Thirsty

Vincent has been in the garage for at least an hour.  Bending over paper, paint and markers in hand at our new garage craft center.  His glasses slide down his nose so he peers over them like an old man, his hair sticking up in the back, paint smeared on his shirt and pants.  I check on him between loads of laundry and unloading of the dishwasher and the refilling of Luisa's straw cup.  Eventually, the back door slams.  He steps in the kitchen, creation in hand.  "Momma for you!"  He peers at me over his glasses with a big, proud smile.

I am struck dumb for a moment then exclaim, "I LOVE IT!" 

I stare at the painting and the lesson hits deep to my heart.  You must grow weary with me, God.  Always having to be so obvious.  Having to send a child to bring home the point You've laid on my heart over the last few months. 

In Vincent's artwork I see streams running down from the cross.  Surely he was not thinking of streams of Living Water as he painted his cross creation?

"Vincent, what is this a picture of?"  

"Momma you know that place we go where we dress up?"

"Church?"

"Yes.  This is church," Vincent declares.

 I see the dome now and yet I ask him about the blue.

"That's where we walk up."  

He sees the blue going up, a sidewalk of sorts and I see the blue flowing down.  I wonder if the brown paint ran out and blue was the next best thing?And I know what God is trying to say.  Living Water.  Living Water.  Living Water.

This reminder now on repeat.   I get it.  I get it.  

If I believe my body is made up of two dimensions - the physical and the spiritual, why do I take care of one so carefully while neglecting the other?  I minimize fried food and I haven't eaten a McDonalds french fry or burger in I can't tell you how long.  I overload on snacks but for the most part, I stick with fresh food and smaller portions.  When I cut my finger preparing dinner, I wash the injury thoroughly.  Apply a bandaid if needed.  I take care to sleep at night.  I am careful to wear a jacket.

But my spiritual?

I've been substituting.  Neglecting to spiritually nourish for whole days of the week, then binging on the weekend hoping it will last.  Oddly, I always find myself hungry again the next day.  

I drink spiritual Soda (the substitute of people, numbing TV, the winding down of that glass of wine) and expect it to satisfy Monday through Friday.  Like lukewarm soda these things taste sweet as they hit the tongue but grow saccharine and empty when swallowed down.  I am weary.  Perhaps I need to exercise.  Perhaps eat better?  Maybe take a nap?  

All the while my other half - my spirit.  My spirit is thirsty, starving really.  

So on Saturday and Sunday I gulp of Water, eat of Bread hoping it will be enough to sustain all week.  But come the end of the day Monday?  It is not enough. 

How often, how frequent does God need to show me the error of my ways?  How explicit is He?  When you leave Egypt, consume the Lamb completely so that you might be nourished on your journey (Exodus 12).  Why do I hesitate to consume my Lamb on my knees EVERYDAY, quietly in my closet so that I might be sustained spiritually for this tough journey?  Eating of the small wafer during the Lord's Supper on Sunday?  Sarah, feast on the Bread of Life, not just on Sunday but each day.  Or else you will grow faint.  Exhausted.  We must eat everyday for our bodies to thrive.  We must drink daily from the cup of His word for our spirits to thrive. 
 

 

Right there in the kitchen, a five year old's art in hand I am reminded of the Living Water offered to a woman at the well.  She was most thirsty.  Substituting and feeding her spirit with the love she could find from other people, men.  And it was nothing more than junk food, a few drops of lukewarm soda.  She was thirsty.  And Jesus wanted more for her.  He saw straight to the soul, the soul with it's ribs sticking out and its dry, cracked lips.  He knew about her substitute love.  He knows about our substitutes of earthly praise and accolades and success and He says, "Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst.  Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life."  John 4:13-14.

And in despair I bowed my head

                              “There is no peace on earth,” I said,

“For hate is strong and mocks the song

Of peace on earth, good will to men.”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:

“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;

The wrong shall fail, the right prevail

With peace on earth, good will to men.” (I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day)

Work, work, work all week and refuse to eat the Bread of my soul.  The Bread of Life  "Do not work for food that spoils, but for food that endures to eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you.  On him God the Father has placed his seal of approval."  John 6:27.

Passover Lamb.  Living Water.  Bread of Life.

I hang Vincent's picture in my place of prayer.  And I breath in "Be Still."  And exhale, "For I am The Lord Your God."  In prayer, in Word, in just being still in His presence, I drink of Living Water.  And before I rise from my prayer, I see His gentle reminder right there - an orange cross and blue water.

This will be a journey.  This living as a wife.  This parenting of beautiful children.  This serving of my fellow split beings, physical and spiritual.  This caring for, this stewarding of one who is quite broken physically, her legs walking so well but her hands starting to tremor.  This will be a journey.  I must eat of The Passover Lamb completely.  I must drink of His Living Water.  I must partake of The Bread of Life. I must not face life's challenges with a malnourished spirit.

