Leaving a Legacy...

"Even when I am old and gray, do not forsake me, my God, till I declare your power to the next generation, your mighty acts to all who are to come." - Psalm 71:18

This past weekend, we took a very last-minute road trip to New Jersey for the funeral of Steve's grandfather, Kristian. It was a rough trip, lets be real. We drove straight through for 24 hours, spent less than 48 hours actually in New Jersey hugging family and doing various funeral tasks and attending services, and then drove 23 hours home. Exhausting, a little cranky, and my van smells like a locker room.

HOWEVER. I was so blessed to be able to witness the honoring of this man. I had only met him twice - he came out for our wedding, and only months later, we visited out east and he had the first of 12 strokes during that trip. We never saw him again. Steve has a few vivid childhood memories of him, playing checkers, helping him put a roof on a garage - he wasn't an overly engaging grandfather sort, but according to Steve it was evident that he enjoyed their presence. 

So what was the big deal, a relative stranger passing? Story after story was shared about the faith of this man (and his wife). He and his wife were selfless and sacrificial givers, living out their love for their Lord in a way that led others to Him. People are in Heaven greeting him because of his willingness to love when it wasn't socially acceptable and his eagerness to share his Jesus with others. This man died with great-grandchildren who are now being taught about Jesus because of the legacy that he began for his family. Four generations!

It moved me to tears. I was NOT raised that way, I do not come from that same legacy - but how powerful, how truly amazing is to see this being lived out. My husband is so blessed to have this faith legacy on both sides! And on our road trip home, I honestly just kept thinking, "poop! I am messing this up!". This legacy business has not been a priority in my home. We are so concerned with surviving the precious stages of the terrific 3s and fabulous 4s that all I want to do is nap, yell or cry some days! Where in me are they seeing that ALL THAT MATTERS in my life is my Jesus? 

They told us this weekend that as Kris continued to deteriorate with each stroke, his measurement was always the Lord's Prayer - if he started to feel funny, he would start to recite the prayer and if he could get through it, he knew he was fine, but oh, how frustrated he got when he could not recite the whole prayer! And I think - goodness, what is my measurement? I am pretty certain that my knee-jerk reaction right now would not be similar. When I hear about people having strokes, my thoughts are always - oh, but not being able to move half of my body? Or not being able to speak clearly? But his thoughts were whether or not he could recite the Lord's Prayer. Uff. 

Eleanor (his wife) stood up during one service and with complete confidence was able to tell us that her husband was rejoicing. And that she had her Lord to see her through. Faith that could move mountains. She talked about how they did devotions together. How they always said I love you. How confident she was in Heaven. And how proud she was to have 5 children who now shared her faith - and 17 grandchildren, and 8 great-grandchildren… This is the story I want to tell. 

At the end of the day, I want to be able to say that I lived my life for this reason - to love him and share that love with others. That ALL THAT MATTERED to me was Jesus. That someone else might be in Heaven because I was able to point them to Jesus. That the legacy of my family might look differently starting with my generation. I want to heed the words of the Bible (and it is repeated dozens of times in different phrasings!) to pass the teachings/commands/stories/praises on to my children and to their children and to their children. 

At the end of the day, it makes no eternal difference if I spent my day doing laundry and got them to clean their rooms but did not show them Jesus. Oh, Tami. Let go of the things that do not matter. 

On the eve of your birthday, Dilly Bar...

(Disclaimer - I know, I am missing a certain birthday letter to a certain birthday girl who also celebrated this month. I have not been by a computer in between the two and now it seems silly to do both at the same time. I won't forget her - she won't let me!)

Sweet Delia-girl, you are about to turn 3 - I cannot believe how fast that crept up on me! It seems like overnight you went from being this goofy, giggly, wobbly toddler to a goofy, giggly BIG GIRL! Slow down already! 

You continue to be the family clown on most occasions - always making up some crazy joke (that honestly makes no sense) or silly song. Your facial expressions alone make anyone laugh. Your sense of style is also all your own. You've spent most of the summer in your underwear, but on days when you do get dressed, its always interesting to see what you choose. I learned long ago that there is no sense arguing with you about what to wear - I will pick my battles and I sense that you and I may have a few of those ahead, as you seem to be even more stubborn than me.

