Look What Stephan Found!

Y'all!
My last post was from four days after June was born. June is now 19 months old. I can say, with no hesitation and doubt, that this has been my longest break between posts. I promise you, my dearest readers, that this hiatus was not intentional. Life with a family of six is pretty busy. Not in a terrible, exhausting, woe-is-me type of way; but in an active, busy, on-the-go type of way.
    Y'all, so much has happened in the past year and a half! I wish with all my heart that I could catch you up on everything, but I have the worst memory ever, as I have oft written of, so that's an impossibility. That's the reason I started this blog in the first place, all those years ago. Sitting on the couch next to my husband, The Office on the TV, our first baby just starting to make his presence known with tiny kicks and flicks in my belly, I grabbed our little blue laptop and signed up on this very blogging website and started writing. I did it knowing full well how short term my memory is. I did it because I wanted to tuck away as many memories as possible in a way the would last forever. Or, however long the internet lasts.
    Y'all, I'm so very glad I did.
I had completely forgotten about his old site. I was completely content with my pictures on Instagram and their short captions summing up the events of our days. Especially since I've signed up on this super cool app called Chatbooks that prints me lovely little photo albums of the pictures I post on  the 'gram. I have, like, 20 now, and I love them. I actually think I've blogged about that before. Can't remember, because it's been so stinkin' long...
   Anyways,
Stephan was the one that looked up this old blog. I am so glad he did. I've been reading through my old posts for three days now. There have been tears and giggles and sighs of nostalgia, but mostly tears. I've seen pictures of my babies and places I've been and things I've done that I have not seen in years. Because of this blog, I've been reminded of things that happened and precious memories we made as a family that I had completely forgotten about. Because of this, I decided to *try* to restart the blog. I want to keep the magic going.
  And thus, here I sit, next to my husband, Friends on the TV in the background, ready to dive back into the exciting world of blogging!

To start, I'll try to sum up the past year and a half as succinctly as possible. I'll see what pictures I can include to sweeten the deal for you, my erstwhile readers.

In may, Stephan and I journeyed to the place I've always wanted to go, my dream destination, in order to celebrate 10 years of wonderful matrimony. The kids stayed at Bebe's and Papa's, which was easy, since we were temporarily living there anyways while Stephan was completely redoing the floors throughout our house. Disneyworld was AMAZING, and our house looks awesome. Also, we've been married for 10 years now. Wow.

last June, Witten graduated preschool. The following September, that big kid started kindergarten. Until June 2nd of this year, we have a preschooler, a kindergartener, and a 2nd grader. Still kinda hard to wrap my mind around.

We've been on several fun camping trips this past year. Our camper is perfect for our family.

This past August, we got a cute little puppy on a whim. You see, Stephan's always thought that Alaskan malamutes were cool dogs. So, when we saw one at a pet store, we kinda had to get him. He's a super good boy. He has also gotten HUGE. Stephan named him Dak.

Our babies have gotten so big! Also, it snowed this past January, which Noah prayed for and loved to be in. Belle not so much. hence, the lack of her presence in this picture.

Last month, I turned the big 3-0. Despite the fact that it was a foreboding age, my beloved threw me the bestest birthday party EVER!! We ate delicious food with wonderful friends.

AND THEN...

Stephan completely surprised me with a wedding band to go with my wedding ring.

I have only felt this much happiness five times before: the birth of each of our babies, and the time Stephan gave me my original wedding ring while on one knee.

Best.  Birthday.  EVER.

 So, that's it for now, guys. Stephan has fallen asleep and is snoring raucously, poor, sick baby June is having a hard time staying asleep, the dog is incredibly flatulent, and it has gotten impressively late while I've been trying to sum up this past year and a half, so I'm going to sign off, wash my face, brush my teeth, and go to bed.
  Again, I'll try my best to keep up with life. But for now, I bid you all, fair readers, a good night. God bless you all!

Holy COW that dog stinks.

 

Curse you, Hormones

Y'all, this is ridiculous.

It finally happened. The day I have been anticipating with great urgency and longing for so long has come and passed. My fourth child, my little surprise, is here with us, safe and sound.
   Considering how bad things could have gone during her birth, I am not exaggerating even a little bit when I say I tearfully thanked God tonight that June was safe and healthy and alive today. What happened was this: Signs late in my laboring pointed to there being an issue with her umbilical cord. Her heart rate dropped drastically with each contraction. My amazing doctor watched her monitor like a hawk and checked me repeatedly, just waiting for things to progress just enough so that I could push the baby out to safety. As soon as I was able, she set me to pushing. The longest labor I have ever endured ended with the longest delivery I have ever pulled off. (It was still pretty quick, just longer than the others. And by that time, I was exhausted, so it was pretty tough).
  With a pop and yet another gush, out came my baby. Immediately, the doctor announced the issue: the cord was wrapped three times around her neck. Like a scrub-clad cowgirl, Dr. Newton whipped that cord off of my tiny baby's neck in no time. And then came the big reveal.
   It's a girl!

 With teary eyes, I looked up at Stephan and said, "It's June! June's here!"
Stephan was crying happily as well. My aunt, who was there taking pictures for us, was wiping away tears between shots. I glanced at my mother who, for the first time, was able to be present for the birth of one of her grandchildren, and saw her sobbing wildly with a huge smile on her face. After all the praying and anxious waiting we had been doing in that delivery room, hearing our second baby daughter cry heartily was the best thing in the world.

 Since then, adjusting to her presence in our lives and the addition of another to our family has been pretty routine, as far as my past experiences with bringing home kids has shown me. Unlike the first to and even better than the last one, this little baby took to breastfeeding right away. Like, seriously, she was rootin' and latching on not even two minutes after she was placed on my chest. Of course, my excitement was premature, as she soon fell off the best breastfeeder in the world bandwagon when my milk didn't come in right away and she got frustrated. We're still working on that...

 As for her siblings; they are in love with her. Even Belle, who I thought might be too young to truly grasp what's going on (her title of "baby" being yanked from her and bestowed on the newest girl in the family), loves to kiss June and give her snuggles. The boys argue over who's turn it is to hold her. Just tonight, they begged me and Stephan to let them sing her a lullaby before they went to bed. I couldn't bee happier with how well they're taking to having another baby in the house.

    Since we've been home, we've had meals and groceries brought to us, people volunteering to help however and whenever they can, and a fantastic amount of moral support in the form of encouraging words and prayers. In short, thus far, transitioning from a family of five to six (six!) has been relatively smooth and enjoyable.