{Courtesy A. Bryan Photo}

 

O ye beneath life's crushing load,

                                  Whose forms are bending low,

Who toil along the climbing way

With painful steps and slow;

Look now, for glad and golden hours

Come swiftly on the wing;

Oh rest beside the weary road

And hear the angels sing. (It Came Upon the Midnight Clear)

 

This Christmas I wonder if we will gather around the tree our soul lips as dry as the pine needles starting to fall?  I wonder if there will be an emptiness in our chest, a hollowness of soul?  After the toys are opened and the gift cards are gathered, I wonder if boredom will set back in?  I wonder if despite our best efforts we are just weary?  May we sing the carols with tears in our eyes because their truths quench our hearts, leaving us trembling and grateful.

Long lay the world in sin and error pining. 

                        Till He appeared and the Spirit felt its worth. 

A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices, 

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn. 

Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices! 

O night divine, the night when Christ was born; 

O night, O holy night, O night divine! 

O night, O holy night, O night divine! (O Holy Night)

I imagine His birth that night.  God arrived in the flesh, His physical body born as ours was born - water and blood and the miracle of gasping breath.  He chose to arrive this way, raw and messy, so that our souls might take a deep breath.  Gasp air.  

I will drink these truths, with an orange cross and blue streams to remind me.  I will.

Find Life.  Find Water.  Find Bread.  Find my Lamb in Christ Alone.

Finding Joy

Today Vincent started Kindergarten.  And just like that the pre-school, toddler years are over.  Just like that, he finds himself in a busy classroom decorated with bees and word walls and rules and art.  I find myself in a quite house, something I craved all summer but now find to be too much. 

He was proud of himself, not sad, not nervous when I dropped him off at school.  He feels big and important like his sister.  Elementary schools all over town invite Kindergarten parents to a "Sip and Sob," an opportunity to meet together and commiserate this rite of passage, this ending and beginning for our babies now grown.  Since the social is titled, "Sip and Sob" not "Sip and Weep an Ugly Cry," I decide to head for the van.  Luisa in tow, I buckle her in, climb in the front seat and allow the tears to start rolling.  I'm surprised at the whimper coming from my lips.  It's been bottled up and now I let it go. 

These are not tears limited to my boy all grown up and brave.  These are tears for a closing of a chapter.  These are tears because our family has a new reality.  July 3rd forever changed us and right now I just need to grieve the change.  I need to grieve the loss of our family as it was "before."  I spill tears in an elementary parking lot for a  diagnosis 5 weeks new.  For a little girl who will not experience "typical" preschool years and a family now radically shifted. 

I cry over our little cottage in Homewood, Alabama.  The 3 bedroom, tiny house bursting with so many memories.  I sit in the parking lot and remember cheap, blue swimming pools filled with frigid hose water.  One summer we splurged for the pool with a slide.  It offered more fun than a day spent at an amusement park.  Giggles and squeals and a backyard muddy and squishy with so much water.  Pulling the tiny kiddie slide and placing its bottom directly into the pool then running the hose down the slide so the kiddos could slide fast into the water.  Toddlers in kiddie pools and sprinklers are joy and energy and discovery and laughing. 

Sophia is 3 1/2 and Vincent is 2  years old in this video.  For those of no blood relation, this video might bore you as it is quite long.  Yet it is a miraculous video!  Kicking legs in water, crouching then standing on a slide, so MANY words.  "Get away you rotten shovel!"

 

I will miss mornings spent watching Sesame Street, fighting their chubby little fingers for a taste of Cherrios in the bowl placed on my lap.  Resting my cheek right there on the top of their heads.  Wondering contently, "What will we do today?"  A schedule open and blessedly void of "appointments."

Vincent at 2 years old.  Again this is quite long but again, the talking and the movement and the joy....

Walks to Rainbow bridge and hours upon hours upon hours exploring the neighborhood.  Stopping for lattes, swinging at the park, or maybe the library for books we will balance on top of the stroller, treasures to open and read before bed.  Trips to Edgewood Creamery where Tony likes to say we paid a 2nd mortgage during residency.  Seeing their faces so red and sweaty and full of joy.  Picnics.  So many picnics.  Jumping in the pitiful creek at Overton Park.  Tiny voices talk, talk, talking and shouting Momma!  and Daddy!  and Come get me!  and Can we please? 

Luisa says so little.  I haven't heard "Momma" all week.

Luisa starts her high pitched scream, my signal to wipe the tears, start the car, and get her home as soon as possible. I pull out of the parking lot and turn on the DVD player, with the hope it will soothe her screeching. It works about half the time. It didn't work today.  I need to stop for groceries before heading home. Life isn't put on hold for a heart that grieves. We must power on, especially as mothers.