You are SO brave. You love to be in the water, under the water, jumping, swimming, etc. NO fear. This makes me fearful sometimes?! But I love it. You are such a fish. You ride around on your bike and trike like a terror as well - we have to run or send Josiah on his bike to keep up with you. You love all things fast and dangerous I think! And yet you love babies. You love to bounce your babies in your arms, to feed them and sing to them. You also give them time-outs. I wonder where you've learned that?! You can be so fierce and yet so gentle, I never know what to expect when you jump out of bed at the crack of dawn! 

You talk non-stop. Sometimes you get to talking so excitedly that you give yourself the hiccups. You tell the craziest stories - I wish I could keep up and write them all down. There are circuses and boats and sharks and elephants and babies and Jesus and loose teeth. Just so random! You have the wildest imagination. You turn these funny thoughts into songs on many occasions and most of the time turn it into a song about Christmas. It amazes me that you can come up with all of this stuff and so many words at 3 - when you had just barely started talking before you turned 2! You love big words though - and it cracks me up. Some words you say perfectly well, and others you still say a bit silly - but I don't correct you because I kind of prefer it your way. We have had okey-meal in our house instead of oatmeal since Josiah was one - so I will let you have it that way. And now you like "glish-rish" (licorice). I don't know how you can say words like "delectable" and "ecstatic" and not "licorice", but this one makes me chuckle every time, so I'm leaving it alone. Sometimes its okay to just walk to the beat of your own drum.


Next week you start preschool. I'm just not sure if the world is ready for that, Dilly girl! You are beyond thrilled about it though - to finally be able to go to school like your brother and sister. And while I am feeling a wee bit sad or nostalgic maybe that my baby is off to school, I think I am worried about you the least. You are confident and brave and so sure of yourself. You love to be surrounded by friends but you don't let them sway you. (hold onto these traits in junior high, okay?!)

Delia Grace, you were most definitely a surprise for us - but you have brought SO much joy and laughter to this family. I cannot imagine our family without you in it. I can see in these little character traits that are forming that God is going to do mighty things in you and through you. You have such a loud voice to use for Him! And I know you already sing about Jesus all the time - just wait until those songs are coherent! :) May your daringness and confidence take you to some amazing places and may your persuasive nature will lead many to Christ. And of course, my sweet baby, you always have a place here with arms waiting for you in the moments when you might not feel so brave. That is okay too. One day you will learn that it is okay to slow down once in a while and that naps are a good thing. Until then, I will try to keep up with you.
mama

Heaven is the face of my little girl...

This song haunts me, which seems all the more fitting when I am stuck wide awake on this day of all days.

"Heaven is the face of a little girl

with dark brown eyes

that disappear when she smiles"

Four years ago today, the unthinkable happened - one of my "perfect" little girls' hearts stopped beating. It is such an odd thing to think back on and try to process through the events of the day. I was a huge pregnant lady, lounging on the beach at my parents' house, enjoying just one last weekend away before my doctors would put me on travel restrictions. Ah, the irony. I started bleeding a little bit, but that had been happening ALL THE TIME during this pregnancy (and the last), so no big deal. I laid down for a bit and told everyone to calm down - like I'm an old pro.

It didn't go away, and even though it was just a little, Steve and I decided that we were going to go in. To Rochester. Because, I'm sorry local friends, but I had no confidence in the hospital here, and at the time it made perfect sense to me to drive 4.5 hours to get checked. We  left our kids at the lake and drove off like it was nothing. Except that by the time we got to town (10 miles), there was blood everywhere. EVEN THEN, I made him call my doctor first before taking me in to the local ER. I am just bullheaded. I called my mom and told her I was going in, and I called my sister and asked them to meet us there. 

The nurses brought us up to the OB floor and there was no hurry. I think they heard "22/3" and they figured there was nothing worth rushing around for either way. I put on a gown and got a monitor on and she laid me down to check for heart beats. She found one right away. Tears of sweet relief. She only found one and seemed to announce it matter-of-factly (though this could be the way my mind took it in). I went numb at that point. She brought in someone else. And then the doctor. And then the fight began. I fought with this man for quite some time because he did not believe I had a second uterus. This was not the time to be telling me that you know anything about my anatomy having just walked in the door. And don't argue with me. 

They all left and I was just numb, and crabby and in a state of shock I think. I made a comment about not needing a mini-van. I will never forget saying that. I was trying so hard to not have this be reality. Everyone was crying but I went into protection mode. I needed to not stress out this other babe. I was not going to lose two. And at this point, I honestly believed that this doctor who couldn't see my anatomy correctly was wrong. I would get to my own doctor and they would find the heartbeat. It was just quiet or something.