So, why the title, you might be wondering. Well, perceptive reader, it's because hormones are trying their best to ruin these first few, precious days for me. 
  How? I'll tell you how!
I'm sad about the weirdest things.
 I'm almost done with the small pack of newborn diapers they gave us in the hospital when June was born. That makes me sad.
I'm less sore and more capable of picking back up my full slate of house-managing responsibilities every day.
 That makes me sad. ( not because I don't want to take up my mop and resume active housekeeping, though I'm not entirely thrilled about it).
June's gross little umbilical stump is already loose and looks like it might fall off in the next two days.
That makes me sad.
June's stinkies are already transitioning from nasty, green-black tar, to a brownie-batter consistency. A very good sign that I'm succeeding at this breastfeeding thing.
And that makes me sad?
     I'm sure you don't have to hazard too many guesses before you stumble upon the reason for my melancholy. It's the relentless, unstoppable progression of time! Sure, sweet baby June is only four days old and still quite the floppy newborn, but I know all-too-well how quickly this stage in life flies by! My first born, my tiny, premature baby Noah, whom, at the time, I thought would never grow up because those days of just me and him staring at each other and doing little else seemed to crawl by, is six years old now.

I'm sad because I cant stop thinking about how quickly life moves nowadays. It doesn't help that I really, really, really enjoyed the wonderful, nurturing attention all the fantastic staff at the hospital gave me, Stephan and our baby. (I almost cried leaving the hospital because I knew that that would be the last time I was walking those hallways as an outgoing patient with my new baby in my arms. I'm almost crying thinking about it!) It really is like a mini vacation with the worst introduction and the best souvenir.
  It also doesn't help that I have three other children to keep me busy and remind me of how brief every moment is. You guys, Belle was my baby girl two seconds ago. Now, she's HUGE! I'm in the midst of planning her second birthday party, yet when I sit in the red rocking chair in her room, there are four pictures of newborn Belle above what will soon be June's crib, and it feels like those were taken just yesterday! (aaaaaand I'm crying again).
   These past two nights have been tough. Nothing crazy; just your classic newborn adjusting to night time/ daytime routines kind of stuff. As I sit in bed with my squirming, screaming newborn, who has suddenly forgotten how to breastfeed, I naturally get frustrated. But, dear readers, you'll be happy to know that I've learned. I've finally learned! Now, instead of resorting to the book's response of letting her cry it out, I've been tucking her in close to me and praying over her until she finally falls asleep. She'll figure out this whole night vs. day thing eventually, but the chance to hold her tiny body close to mine and watch her succumb to sleep will pass all too quickly, this I know for sure. There will be times when I will lay her down and let her learn to self soothe, but it wont be this night! And now that my milk has come in, I do believe even these long, tiring nights are reaching their end. And that makes me sad.

    I'm not trying to bum anyone out, readers. I'm especially not trying to discourage soon-to-be mommies with my list of woes. If anything, I want to encourage those new mommies, and everyone else, to be in the moment! Look up from your phone. Put down your cameras after the fifth or sixth picture. Soak in what's happening around you and how you feel in that moment. Try your best to imprint as many specific details in your mind as possible, so that when you blink and realize a few years have passed, you can close your eyes and recall those memories with as much clarity as possible.
  And praise God for the good and the bad moments. He's got this crazy, awesome plan laid out for us that only He knows the full picture of, and He's using every moment to prepare us and shape us for what lies ahead.
  And hug your babies, no matter how big they are.

"Behold, children are a ^[a]gift of the Lord,
The fruit of the womb is a reward." Psalm 127:3

The "Why" of Christmas

Yes, I may have just wrapped my first Christmas gift of the season with a glue stick instead of tape because I can never find my scotch tape when I need it. No, you may not judge me!

But seriously, though, why does the Christmas season have to be hurried? Who decided to cram weekends and weekouts with parties, activities, and obligations? I bet it was the same fool who invented the Elf on the Shelf. Or his great great great great grandfather, or something.
  Please don't get me wrong, I love gathering together with friends and/or family for fun parties and doing special activities with my precious children as much as the next mom, but putting them back to back to back to back is taxing on anybody! Heck, my mom was listing her calendar of events for the month of December to me the other day, and I got tired just listening to it.
  I think I would better be able to handle all this fun-having if so much wasn't expected. Expected of me, expected of the party, expected of my kids,... just expected! You can't just host a Christmas party by cleaning your house and setting out the appropriate amount of seating and snacks; you have to make sure your home is beautifully and festively decorated and smells like warm sugar cookies and cinnamon and that you have enough theme-appropriate dishes you could stuff everyone at your next church pot luck. And when invited, you cant just show up at these events without an impressive, pintrest-worthy appetizer that will have people praising your culinary skills and asking for the recipe later. And if the lights you put up in your front yard aren't synchronized to music of some sort and costing you and arm and a leg and some sleep, don't even bother decorating, you slouch!
   My satirical tirade is not at all meant as a slight to those of my dear readers who actually do all the above with joy, gusto and aplomb. I'm simply trying to express how I feel in times like these. I do not have the gift of organization. Or planning. Or a good memory. So for me, all the seemingly simple additions to the usual party or gathering; such as buying/wrapping/bringing gifts, remembering all the ingredients for each platter I pledged to bring and having it prepared in time, or which day/what time the events are happening, is a stressful burden on my usually frazzled brain!
    And on top of all of the bonus tasks the holidays bring, I have to keep my house clean (-ish) and my family fed! Just writing about it makes me want to curl up in bed and take a nap.
   But I don't want this post to make me out to be a Grinch. I definitely don't want to cause anyone reading this to suddenly realize how much Christmas stresses them out and despair! Because the honest-to-goodness truth is I love Christmas! The whole Christmas season! Christmas parties are always fun and entertaining. I love how special all the decorations everywhere makes this time of year feel. I love the smell and tastes and sounds and songs that I always associate with Christmas time. (If I smell a pine tree in mid-June, I feel like it's Christmas for a few seconds, despite the Texas summer heat!) And, as I've already said, I love spending special time with my family and my friends.
   Most of all, dear readers, I love that we are celebrating the most mind-blowing, unbelievable, inconceivable birthday in the history of history. When I stop, slow my mind down, and dwell on the real reason why we're celebrating like we are, I am amazed.
     Friends, let's take a quick rabbit trail:
I am pregnant. Inside me, a life is forming, helpless and small, that is completely dependent on me for its survival. Even after the birth of said life, this tiny newborn baby will be the most helpless it will ever be in its life. Are you envisioning a tiny, new baby right now?
    Now try, if you dare, to envision the creator of the universe. The Alpha and Omega. The First and the Last. Try to picture the second person of the Trinity, through whom all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. A being that holds together the very existence of creation.
    All that glory- that bigness that is God the Son condescended Himself to become just like the helpless life that is currently the size of an apple in my womb. God didn't just become man, He was born. Jesus, the Son of God, was once Mary's newborn baby. Forget the humble manger, the lowly stable, the smelly shepherds being the first visitors- Jesus Christ, the very Word of God, was a newborn! Born to live a perfect life that I never could, then die a sinner's death as I deserve, then defeat death and rise again so that I can trade my sinful rags for his perfect righteousness and live forever with Him!            
   What!
 That's mind-blowing! That's life-changing! That's definitely worthy to be celebrated in a big, drawn-out way!
Without Christmas, there would be no Easter. Without Easter, there would be no hope. I love celebrating Christmas AND Easter because of what we are celebrating, not how we are celebrating. And my husband and I are trying our darnedest to teach our children this important truth.
  Oh, how easy it is to get swept up, carried away with, and overwhelmed by the business of this season. May it be, Lord, that through it all, we can show our children the true reason why this month of the year is distinguished from all the others. You came as a little baby, sweet and small, born to be the King of all. We are celebrating You, and what You did for us! Thanks for doing that, by the way.