In the store parking lot I scroll through my Facebook feed and see links to world atrocities and I feel guilt for this sadness over Kindergarten. But I decide to allow myself tears this morning because I'm pretty sure Jesus wouldn't tell me to get a grip. He knows my heart, I might as well give it to Him, grief and all.  I walk into the grocery store armed with snacks.  Luisa is content as I fill the cart with pre-packaged cookies and crackers for this week's lunchboxes.  We stand in the check-out as a little boy calls out to me from behind, "Hi!"  He smiles as if we are the best of friends.  I smile and ask the mother, "How old is he?" The torturous question I feel compelled to ask any mother with a child near Luisa's age.  "20 months," she replies.  "And yours?"  "22."  I conceal the tears by bending down to retrieve the diapers from under the cart.  Why do I do that to myself?  Ask their age? 

When we get home I make a rather irrational decision to let Cookie Kitty inside (Tony and I are both allergic).  I like to watch Luisa with him.  She squeals in delight and pulls at him.  Sometimes she will even say "ka."  Cookie lies lazy on the floor, allowing the torment until I relieve him with a bowl of milk in the garage.

I'm only 5 weeks into a diagnosis for our little girl.  Yet the grief is 8 months old.  In January Luisa's baby friends were learning to walk while she sat content on the floor, no desire, no movement to pull to stand.   A mother's heart knows.  So 8 months in I am learning how to find joy in our "new normal."  Today I said goodbye to the spontaneity that defined Sophia and Vincent's preschool years.  Luisa's preschool days will be filled with therapy after therapy.  Therapy that causes much crying, frustration, and grit for Luisa.  During her preschool years there will be shorter trips to the zoo, as she loses interest quickly.  More time at home.  And while there will be many toys and trips similar to the "typical" preschool experience, Luisa will process and interact differently because Retts makes it hard for her to interpret and participate in her environment.  Despite this "new normal," I know a new joy will be found.  I know it will....

"Weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning." Psalm 30:5b

Right now joy looks a lot like purpose.  Splurging on fancy baby lotion because I want her therapists to think she smells sweet.  Joy looks a lot like rubbing lotion into her legs and on her neck so that the beat, beat, beat of her heart releases the pleasant fragrance.  Joy is choosing new hairbows and clothes and practicing her hair so I can get it just right.  Joy looks like tasting the smoothies I so carefully researched and finding that YES! it tastes great.  Joy is watching her eat a whole pouch of these homemade smoothies, knowing the calories will add to her body the fat that is lacking.  Joy is knowing the vitamins are in there and maybe, maybe I can heal her in some way....  Joy is looking into her blue eyes and feeling a deep sense of purpose.  As she nears two she is not growing more independent, not walking, not able to communicate her needs.  While this brings me deep sadness, it also brings me great purpose.  Joy is finding ways to meet her needs...
 
Joy is seeing the young man serving at the Southeastern Retts Conference welcome table .  He stood out for his eagerness to help all of us find our packets and seats.  I found out later that he is the older brother of one of the adult girls with Retts.  His love for his sister was apparent in his service and the hugs I saw him give her on the side.  Joy is knowing that although they did not choose it, Sophia and Vincent are gifted with great purpose and an understanding of the world few are afforded.

Joy is knowing that because I am His and Luisa is His, somehow this Rett journey will be used for His purposes and glory (Romans 8:28).  What a great day in heaven when we will understand it.

Joy looks a lot like perspective.  I am not facing the decisions and the horror and the tragedy found on the news and our Facebook feeds and in our cities.  Even on the Retts journey, perspective brings joy.  Luisa is using her hands right now.  And standing.  And is seizure free. Someday that may not be her story.  But today it is.  So I will take joy in this. 

Joy is being granted days, months, and years of this kind of happiness.  To have expierenced this kind of joy is a gift many are not afforded and I will be thankful:

I will not overlook past blessings because I am grieving today's losses.

Joy looks a lot like hope.  Joy is hearing stories of 10 year old girls with Retts fully included and making A's in English because they have the communication tools in place to let the world know how much is upstairs in their beautiful but broken brains.  Joy is therapy sessions like this:

when Luisa shows us that she knows what a key is.  A key!!!!  We will celebrate each milestone with fervor and deep gratitude.

Joy looks like Rett's mice who after a miracle injection no longer wring their hands and start walking normally.  Joy looks like human trials and brave families paving the way for a cure for all our girls.  Joy looks like Strollerthons and Lemonade Stands and fundraisers where people join together in support and a cause that will change thousands.

And this afternoon?  Joy will be my boy climbing in the car, a brain unbroken and full of new knowledge.  Stories of new friends.  And later tonight he will sleep deep because he ran and jumped and climbed at recess.  What a miracle.  What a joy.