Then they told me they were going to hold me in this hospital until a point of viability (which for this hospital meant 25 weeks). NO WAY. I told them to call my doctor right away. Again this doctor argued with me and said that nobody would transfer me in my current state and that I needed to stay until at least 25 weeks. CALL. So he left. And he called. And walked back in and guess what? They were sending a helicopter immediately. 

This turned into a little jet in the end, which was fine by me. This team plus lovely guys from the local ambulance service came and loaded me up and hauled Steve and I over as my family rushed to Rochester to meet us there. This was an amazing team of flight nurses and I found them after the fact and thanked them. Later I would also learn that the local paramedic was on his first shift back after losing his young son. The flight was crazy - hooked up to all kinds of monitors, laying down flat in a jet - but uneventful and all bleeding had stopped by this point and I was confident that we were going to be rejoicing as soon as I was in a familiar place.

That never happened. There WAS only one heartbeat. I had just been in three days prior and saw both girls bouncing around happily on the ultrasound screen. No warning. No explanation. Just gone. Nobody could explain that to me and it was beyond frustrating. This baby was healthy - give me something! 

I think it was even worse because they decided not to deliver her at that point. They had several discussions about this with the Maternal Fetal Medicine team and were debating about whether or not to deliver just Hannah and then sew everything up and hope Eden would stay put and infection free for some time longer - or to let things run their course and hope for the best. Carrying a baby that was no longer alive was dreadful. Except that I allowed myself to believe that she was somehow going to be the biggest miracle you ever did see! And I had my brain all wrapped around that plan. Only that wasn't God's plan, and he and I fought that out for quite awhile afterwards. 

I struggled for a LONG time with guilt - if I had been home that day, in Rochester, they could have saved her. They would have done something. They deal with crazy early babies. Who knows if it would have played out that way, but I was so confident in that….

"Heaven is the sound of her breathing deep

Lying on my chest, falling fast asleep while I sing

And Heaven is the weight of her in my arms

Being there to keep her safe from harm while she dreams"

My kids talk about Hannah all the time lately it seems. They ask about her, about why she died, where she is, what she is doing. They talk about how she was in my belly with Eden. And I am so glad that they talk about her - only sometimes I'm not. Sometimes its hard to be constantly confronted with the questions you haven't yet figured out or are still wrestling out with God yourself. In the end, its great and I'm truly glad she will never be forgotten this side of Heaven. But oh, my mama heart does flip-flops when it comes up at dinner conversations.

"Heaven is the sweet maple syrup kiss

and all of the other things I miss with her gone"

My sweet girls will be four this month. I cannot believe that much time has passed when I can relive that day so freshly in my mind - and yet it seems like forever ago. I tend to find distracting things to do on the first of August. We don't "observe" the day - we celebrate the girls on their birthday, and I've never really figured that should change even though there are technicalities that could be debated. I might dye my hair pink or something today. The pain of losing a child- it doesn't go away. That dreadful day is stuck with me. The questions come less frequently, but now and then God and I still talk that out. I know that one day there will be a sweet reunion. I know that she is healthy and whole and praising Him and I am grateful for that. I trust that there are reasons that I don't understand. But living on this side of it still stinks.

I've got a fever! And the only prescription...

I suppose an itch is probably more appropriate - but the old SNL sketch makes me laugh every time, so it fits.

Lately I have had an itch. I've tried (and failed) many times to explain it to people who have asked. I took a break from church, and (rightfully so) friends had asked me what that was about. I couldn't quite put it into words. I felt "itchy". Out of place. Stuck. Like I was just spinning wheels. Not with any specific church, but with THE church here - I have felt torn. It had become this ritual to go to a service on Sunday morning, where everyone feels the need to put on their fanciest clothes, sit nice, sing well, listen quietly, and shake a few hands - and then scramble to get lunch. Is this what church is really supposed to be? Is this all there is?

I talked this through with my husband and we decided that we could take a break. We spent Sundays with our little family, unplugged, and actively engaging with our kids. It was a great vacation. But he and I differ so much - in that he felt a constant pressure to be present at church. He admitted that it was because others expected his attendance, and I scoffed at this. (Of course I would scoff, right?!) For me, it was no big deal to throw the opinions of others out if it meant that I could get this sorted out in my own mind. Get this itch fixed. 