  In closing, dear readers, be encouraged! Have great cheer! Enjoy yourselves as we draw closer and closer to Christmas day. Through it all, remember why we're celebrating. It's a sure-fire way to truly be blessed by this Christmas season. 

Thumpity-thump-thump

The little love nugget in my belly made his or herself known last night.
As I lay in bed next to my husband, my hands resting comfortably on my tummy, I was startled from my reverie by a sudden, solitary, and tiny "thump"! It only happened once, and it was a teeny little thing, but I felt it so distinctly that I knew in an instant what it was. I actually jump and went "oh!"
  That scared Stephan.
 "WHAT?" He asked, flipping onto his side and searching me for a source of my sudden start.
I didn't look at him. I was too busy rubbing my hands over where my baby had bumped me and smiling like a fool.
  "I felt a kick!" I gushed. "Well, hey there, little guy!"
Stephan sighed, annoyed to have been worked up over nothing truly concerning, and flopped back onto his back.
   "Don't be calling my little daughter a guy." He groused as he settled back down.

And thus began my second trimester.

  But to reminisce for a moment;
Thanksgiving was this past week. I love Thanksgiving. I don't think it gets nearly enough credit or applause. Sure, it might not have a vast history or deep, spiritual meaning like its over-shadowing, subsequent holiday that is Christmas, but I find it to be just as warm and lovely.
  Like every other family in America, we celebrate Thanksgiving by gathering together with family and eating a lot of food. Unlike every TV or movie family ever, these family gatherings of ours are never tense, awkward, or filled with strife and yelling. In fact, they're happy, love-soaked events that always leave me feeling blessed to have the family I do.
  It's a rather big family. When we're all together, we need plenty of space to house our shindigs.

  Thankfully, Aunt Kristi's new home was plenty spacious for all the clan to eat together. And eat we did! So much food! Such variety! The deliciousness! it was a tasty event. Everyone got to reconnect and get caught up on the latest family news that might have been missed on facebook. One of my cousins practically proposed to his precious girlfriend! (But not really. For a moment, though, everyone got really excited!)
  Besides the wonderful food and joyful company, what I enjoyed the most was what happened right before we prayed and ate: Jack, my aunt's husband and one of the newer members of the family, proposed that everyone form a circle, hold hands, and take turns sharing what we're thankful for. That was a great idea, Jack. We've never done that before, to my limited memory, and most everyone was eager to share. The predominant and most reoccurring theme of thankfulness was salvation. Praise was given to God for the family there and away, the food we were about to eat, and the undeserved love He gives to us.
   My heart was warmed by the love. My tummy was warmed by the food. I laughed a lot. I hugged family members I haven't seen in a while. Then we bid everyone a farewell until Christmas.
    Oh boy! Christmas is coming!! I'll try to be regular with my blog updates through the month of December, but don't be shocked if that doesn't happen, dear readers. This month is gonna be busy! So, until next time, stay warm and enjoy the Christmas lights, friends! 

I Am So Upset

Y'all are about to get an eyeful of angry, 'cause I'm about to rant.

Not about cups or climate change or who is leading the polls, but about something truly near and dear to my heart.

I have written on this blog before about my love for lasagna. More specifically, my mother's lasagna. My mother makes dense, delicious, cheesy, meaty, saucy lasagna with love straight from the heart. When I slice into my mother's thick, hearty lasagna, I feel just about overwhelmed with tantalizing smells and happy thoughts. When I take a bite of this home made delight, I think of how loved I felt as a child. This meal needs no supplements; no Parmesan cheese or sprinkle of salt to boost the flavor, it's a culinary delight all on it's own. (Garlic bread is a permissible side. Salad is alright, too).
   It's because of my experience with and love of my mother's lasagna that I hold all other lasagnas to a very high standard. I've tasted some lasagnas that were almost as good. I've tasted some that were good in their own way. Most, however, fall miserably short of  my lasagna standards. The platter of which I shall now describe to you, dear reader, falls into the last category.
   (Reader discretion is advised: I'm not gonna pull any punches.)

My mom was kind and considerate enough to pick up a take-and-bake-type lasagna from a place she happened to drive by yesterday and bring it to me. I have eaten dishes form this place before, and they were rather good, so I accepted her kind gift with a truly appreciative "thank you". Also, it was a lasagna; a meal that I have been jonesing for for quite some time now. From the very get-go, however, I had about me my usual wariness of strange lasagna.
   A visual inspection of the dish appeared adequate. Plenty of sauce, a healthy sprinkling of mozzarella cheese on top, and I saw some meat peeking through in places, which meant that is wasn't one of those shady veggie lasagnas. (A travesty before God and man, whoever invented the meatless lasagna hated life and happiness). Feeling optimistic, I prepped the oven and baked the pasta.
  Then it all went wrong.

 The sauce had turned the noodles into more of a soup than a structured dish, a cardinal sin for any lasagna in my book. There were WAY too many huge, chunky tomato bits; another aggravating no-no for lasagna. But y'all, that wasn't even the worst of it. Not only was the promising ground meat I saw at the start sausage instead of beef, but some ignorant, ne'er-do-well, puppy-hating joker put artichoke and capers in this lasagna!!
  Y'all, I nearly cried.
I glared at my plate. I dug around, hoping to find a redeeming quality in this abomination of my childhood dinnertime fave. I gagged at at the thought of accidentally taking a caper and artichoke-riddled bite of lasagna. I scowled as I declared the whole meal a travesty to my husband, and then I stormed to the kitchen and glared even more at the remaining pasta.
   How DARE you get my hopes up like that, you wretched dish, and then dash them so completely! Sausage? Capers? Artichoke hearts?? I've had my lasagna with venison. I've had some with cottage cheese instead of ricotta. I realize there are ways to alter the traditional lineup of meat, noodles, and cheese that does not destroy the integrity of the meal. But this...this was unacceptable and churlish.

  Okay, I think I feel a little better. If Stephan doesn't want to finish this...this..."meal", then I guess the dogs can have it.

  Mother, if you're reading this, I appreciate you and your lasagna. Thank you for all the lasagnas you've made for your family. Thank you for passing on your recipe to me. I pledge to work at perfecting my lasagna platters until they reach your lasagna's level of deliciousness.

  If you're reading this and you enjoy your lasagna with artichokes and capers in it, we can still be friends. We just won't eat lasagna together, and all will be fine.      

Of Fatigue and Nausea

Call me Myrtle.

