thumb. He is the image of pure misery here.
And sweet little Adam. Still so clueless. Give him a year and I'm sure he'll join in the miserable practice in our home known as holiday photo taking. I can almost hear the crying now...
Last night's dinner was a low point in the day for me. Admittedly, my patience is at an all-time low, being more than eight-and-a-half months pregnant, and John had an event for work that kept him from joining us at home for our meal. I thought I'd try to keep the kids happy by feeding them a hodge-podge of random food I knew they would eat, and that would somewhat resemble a balanced meal to my conscience.
But it didn't seem to matter what I put in front of them. They were unhappy with it.
My charming son, who only touches macaroni and cheese one out of every ten times I offer it, was screaming for it just after his sister ate the last bite. My darling daughter, who asks for butter on every slice of bread ever put before her (thanks to Daddy), asked through tears why I buttered her bread when she really wanted it plain. And it spiraled downhill from there.
Let's just say that we used more tissues to wipe tears than we used napkins to wipe our hands. All three of us.
(I certainly won't win Mother of the Year award for admitting this, but I'm pretty sure there were a couple times, as we sat at the table together, when I plugged my ears to block out the crying-in-stereo.)
Somehow we managed to pull through. On my part, it included lots of counting to ten, deep breaths, and like I already mentioned, ear-plugging. But in the end, we ate. Something. Apparently it wasn't enjoyable, but we filled our bellies.
And at the end of it all, I was craving a root beer float.
I had a dilemma on my hands. In our house, you don't get dessert unless you finish your meal. Sometimes this involves some compromise, but behavior is also taken into consideration in this equation.
Clearly, neither of my children should have gotten dessert last night.
But mommy had a craving. And I caved.
I got out two miniature glasses, one large glass, vanilla ice cream, straws, and a bottle of IBC root beer.
As my children blew their noses and stared at me in disbelief, I proceeded to tell them about grace. God loves us far more than we deserve to be loved. We don't deserve anything good from Him, but because He loves us so much, he gave us Jesus and He gave us forgiveness. Just like this dinner, we didn't deserve a special treat at the end (none of us, honestly), but because Mommy loves her children so much, we were having root beer floats. Undeserved root beer floats.
Honestly, I have no idea if any of that sunk in, but I enjoyed introducing my kids to something I remember as a favorite treat from my childhood, and doing my best to turn it into a life lesson of some sort. Maybe the next time they have a root beer float, perhaps they will have a vague recollection of God's love for them--His sweet, amazing, overflowing, undeserved love for us.
I'm living in Colorado and consider being a Christ-follower, a wife, and a full-time mom to three beautiful children to be challenging and adventurous.