Then I read the book "Anything", by Jennie Allen. (Read this book, highly recommend it). Life changing in a way similar to "7", this book had me responding out loud. If I was a lift-my-arm-and-shout-hallelujah kind of girl, this is what the scene would have been. LONG story short, but this author writes about how she felt this similar stuck-ness. And she decided that she needed to pray - letting God know she was willing to do anything, give up anything. Too comfortable, too cushy. Is my life too easy? Too big of a house? Should I get rid of a car? Do I need to move? Jesus said that we must be willing to give up our very FAMILY for him. Puke. That is so scary! But this book (and there is much more to it) began to point me in the right direction in terms of fixing my own itch. And I told my husband he'd better read it because I wanted to sell everything and move to Africa. Or adopt a few babies. The point that started to grow in me was "what am I willing to do with this knowledge I have?!". I can't continue going through the sunday church ritual and not DOING. Great message, pastor, but now kick me in the pants and tell me to take this to the neighbors. Take this to the orphans, the addicts, the sick, etc. The gospel requires active participation!

But what will that look like for ME? After spending a day devouring this book (instead of thesis writing!), I immediately sent off preliminary inquiries to a couple of adoption agencies regarding Haitian adoption. (Haiti has always been a country on my heart). AFTER doing this, I had an interesting text conversation with Steve. His message "Sorry, I forgot to mention that I have a late appointment scheduled today". My response: "Sorry, I may have sent preliminary adoption inquiries out today". Yep, did that without talking to him. Oops. In the end, we are too young to adopt from there anyway (boo!), but it got us talking about this, and it got him to read the book :) We currently sponsor a child from there, and are now looking into mission opportunities until we hit the ripe old age of 35 and can seriously begin that adoption process if that is what we are supposed to do.

A couple of weeks later, I met with an amazing mentor who told me about a missionary from Haiti that would be speaking at a local church that night. And then the next morning we went to that church and there he was again - telling us to be the feet, asking us what we were doing with the gospel message - what was holding us back. I felt like I got a 2x4 on the head in terms of affirming where I needed to be plugging in to a local church. And through MPR, this church, a blog, etc., I have heard this same message at least 10 times in the past 2 months. I think I'm getting the message? Probably not a coincidence.

This is the life I want. Wanting to be ready and willing to give up ANYTHING God asks of me. And yes, I started praying that prayer. I love my new house, but if it isn't where I should be… (and if You want me somewhere warmer, I won't complain at all!). These career paths we've chosen - felt like good ideas, serving our interests, meeting our needs. But if it isn't God's best for us? Then I want to be willing to let go. I need to stop trying to ask God to make my plans work - and instead start fitting myself into His plans for me. I've long since had this perfect scrapbook idea of what my life would be - but I need to be able to say "rip out a few pages where You want to, edit freely God"...

I want a life that is radical like my Jesus was, willing to sit with the Sinners and love them, not expecting change first, but showing grace always. I am digging into this book "Permission Granted - and other thoughts on living graciously among sinners and saints" by Margot Starbuck - and it resonates SO much with me! Gone are my days of holding the signs in a picket line (though admittedly, I've only done that once - in Junior High) - I'd so much rather bring cupcakes to the women who are hurting and love on them than judge them with my pretty posters. Am I willing to be scorned for dining with tax collectors like Jesus was? Has "do not conform" become an excuse for do not engage with, do not show love to, do not reach out to? An excuse to set ourselves apart by segregating and being exclusive and judging- not being able to like those that are not in our club? Guess where Jesus would be? Not in our club.

As I venture through this book (and OH, our little book club is starting "Radical" soon!), I'll try to be posting thoughts - because I love a good discussion and because I love good books. And I don't take anything personally, so share freely if you have thoughts!

Because sometimes, days are hard and I throw a brush

Today is a hard day. As a mama, there are days when I can put forth a full effort to love, be an example of kindness, encourage gentleness… and there are days when I throw a hairbrush. Today is a hairbrush throwing day.
This week (with the help of my husband and best friend), I stocked my freezer and cupboards with 2-3 months worth of meals and snacks. I was super organized this time (whoa!), put together a detailed plan and nailed it. Day one dinner was soup. My dear son refused to try it. Refused. I tried to understand that he was fresh off of his first day back at school since being on vacation, he was tired. But we have always had the rule about trying everything - its not like he would have expected me to make him something else. After an hour, he gave up and went to bed. UGH. 
Breakfast today was a family favorite - baked french toast. I overslept (should have known to stay in bed) but thought since it was already prepped, I could pull it off. Put it in the oven and started getting the kids ready. My tantrum-thrower did not like the order she got in to brush her teeth. No joke. Que fit. Then I brushed the other daughter's hair, she happily put on her fancy dress for school, yay! Tantrum-thrower came out after a good 10 minutes and would you believe I tried to brush her hair with the wrong brush!? After spraying detangler when she said she didn't have snarlies?! The brush was silver, not pink. Que fit. Que mama throwing the brush onto the floor - apparently hard enough to make it bounce across the room. The kids didn't see that, but I caught my lovely husband's eye. He saw it. UFF.