Well, dear readers, it has happened again.
I'm not too terribly surprised, to be honest. The hubs and I were doing a pretty poor job of preventing it from happening. So it's no surprise that, after feeling a little off-pace for a few days, I took a test and saw a big, bold, blue positive glaring back at me. My initial reaction was "opps".
  You see, friends, Stephan and I have been blessed with three children. Because we had reached what seems to be the socially acceptable number of offspring to have in an American household, we had kinda figured that we were done producing kids. In my mind, I was preparing myself for what I thought was the next step in our family's five-year plan: becoming a foster family. Stephan, meanwhile, was preparing to buy a pontoon. Per usual, God looked at our plans and laughed.
    After the initial surprise wore off, it was very quickly replaced with a smile I couldn't shake. I was immediately excited about the new baby that had just made it's presence known. I rubbed my flat(ish) belly and said, "Well, hey there, little one! I'm really excited to meet you! I promise to take good care of you, while you're in my tummy and when you come out!"
  Then I called Stephan.
    "Hey, Stephan, you busy?"
  "No, what's up?"
     "So, you know that boat you wanted to buy?"
  "...yeah..."
      "Weeeeeell, you might want to hold off for now."
   "Really??"
(I've never been one for the pintrest-worthy reveals. This has pretty much been the pattern for all four times I've told Stephan he's going to be a daddy.)
 Much to my relief, Stephan was not upset about not getting to buy a boat us having another baby. Even though a few issues did quickly cross our minds. For one, where are we gonna fit the baby? God has blessed us with a beautiful, wonderful house in a great neighborhood, and it fits us perfectly. We have our master bedroom, the boys share a room, and Belle gets her own much better decorated room. We figured at first that, if the baby's another girl, she'll end up sharing a room with big sister Belle.

But then, we remembered that, like Samson of old, Stephan has God-given, super-human abilities. He'll just add a new room to the house and move somebody there. Until that time, just as we have done with the other three, we'll keep our new baby in our bedroom with us. You know, for peace of mind and easier middle-of-the-night feedings.
      Any other issues we could think of were minor and non-consequential. The biggest thing that Stephan was most concerned about was how we were going to tell everyone. As I have previously stated, I am not good with planning and executing adorable, memorable reveals. The last few times we've been pregnant, we've never had the patience or willpower to keep it in and ended up blabbing the good news to anyone nearby. So for this, our last pregnancy for sure this time, Stephan wanted to do something truly unique and special. It just so happened that Stephan had spent an admirable amount of money earlier this year on a ticket to go see his Cowboys play the Patriots in Dallas this October. With that in mind, he swore me to secrecy and laid out his plan. With a bright enough poster board and a little bit of luck and timing, Stephan hoped to let the world know of his forthcoming fourth-coming child on that massive screen above the center field at AT&T Stadium.

  Well, that plan didn't work. Also, I'm due in June, not July. Sadly, Stephan never got any screen time, so he ended up sending me the above picture and giving me the go ahead to tell people. I got to tell my parents in person, as I was there while Stephan was at the game. (They were ecstatic). The rest of my friends and family found out soon after when Stephan posted that picture on Facebook. Good ol' Facebook; the ruin-er of surprises. The good news is that the Cowboys lost, so we don't have to worry about naming our kid "Weeden". (WHEW!)
    Once the word got out, we received kind, congratulatory sentiments across the board. I honestly did worry a bit about people's reaction to our fourth pregnancy; having heard tales of other parents receiving  judgey, critical, even harsh responses to their consecutive pregnancy announcements, but we have gotten no such response, and are happy for it. Instead, we are preparing our hearts, our home, and our family for the addition of another.

    Unlike my pregnancy with the boys, but very similar to my pregnancy with Belle, I have been nauseous. A lot. It could be worse, of this I'm sure, so I'm grateful for the level of nauseated I'm feeling. Besides the upset tummy, I've endured several other classic symptoms of growing another person. Fatigue has been my favorite so far. Thanks to fatigue, I've been in bed and asleep by 9:00 most nights these past three weeks. (I like sleep).
    The kids are excited about having another baby in the house. Even little Belle will poke me in my squishy belly and say "baby!" (It's only precious or adorable when she does it.) Noah and Witten are coming up with names to add to our list of possibilities daily. So far, their favorites are Marco, Chip, or Ivan for a boy, and Joy, Georgia, or Emma for a girl. (I think they're taking the girl names far more seriously). The boys love to see images of what the baby looks like right now via my pregnancy app, and they are eager to share the good news with anyone who cares to hear it. All in all, there is a spirit of excitement and anticipation in our house. Also, every time I see a newborn, my chest constricts a bit and I squeal, either mentally or out loud, because I get to have one of those again!

New Noah

New Witten

New Belle

    

You're next, little one!

Camping is for Cool Kids!

The Du Toits went camping!

Stephan found and purchased this little rv trailer a while back. He's been fixing it up all summer. Twice before, we made super fun plans to take it out and put it to good use. Both times we had to cancel last minute, and our little rv had to wait.
Finally, the time was right! All the repairs were made, the plans were set, and the family was packed. Since it was our first outing with our new-to-us trailer, and we wanted to be cautious, we reserved a spot at a state park a little over an hour away. We went with some dear friends of ours who (praise Jesus) were expert campers and were completely prepared for this mini-adventure, instead of just mostly prepared, as I was. (Soap is a good thing to pack when you go camping. And trash bags. Who'da thunk it, amirite?)
The plan: Arrive, set up, hang out, spend the night, hang out until after lunch, then pack up and head home. Like I said: super short and easy. The mini van tugged that rv impressively well, though I doubt we'll be towing it to Montana anytime soon. We reached our destination and set up our camper with ease. And by "we", I mean Stephan. I helped Sheryl set up a canopy for eating under and chairs for chillin' around the fire.
Once the men had the rv's set up, I prepared the beds for the night and arranged our things as efficiently as possible.
   I love our little rv. Off the front, over the hitch, is a queen sized bed. Off the back is a full sized bed where the boys slept.  Belle slept in her pack 'n play, kinda, which we wedged in there as best we could. In the future, I think we'll just let her bunk with us, 'cause that's where she ended up. It was really quite sweet; getting to snuggle with my precious baby again.
    While renovating, Stephan replaced the floors and we washed the cushion covers, so the interior is homey and comfortable. The toilet-shower works perfectly, which was fantastic for me, since I have a tiny bladder, and for when we returned to the campsite after an impromptu swimming session in a super muddy lake. The microwave popped the kids' popcorn with ease, and the stove worked very well when Stephan grilled some sandwiches for lunch on day two.
   The time we spent there was wonderfully relaxed. After everything at our campsites were in order, our two families went for a leisurely stroll around our neck of the woods. for dinner, we grilled some hot dogs over the fire, and then we made some 'smores, of which the children at, like, one and a half combined. They were too excited about watching a movie in the rv to enjoy all this "outdoorsy" stuff.

So, while the kids watched Despicable Me on our tiny rv tv, us adults chatted around the fire. And ate more s'mores. I love s'mores!
     When the kids' bedtime rolled around, they happily prepared for bed and then settled down. Belle and Jana konked right out, but the older ones were so excited about their temporary sleeping arrangements that they were up well past 8:00. After a tired game of Phase 10, the adults called it a night as well.
   Though the bed we slept on is queen sized, Stephan had to pretty much sleep diagonally from corner to corner so as to fit his tall frame. That meant that I had to either curl up in a corner, or sprawl across Stephan's bossy knees if I wanted to stretch out. Besides the bed-hogging, it was a fantastically comfortable sleep.
    Bright and early the next morning, our kindly camping neighbors, the Brabons, had us over to their campsite for breakfast. we broke our fast with ample servings of bananas and strawberries and scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast.  After dressing for the day, we struck out for the playground, which just happened to be located right next to the swimming area of the state park's lake. Like loud moths to a flame, the children were drawn to the lake's muddy shores. The boys and Lucy practiced swimming, while Belle and Jana splashed, ate mud, and explored the shoreline.
   It was while I was following Belle down the shore that I came across a herd of tiny baby frogs. (Herd? Gaggle? Horde?) As I excitedly called for the others to come see the cute, widdle frogs, I watched, to my amazement and mild disgust, as one fleeing frog was snapped up by a little bitty ribbon snake not even three feet from where Belle and I were standing. The kids arrived just in time to watch a live baby frog get swallowed whole by a snake. Yay, nature!
   Anyways, as Sheryl and I watched the kids splash and play, the men snuck off to surprise us by renting two paddle boats for our families to enjoy. The kids loved it. Us parents quickly realized that paddle boats are a really bad idea, unless you regularly race in the Tour de France. The guys paid for us to have them for an hour. We lasted 25 minutes. But again, the kids loved it, so I'd mark that up as a camping win.
   After returning to our campsites, we rinsed of the dirty kids and then enjoyed lunch. Right after lunch, we broke camp, packed our stuff, loaded up, and headed home. Overall, I'd count this quick trip as a victory. We noted things we could change or do better next time we camp (and we plan to camp often), and we made some happy family memories. In summation: I really enjoy camping. When there's air conditioning.

The triumphant return

 

These Moments Don't last

A new mommy and a new Daddy looked down on their very new baby.
He was bundled snugly in his warm blankie and tucked safely in his crib for the first time.
The new mommy and daddy marveled at the tiny person that God had entrusted to their care, and they prayed that they would be the best parents they could be. They wondered about their new baby's future and prayed for his safety. They imagined great things for him as he grew big and strong, but for this moment, they stared in awe at how tiny and precious he was. The mommy picked him up and very slowly swayed him back and forth and back and forth, and she whispered to him,
"Take your time growing, baby. Don't grow up too fast. Time moves so quickly and these moments don't last."

That tiny baby grew. He grew and he grew and he grew, until he was two years old. He ran really fast, he lifted heavy things, like his daddy, and he ate everything in the kitchen. He also became a big brother, and was most excited to be a good helper. His mommy and daddy would try to hide their smiles as that little two year-old tried to do big and strong things and have clever little ideas, and they would swoop him up and tell him what a big boy he was! Then the mommy would cuddle him close and tell him with a smile,
 "Take your time growing, baby. Don't grow up too fast. Time moves so quickly and these moments don't last."

That two year-old boy grew. He grew and he grew until he was five years old. He loved puzzles and solving problems. He ran after his brother and carried around his baby sister. He was shy when he met new friends, and loved his good friends with all his little heart. After graduating from pre-school, it came time for this big little boy to start kindergarten. The night before his first day of school, he packed up his backpack, laid out his first-day-of-school outfit, and then said a special prayer with his mommy and daddy before going to bed.
As his mommy kissed him good-night, she marveled at how big he was, and how smart he was, and how blessed she was to be his mommy. As she turned out the light, she quietly whispered,
 "Take your time growing, baby. Don't grow up too fast. Time moves so quickly and these moments don't last."

Seriously,...

I'm going to try to keep this certain post short.
I've said that before and failed miserably. This time, I aim to stay true to my intentions. In part because I have a short window of guiltless sit down time before naptime is over (during which I should probably shower. I can smell my hair...), but mainly because of the fact that, if I let my emotions take over and run with this topic, I'll be here all day. Then I'll cry and get angry and feel guilty and cry some more... it wouldn't be pretty.
                    SO:
Abortion.

Everyone is talking about it recently, and for obvious reasons. With the videos being leaked of what is happening in the clinics that provide these procedures, it has become impossible to turn a blind eye to this heavy topic, unless you are obstinately refusing to see the issue and, therefore, weigh in with your opinion.
  Here's my opinion:

This is my youngest baby, Belle, at 18 weeks in utero.
Had I been so inclined, I could have legally terminated my pregnancy at this time, even up to two weeks after, in some states.

This is Belle a couple of weeks ago at a friend's fifth birthday party. She really enjoyed that cookie cake. She's a sass. She loves dogs and gives any dog she meets kisses. She does not take kindly to being told what to do, which means that she and I will have a long road of tough times ahead of us when it comes to obedience and training of any kind. Belle loves to dance and loves her daddy more than me. (That last one stings a little bit, but I'm okay with it, 'cause I know what it's like to adore your daddy. It's a good thing, trust me!)
Belle's sharp little mind is growing and learning new things every day. I see so much beauty and potential when I look at my baby girl. She is perfect! She is a blessing! She is everything she was when they took that sonogram picture of her in my belly over a year ago. All of her beauty and potential began the moment part of her daddy and part of me came together to form an entirely unique individual, who happens to look like me and share her father's temper. All of that could have been snuffed out and lost entirely, had I chosen to do so.
  The truth is, I never had a choice. We wanted a baby. God blessed us with another pregnancy. I recognized it for what it is: my body miraculously and amazingly creating, carrying, and nurturing a whole new life inside of me! I used to wonder what she would look like, what she would act like, and what God had in store for her in the future. I still do. Each baby born has the potential to do amazing things!
  If they get to live.

Now's the part where I try not to get emotional.