My tender-hearted whiner.

We sat down to eat (tantrum-thrower still upstairs, then down and throwing a new fit because her brother got her cup for her). His first words were a complaint. About something he has eaten a dozen times before and loved. I *may* have then said something along the lines of "from now on, you can prepare your own meals". That may have been the end of my rope. The only one having a cheerful morning was the daughter that speaks in "whine" 75% of the time.
We took Josiah on a cruise last week (which was a blast!), all by himself. He was initially thankful - tackling me in his excitement when he found out. Then while on the trip, several times he got upset that I wouldn't let him play plants versus zombies on Steve's phone or my Nook. Or that I wouldn't let him spend the whole trip in the arrrr-cade. I just had some jaw-dropping moments, wondering why this child could be so ungrateful. I let him blow his birthday money on pretty much anything he wanted - except I wouldn't let him buy a pirate gun. He bought an entire pirate ensemble, but several times after had to mention that I wouldn't let him buy that gun. Where do kids learn this? Or is this something natural that needs to be un-learned? At dinner the first night, we were seated with another family with three kids in a fancier restaurant (still had crayons and games on the menu to play), and I caught myself comparing him to the other kids. Their boys were older (9 and 12), but they sat STILL! They ate with manners. They politely talked to the waitress and didn't try to lay down or jump in their chairs. I tried to be compassionate - I know I have an energetic boy. I know that 4 course meals aren't something he is accustomed to. But the child has been to a restaurant before. He knows that he needs to sit at the table at dinner, etc. We skipped the fancy dinner the next night - I knew he couldn't handle it. But shouldn't he be able to? 

This is the day she told me she was going to find a new mom.

We recently got a puppy - mommy temporarily failed to think about my son's allergies and thought a tiny puppy that doesn't shed would be so fun for the kids. (Side note - how in the world could I forget in the moment that he has allergies?!) The kids love the puppy. But a hundred times I can say "if you do that, he will bite you" and a hundred times, he will do that and the puppy will bite/try to bite. My words are not getting through. And I let myself get frustrated. I don't understand their actions (or lack of actions). It doesn't make sense to me and thus it makes me angry.

FUN.

Don't get me wrong. I LOVE my kids. My oldest is a struggle in this stage, but he is a brilliant boy and still affectionate and funny. My middle child is a soft-hearted thing, she won't whine forever (heaven help us if she does). My youngest is my monster (I say that with affection?!), but she is hilarious and where would we be without that surprise babe. But sometimes? Sometimes I need to be able to say out loud that I threw a hairbrush. Sometimes I feel like their "failures" are mine. And I know they aren't failures - they are kids and they are learning right along with me. But sometimes? Sometimes I wish that they would reciprocate my efforts in showing kindness and grace to each other. Sometimes I wish that I could say something and they would hear me. Sometimes I wish that he could use manners at the table without being told every day. Sometimes I wish that I could implement a new method for my own practice of mothering and not lose heart when they don't respond the way I want them to right away. And OH, how I wish that I wouldn't let their behavior control my emotions. But sometimes its hard being a mom and being a good mom or feeling like a good mom when our kids are selfish and we are selfish and uff. Sometimes it feels like I was not wired to deal with this behavior or that attitude. I have an idea in my head about the kind of mom I want to be, and yet sometimes it feels like my kids are preventing that from happening! How is that even possible. 
The hard thing about not growing up in a home where we had godly examples is trying to figure out how to be that example for our kids. I know how I am called to act, but I haven't had a model of that in parent-form and how can I be that for them now? A million parenting books out there, but how do you find the right fit for your family? How come it feels like every other child can sit at the table but mine? Did I start teaching him too late? No - he has had the same mealtime rules his whole life. He just doesn't make the connection? How come other siblings can be kind to each other? My kids have heard about loving one another in a dozen different ways, but still he pushes her or she bites her. 