I have heard the arguments for abortion. Some are so ludicrous, weak, or downright terrible that I dont even care to address them right now, 'cause I'll get mad.
Some, however, are reasons that show real concern, or are veiled to look like just reasons to chose to end a life.  Reasons like: rape, incest, hopeless mothers in war-torn countries, starving mothers in abject poverty, or an extremely high-risk pregnancy that will cost the mother her own life.
  To these, I say; let's talk. I'll discuss this with you. I'm pro-life, so I would vote for whatever means, method or procedure that would save as many lives as possible. A mother's life is just as much a life as the baby's and vice verse, so I realize the need for compassion, understanding, and help in these extreme cases.
  But, precious readers, that's just what they are: extreme cases.
  In the United States, at least, the main reasons for abortion are for convenience's sake. The unwanted responsibility. Not wanting to be a single parent. Not ready to be a parent. Can't afford a baby right now. Already had all the children they want. Or this reason, my least favorite: concern that having a baby would change their current lifestyle. According to pretty much any honest study done on reasons for abortions in America, and specifically the one I'm citing *HERE* , The percentages of abortions performed for reasons concerning the mother or baby's physical, mental, or emotional health aren't even above 5%.
  That means that at least 95% of abortions fall into the realm of convenience. A (new) person had to die for the sake of another person(s)'s (the parent(s)) ability to live their life the way they want to. Doesn't that kinda sound like murder? Isn't that definitely murder? In which of those situations is adoption not a loving, life-giving option? (I will save my entirely favorable opinion on adoption for another post. This one is already far longer than I planned on it being.)
  In summation, dear readers, my opinion is this: Adoption, not abortion. Abortion is the ending of an innocent life. It is sick, evil, and selfish. It is killing. It is murder. These words sound harsh, but so is murder, so I'm not sorry to use them.
  To women who have been there, who have done that, I'm sorry you felt like you had to sacrifice your child's life for any reason. I'm sorry if your situation in life was so dire that you thought you had no other option. Please believe me when I say that abortion is not an unforgivable sin, and that there is forgiveness, redemption, and restoration offered to all who fall short of God's high standard. I need that just as much as you.
  To any women who are contemplating abortion: please think about what you are doing! For the sake of the life inside of you that (for at least 24 weeks) is entirely dependent on you to survive, please don't do it. Seek alternative measures! Look into adoption! If I know you personally, I will take your baby for you and love it like crazy, and I'm not even joking. This is a new life we're discussing here! A beating heart, a thinking mind, kicking legs, ticklish feet, grasping hands, blinking eyes, and a yawning mouth. For this new person's life's sake, chose life!  
To my fellow Christians: please consider adoption. there are so many parent-less children out there that need homes. If God has given you the means to care for kids, prayerfully consider adding to your family through adoption. Stephan and I have plans to become a foster family with the intention to adopt, if that is God's will for us. Consider doing the same, Christian family, if you are able. The need is great, but our God is greater, and He uses us, His body, to work out His will on earth.
    Life is precious.

Matthew 19:14
  Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”

VBS: Very Busy Schedule

I grew up in a non-denominational church. This church was like a second family to me. Everybody knew everybody. We weren't a small church, per say, we just started out small. For most of my young, formative years, my church hosted Vacation Bible School every summer. It seemed like the entire church took part. From my experience with volunteering at my current church's VBS this year, I'm starting to suspect that volunteering was mandatory for the congregation and all who abstained from assisting in some way was excommunicated or something, because everyone played some part in making it happen. All that to say; the VBS that my old church put on was the bomb.
  I can remember very little from my childhood, due to a crummy memory that I've mentioned before (I think...), but I can clearly recall, with fond memories, many aspects and details of this week-long summer "school" that were crazy-awesome, especially for small children. The theme for many, many years was something along the lines of the 12 tribes of Isreal and life in Jerusalem at the time of Christ. I'm not sure if this theme was concocted entirely by the elders/deacons/pastoral staff, or if, like all Vacation Bible Schools offered nowadays, the theme was selected from some catalog that many other churches ordered from, but I again suspect that it was the former, because I haven't seen another church do anything similar to it.
  The effort, detail, and time put in to making this week-long event happen must have been phenomenal! I remember so clearly feeling like I had traveled back in time when I entered my room at VBS, because each individual room was decorated to look like a Middle Eastern nomad's tent or Jewish home. Each class a tribe, and each group leader went all-out when decorating! Sheets covered the walls, rugs covered the floors, cushions were set around for sitting on, and there was a menorah and mezuzah put in the proper place in each room and used in the proper way to teach children how the Jewish people lived when Jesus was alive. Not only that, but everyone dressed to part, too. Women and men wore long tunics and robes with appropriate head coverings, and little tunics were handed out to each kids attending. We were all given our own little leather money pouches with a set number of pennies in them for us to "spend" or give to the poor at our discretion. Once we were out of pennies, we were out.
   Where did we spend our pennies, you ask? In the marketplace. Our sanctuary would be turned into a noisy, busy bazaar. Stalls lined the walls with crafts to make and wares to buy. And when I say "crafts", I don't mean making a sun out of paper plates, glitter and glue. I mean leather working, candle making, even paper making! I could spend a penny to make a belt, then go next door and watch a potter at his wheel make urns and pitchers and bowls, then I could drop a penny or two to make a couple of functional candles. You had to be careful not to trip over the crippled beggar that would beg for any pennies you could spare. Good, kind children would give the beggar some pennies. You also had to watch out for the wicked tax collector. He would make rounds in the marketplace, dressed in the fanciest robes, demanding your taxes and snatching pennies from careless kids. Once or twice, I even saw the tax collector steal the poor, crippled beggar's stash of pennies! I felt real outrage! Especially that time me dad was the beggar. Oooo, that tax collector had sinned the greatest sin by stealing my poor, crippled daddy's meager begging wages! Yeah, that marketplace was awesome.
  I recall these fun memories now because I have just completed my first night working at my church's VBS. The theme is Climbing Mt. Everest. My church is all decked-out to look like a snow-covered base camp at the foot of Mt. Everest. The classroom that my friend and I are teaching in has a tent and some trees and sleeping bags and lanterns and snowflakes in it. The curriculum we're following is fun, simple, and full of Biblical truths. Many members of the congregation have dedicated a lot of time, effort, and energy in making this VBS a reality, including myself. Here I am, after one evening of co-leading the pre-school class, and I am exhausted!
    I don't want to compare the nostalgic memories of my childhood with the responsibility of this present VBS week, but just thinking about the work that must have been put into setting up, running, tearing down, and cleaning up Jesus' Jerusalem must have been ridiculous! I can only hope and pray that the kids who are attending Sylvania's Mt. Everest VBS will hang onto the memory of the fun they had and the truths they learned with us for years to come. Also, thanks, Bethel Bible Church, for hosting some pretty crazy-awesome Vacation Bible Schools back in the day.
   
  
            

Well, there goes half a year...

It has been six months since my last post.
How on earth does that happen?
A friend of mine shared a quote with me that may be entirely too accurate in describing this strange phenomenon: when parenting, the days last forever, but the years fly by. I believe that is true for life in general.
   In high school, I wished the time away, because it was high school. I lamented the time-suck that was organized education, and the laughably light load of responsibility my part time job(s) put on me. Yet, at the same time, I was having the time of my life. My friends were a tight-knit group of awesome, surprisingly well-behaved (comparatively speaking), kind and supportive kids, and we had lots of care-free fun. I loved being the star and soul of the softball team (my old teammates may disagree as to whether that was my actual role, but deep in their hearts, they know it was true...) I loved singing in the choir, I loved working on the newspaper staff, and I loved the lazy summer days spent at the lake. We got some impressive sunburns there.
  Now, as I look back, those are some sweet "good old days". I thought they would never end, at the time, and yet they went by so fast.
    Stephan proposed to me 6 months into our relationship. We set the date for 6 months later. Those were the longest 6 months of my young life. The planning, the preparations, the tantalizing waiting! I had a countdown going until the big day. My future husband had a countdown going for the start of Cowboys' football. I still married him. In that time of excitement and anxiety and an impressive show of self control, it felt like that special May 12th was years and years away.
  Boy, that day flew by so fast. That was 8 years ago.   
 When I was enduring my stunted stay in the frustrating quagmire that was my college experience, I would sit in a class, staring at the wall, daydreaming of my handsome boyfriend-who-quickly-turned-fiancee-and-then-husband, and think to myself, "Woah, I found the place were time stands still." Everything about collage was annoying to me. I didn't want to be there. I was doing what I had to do because that's what everyone said everyone has to do. The instant I got pregnant and uncomfortable enough to convince Stephan that college was unnecessary for my chosen vocation of home management, I tossed up the deuces to the University of Texas in Tyler and settled in to the life of a stay at home wife and mother.
   I thought my time there would never end. It passed by so quickly. Good riddance, college.
  As I sat on the couch in my quaint, quiet house, my very  new baby nestled on my propped up thighs, I counted his toes and waved his arms and tried my best to get any reaction out of him as he tried his best to go back to sleep. (Baby Wise says it's wake-time right now, kid. Sorry.) I was barely three weeks into my first go as a mother. My newborn son was everything I had dreamed about and prayed for for a long time. I loved him so much! He was perfect! He was healthy and adorable and looked like his daddy. I was living the life that I had always wanted! And I was beating myself up with guilt because I was bored. Noah's days were unending cycles of eat, stare at lights, poo-poo-tee-tee, sleep, repeat. And I was only really needed for the eat/poo-poo-tee-tee part. I tried my best to enjoy every moment, because everybody and their mom (especially their mom) tells you to, but often I found myself willing my baby boy to hurry and reach that next big milestone! I thought those days were going to last forever. Now, I have a five year-old who is going to start Kindergarten this fall.
  Foolish, stupid me, did you really try your hardest to enjoy every moment? Because I can hardly remember that first year, and that makes me far sadder than I like to think about.  
   A few weeks back, Stephan and I were wrapping up a Netflix binge-session with The Office, and something that was said in the finale by the character Andy Bernard really struck me. It was said with the intention of being poignant, yet humorous, a feat few sitcoms on tv can successfully achieve. The Nard-Dog said, after summing up his time at Dunder Mifflin Paper Co., "I wish we could know we were in the 'good old times' before they became the 'good old times'."
  Amen and amen, Nard-Dog.
 After the flash in the pan that was Naoh's infancy, I pledged to do a better job of soaking in every moment with my future children. I can clearly recall the feeling of self-satisfaction I had once when Witten was a small baby. I thought that I was doing it! I was stamping those moments so permanently in my brain that even my goldfish-level memory wouldn't forget what it was like when I was loving on my little baby. Of course, that's the only clear memory of Witten's baby-hood that I can recall.
  So what can I do?
Praise God for the invention of the photograph. Thank goodness I was bored enough to try my hand at blogging that one night 6 years ago. And please, Lord, help me, now and always, to truly, truly relish and live in these fleeting moment. These boys often drive me nuts, and I experience far more parenting fails than I'd like to admit, but I don't want my life to be hurried living, ended by wistful remembering. Be with me in every one of these moments, Lord, so that I can live a life that brings you glory.
   And, as always, please save my children.     

Aren't they precious?

Be safe

When Noah was not even 6 months old yet, his Bebe came to pick him up for an afternoon at his grandparents' house. It was just a few hours of playing with his loving Papa and doting Bebe, and they were going to stay in their house and travel no where else with him, so I felt completely confident my baby boy would be perfectly safe. It was even going to give me a chance to catch up on house work and maybe take a nap. I was ready for this!
  Still, as I handed my mother Noah's diaper bag and then the boy himself, I felt this strange, faint, yet very real sensation in my chest. As corny as it sounds, I felt a tug. A tug in my chest. I watched my mom walk away, and my baby watched me over his Bebe's shoulder. The tugging became undeniable. Then,when my baby disappeared into the back seat of my mom's car, the tug turned into an all-out pull, and I started to cry.
   I pulled myself together by reminding myself that this was my loving mother and not a basket in the Nile river taking my baby away. Also, silly, emotional woman, you'll be picking the kid up in, like, three hours, so stop it! And I did get Noah back, and he was completely fine, and my parents were very happy to have spent an entire evening with their only grandchild. It was a happy and good event. So why the tug?
   Four years ran by way to fast.
Noah wanted to play with his sweet friends Anne and Abby, who live a quick walk down the street from our house. Anne and Abby run over to our house often to play with both my boys, and I have dropped Noah and Witten off at their house several times. Today, however, Witten was napping, so I suggested he go play at the girls' house. He eagerly agreed.
   Stephan was at the gym, Witten asleep in his bed, and I was soon to put Belle down for a nap, too, so I knew me dropping Noah off was out of the question. An idea struck me. Grabbing up my phone, I shot a quick text at Karen, the kind and patient and lovely mother (and fellow blogger) of Noah's friends. Could she maybe send one of her girls to escort Noah to their own house? My answer was a chorus of knocks on our front door an impressively short time later. Anne and Abby skipped through our house and out the garage, where Noah was waiting for them.
     I helped him shrug on his jacket and then sent him off with the girls, then I stood in the doorway of the garage and watched him go. I don't think it was my mind making up stuff when I saw Noah proceed with great trepidation at first. He stood for a while in our driveway, watching the sisters dance around and tell him exciting things about what they'd heard from school or what they were going to do at home. Then, as the girls marched off, taking the short cut through the neighbor's yard, he pulled up the hood to his jacket and got to steppin' after them. By the time they moved out of my sight, Noah was jogging right along with the girls, clearly excited to play.He didn't look back once.
   Again, I knew the place Noah was headed to. I knew the girls and their parents and even their grandparents would be right there, should help be needed. I could even hear their happy playing from my front yard, even if I couldn't see them. Sure, there were a few more risks involved, what with the residential road that separated our neighbor's house from the girls' grandparents' house where they were headed, but I could proceed with confidence, knowing my boy was safe. Yet once again, I felt that tug. And once again, it got harder the farther Noah moved from me.
     I prayed, as I did on that day four years ago, that God would keep my first baby safe. I prayed it as if Noah was headed off to a week long camp an hour away from me. That kid is so disastrously tangled up in my heart strings that he cant leave my side without me feeling it in my chest. It's the same with his brother and sister, too. That over used saying about your children being your heart walking around outside your body is startlingly true. I love these three kids God gave me so much it physically hurts, sometimes, but in a good kind of way.
    I'm glad to see Noah expanding his horizons and testing his limits. I want him to be brave and independent. I love the idea of him and his siblings running over to their friends' houses to spend the day playing outside and using their imaginations. But seeing my big boy, my first baby, walk away like he did today, well, it made me all emotional and inspired, so I wrote a blog post about it.
   The End.

my little, bald-headed baby

Where'd this kid come from?