Today I know I am blessed. I have these three beautiful faces in my home to call mine. I have friends who I can text (because they know I can't talk about hard things on the phone or I will cry and I hate crying) and tell them "I threw a brush, please pray" and they will. I am long past the cultural standard of not being honest about what life is actually like. I am blessed to have friends that can handle my honesty. And I have this God who put these kids in my life for a reason. And He will be the strength I need for today. And maybe tomorrow I will lean on Him more and He will help me refrain from throwing a brush and rather to choose to show grace. But sometimes, I throw a hairbrush.

Not my baby anymore...

(I realize this post comes a couple of weeks early, but the schedule around his actual birthday might not allow - so I'm doing it while I can)

Ah, Josiah. My crazy sweet boy. You are not a baby anymore. When did that happen? Are you really about to turn seven? SEVEN? YIKES. I often tell you I want to put you in my shrink machine and make you a baby all over again. You were an amazing baby. I tell you that all the time (and you remind me of that too, often when your sisters are crying!). 

freshly born YOU.

first birthday - you loved your caterpillar cake!

As our first born child, you changed our lives forever. You were our first example of the miracles that God can do in a mama's tummy ;) Did you know that before you came along, doctors told your mama that I would never be able to have a baby? And then, in the middle of my masters program, YOU were there. In my belly. Boy, did you freak out a few doctors! Because you were so special, we got to have so many extra ultrasounds to sneak a peak at you. You are famous, little man, as those ultrasound photos are now used for education of sonographers at Mayo Clinic! (They should give you some royalties, eh?) Our doctor warned us that you might not make it. That my mommy-tummy wouldn't likely be able to carry you long enough. He said not to expect to carry you past 17 weeks. But you stayed. Then he said 23 weeks. And still you stayed. 27 weeks. 32 weeks. 36 weeks. Then your mama said GET OUT! He finally scheduled your arrival for 39 weeks. The team there was in awe. Even before birth, YOU were an example of what God can do.

second birthday - your very own cake!

THREE! My FAVORITE cake thus far.

You were an amazing baby. Instead of worrying about you not sleeping enough, we were worried that you slept too much! You LOVED sleep (thank you, Jesus!). You were a hilarious toddler. Always singing, saying funny things and so easy going. Now you have a wild personality, though you've kept your sense of humor. SO much energy! You are such a passionate spirit - either wildly loving something, or wildly detesting. We are definitely working on managing that passion a bit - talking a lot about self-control this year :)

FOUR (THIS cake makes me shiver.. Horrors)

Now you are in first grade. It is still so hard for me to believe how big you are. So far this school year, you have been through three sizes of pants! (I'll put it on your tab.) You keep checking to see how high up on me you can reach. Not too lofty of a goal, son, I'm not that big. But you can reach the top of my head with your gorilla arms. Uff. You are still a hilarious kid. You LOVE jokes and making us laugh. You have the BEST laugh. Daddy and I love to tickle you not only because you are so dang ticklish, but also just to hear that sound. You love legos (though not putting them away). You and your daddy could build contraptions all day. You also love crazy animal stuff - like watching scientists chase venomous snakes to extract venom, or watching people hunt gators. You claim you are going to do both when you grow up. (part of me hopes you change your mind!) You love Star Wars (which thrills your daddy's heart!), and playing wii or Xbox games. You love to help me bake (and eat batter or dough!) and do art and play games. And you know way more about any animal than I ever will. 

Fifth birthday - broke my heart that you didn't want cake!

(because all the other photos had your cakes)

You had a lot of firsts this year. You finally tried the big water slide at the water park! And you loved it. I think you are going to be a bit of a thrill seeker like me and your daddy - I can't wait to take you on your first roller coaster! You went tubing behind the boat this summer and wore your papa out because you couldn't get enough. You learned how to snorkel. You went on your first vacation without your mom and dad. You learned how to tie shoes. You learned how to whistle. You caught your first northern. You lost your first tooth! And then your second! You learned how to ice skate. And roller blade.

Six - you are HUGE!

And yet… you still let me hold you. You still let me kiss your head. You still hold my hand when we cross the street (you are starting to question this, but I'm not ready for you to let go!). You still want us to sing songs at night when we tuck you in. You still want to be around me, so much that you've tried to fake sick at school when you know I am home. You still like to play with your sisters. You still want to teach them things and make them laugh. And, we've come to an agreement that since you were my first, its okay for me to call you my baby. 

I love you, sweet boy. I'm so glad you were my first. I'm so thankful that God decided to surprise us with YOU. And about that shrinking machine…

Mama