Du Toit Vacation 2014

The Du Toits went a-travelin', and it was good.
After over two years of working his tail-end off, Stephan decided to venture in a new direction, vocation-wise, and sold the Stand. For weeks before this took place, the man promised, repeatedly, that, as soon as the transaction was completed, we were going to pack up and take off. I was excited, to say the least. This would be our first vacation in over a year, and our first vacation as a family of five.
  The plan: load up the mini van and drive across half the continental United States to the east coast. (I would include pictures of our road trip travels, but I used my old camera instead of my phone, thanks to the camera on my phone having terrible photo quality, and now I can't find my connector cable or any other means of transferring the pictures I took from my camera to my computer. They may be trapped there forever! And there are some beautiful pictures from the aquarium on that stinkin' camera!!)
  Anyways,
The plan included 3 phases. Phase 1: Hit up Atlanta, Georgia, to visit the Robersons. Our dear friends, the Robersons, recently moved from Texas to Georgia. Since we know two other points/peoples of interest we wanted to visit in the area, we decided to make Georgia the focal point of our expedition.
   The drive there was not too bad. The boys were happily distracted with a constant stream of movies, and Belle did as well as could be expected of a 4 month-old confined in a car seat for extended periods of time. We stopped every 3-3 1/2 hours to take potty breaks and so I could feed the baby. I will say this; this road trip made me long for the days of old, when you could take out the back seat of your van or suburban and make a pallet to lay on while you watched movies or snacked or wrestled with your dad, who was taking a break from driving for a while and thereby giving your mom the chance to take a break from quilting to drive for a bit. *Sigh* good times.
   Anyways,
Crisi and I collaborated and decided to surprise Madi. Madi still swears that, one day, she and Noah will be wed, so she has been missing her guy a lot. When we arrived, Crisi had Madi open the door, after I nudged Noah forward so as to be waiting for her on the doormat. Madi's reaction was adorable! I think she may have cried a little bit. And from then until we left her house, Madi was always at Noah's side, whether he liked it or not.

Madi's on cloud nine. Noah could care less. Such a boy.

Noah actually did enjoy her attention, he just didn't want to admit it.

While visiting with John and Crisi, we not only got to experience Atlanta traffic, but we visited the largest aquarium in the world. It. was. AWESOME.

The animals housed in the aquarium we visited ranged form tiny, floating jelly fish, to massive, awe-inspiring whale sharks. (Yes, SharkS, as in four of the things!) There were so many sights to see and displays to gawk at and even a dolphin show that made me tear up a little bit.  The kids loved it! I would love to go back someday.
  Immediately after the aquarium, we headed to the Coca Cola museum that was right next door. We weren't there for long, as it was not all that entertaining for small children, especially children who were missing their naps. We did get to check out this nifty room where coca cola brand flavors from all around the world were available for sampling. Stephan found a South African brand he vaguely remembered called Bibo. It was okay, I guess. Then we tried this brand of drink from Italy called Beverly. It was the most disgusting thing I have ever intentionally ingested. Seriously. If you ever go to the Coca Cola museum in Atlanta, Georgia, keep an eye out for Beverly.
  We spent three days enjoying our dear friends' company.

Witten loved on Annabeth so sweetly!

Then, it was time to move along. We drove 6-ish hours to North Carolina to visit a friend of Stephan's from high school. We spent the weekend with them, during which time we watched The Guardians of the Galaxy. (It's currently my favorite movie) That was Phase 2.
  Phase 3: Visit cousin Cody and cousin-in-law Mary Beth in Pooler, Georgia. Never heard of Pooler, Georgia, you say? Verily, neither had I. But Pooler, Georgia is half an hour away from Savannah, Georgia, which, dear readers, is my new favorite place in America.
    I don't know if you know this about me, dear readers, but I'm a bit of a history buff. I love history. I don't know why, but all through school and into college I hated math and science with a passion and loved learning about the history of not just the United States, but ze VERLD! I tell you this to explain why I enjoyed Savannah so much: It was stuffed full of history!

This little pretend boat was planted on the river walk, surrounded by the original cobblestone street that was built in the late 1700's. I was literally walking on history.

  My cousin, Cody, was quite the tour guide. He lead us on a walk all through historic downtown Savannah and handed out cool facts and tidbits of information here and there for our enjoyment. I tell you, friends, if we had left our kids at home and I had worn more comfortable walking shoes, I could have explored that city all day!
  We lunched in a place called The Pirates' House. This building was, by far, the coolest place I have even been in in my LIFE! It was an authentic tavern from the 1750's that had been refurbished to be a restaurant, but I tell ya, readers, the air was thick with weighty history and the floors creaked with the footsteps of former occupants from centuries past. Sailors were shanghaied from that place! The stuff you read about in history books and nautical novels took place in a deep, dark, now-blocked-off-but-still-creepy tunnel not even six feet from where I sat to eat a super-tasty meal from the buffet! Seriously, I can't talk up enough the wow-factor a place like that had for a history nerd like me. If you want to read more about The Pirates' House, you can easily google it or click *HERE*. 
   Besides The Pirates' House, we toured Fort Pulaski (again, steeped in history and super awesome),

This is my happy face, mid-blink. I looked like this a lot in Savannah.

 ate at a tasty burger joint,

It was such a simple concept for a dining experience, and so, very tasty.

  Visited the beach (a place I have never been to during winter months),

Pier. Neat.

Empty beach. Cool.

Stephan had to pick up Witten, 'cause he kept flopping into the sand. Noah took over the flopping.

The boys loved it!

And lastly, we enjoyed some super tasty ice cream at an ice cream parlor that's been around since 1919 called Leopold's.

Seriously, it was abnormally tasty ice cream.

In between all the fun outings, I got to reconnect with my cousin and really get to know one of the newer members of my swiftly expanding family. All-in-all, phase 3 was a raving success.
   For the trip home, Stephan and I decided not to break the drive into two shorter trips by stopping halfway, as we did on the way there. Though the vacation had been loads of fun and time off well spent, we were homesick, and we just wanted the drive to be over. Friends, it was a long       stinking          drive         home. 16 hours, if I do recall correctly. As we neared familiar territory, we swore, once again, that we would never drive anywhere ever again, if we could help it.
    As I think back on the whole experience, I sigh with contentment. That was a good vacation.
But boy, am I glad to be home.

  A few notable things that has happened within my family during and since the vacation:
During the trip, Belle started to roll front-to-back consistently. She won't stay on her tummy now that she can help it. And today, she started trying in earnest to roll to her tummy from her back. She's also getting really close to sitting up on her own, and she can now take snacks like yogurt melts and those puff things that Stephan likes to eat.
 Also big news- Witten decided that he was potty trained yesterday and wore big boy underwear all day without any accidents at all. I type this with trepidation, as events such as these have a tendency of reverting as soon as I brag about them to the internet or even in person. But if this is the real deal and Witten is done with potty training, I just might go on another vacation to celebrate!

So now we are back to normal life. As I have mention in the above paragraphs, I am so glad to be home in my own bed. Stephan and I did discover, however, that the source of much of our sleep issues and back aches and general body pains is our bed. Every bed we slept on during our trip, event an air mattress, left us feeling rejuvenated and sound of body when we awoke, unlike our own mattress. Therefore, for Christmas, Stephan and I are getting each other the best mattress we can find/afford. I am excited!    
 
Oh my gosh! Christmas is next week! We have to shop so badly!

I hope your Christmas is a blessed one, dear readers!