Time for a new normal.  Time for finding new joy.

courtesy A Bryan photo

 

"He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God.  Many will see and fear and put their trust in the Lord." Psalm 40:3



A Boy's World

For a four year old boy, adventure is the name of the game.  Just walking in the hall, past your mother, then out the back door there are knees to push, doors to slam, karate poses against invisible enemies.  At age four, there are stories to tell and large armies to assemble.  Switch n' Go dinosaurs vs. a legion of Super Heroes.  ImaginNext castle knights vs. The Ogre and The Dragon.  There are cannonballs and boulders to launch.  There are long-winded dialogues and sound effects too difficult for your mother to imitate.

Then suddenly big sister is home and your world is interrupted.  Your alone time happily traded for play alongside Sophia.  You play family.  You are Daddy, Sophia plays baby and sweet neighbor friend plays mommy.  Only a few minutes pass before protests are heard.  You've pulled their barrettes out or run from the room giggling, doll clothes in hand.  Picking at the girls is your specialty.  You find their annoyance to be great fun. 

"Hey momma!  I fixed your phone," you say in your uncharacteristically deep voice.  And sure enough you have re-assembled all four parts of my phone case.  I've disassembled Luisa's jumparoo time and time again only to have you reassemble it behind my back.  You love fixing things.  When we praise you for a job well done, you tilt your head to the side, shrug those little boy shoulders, and smile sheepishly. 

Speaking of shrugs, you continue in your habit of Italian gesticulating. When you are story-telling, especially excited, or upset you hold both arms out and move them up and down in emphasis of your point.  When you have a secret, you cup your hands in a "w" around your mouth and shout whisper your message.  Every kid has a trademark and gesturing just may be yours.

Vincent, you are quite physical.  Your favorite thing to do, in the whole wide world, is wrestle with your Daddy.  During weeks when Daddy's surgery schedule is especially brutal and for several consecutive days he doesn't arrive home until after you are asleep, I  find that you jump on my back more, push on your sister, launch yourself off the edge of the couch.  I text Daddy, "Wrestle match Saturday morning.  Your boy is wearing me out."  Then we all gather in the living room, on the red carpet, coffee table pushed back.  Tougherbat (Vincent) vs. Small Mouse (Daddy).  Names courtesy of referee, Ana Sophia.  Luisa stares wide-eyed and a little afraid.  I cheer for Tougherbat.  Forever and always.

Your physicality rarely plays out with baby Luisa.  During your fourth year of life you became a big bother and what an awesome brother you are!  You are Luisa's fierce protector against stray paper, beads, or any small choking object she might find on the floor.  We call you the "paper police."  One of Luisa's first words was "bubba," clear as day when you walked in the room.  You make her laugh. 

Sophia enjoys you as both her playmate and her foe, depending on the time of day, your blood sugar level, and whether or not you two have had too much time together.  Here in Florida you share a room with your big sister.  This close proximity results in sweet moments.  Sister has crawled in your bed numerous times when nightmares keep you from sleeping.  Sharing a room results in conniving moments when you plot and plan reasons to come out of your room, soliciting mommy and daddy in shifts to go to the bathroom, get water, and even distract us while the other runs to the playroom to retrieve a toy.  The funny moments occur when we eavesdrop on your conversations.  You've promised to buy Sophia all the cotton candy in the world and jewelry to make her feel better after she's received a reprimand.  And there are rowdy moments when you argue in the way only passionate Morlandts can do. 

During your fourth year of life, you spent most days at home with Mommy and then eventually Mommy and Luisa as Sophia attended preschool.  Currently you exhibit signs of introvert, including craving time by yourself, internal monologues that sometimes slip out as you play, and melting down when you've had too many hours and days with too many people.  One of my favorite memories of your fourth year of life occurred during a morning before Luisa arrived and while Sophia was at school.  You were playing happily in your room with your toys and puzzles.  I was cleaning the kitchen, doing laundry and listening to you play.  There was not a sound in the house, except those made in your boyish play and the hum of the washing machine.  I'm not sure how much time elapsed before I heard you crying.  I rushed to the hall to find you standing there, panic on your face.  "Momma!" you exclaimed.  "You left me!"  I pulled you in a reassuring hug, "Momma didn't leave.  I would never leave you alone.  I was washing clothes in the other room!"  So lost in your private world, you didn't see me checking on you, popping my head around the corner to silently observe your play.  I want to jump in your head and watch your worlds like a movie.  You are interesting, Vincent. 

I will end this update with four of my favorite quotes from your fourth year of life:

To me while pregnant with Luisa:

"I give your tummy a hug and a kiss.  I love you Luisa in there!"

 

In reference to this book by Peggy Rathmann.:

"Safety tip 71 - Don't yell and scream that can hurt your feelings."

 

Spontaneously said to me in the back of the van:

"You are a hundred bits of nice."

 

Overhead from the room you share with Sophia:

"Don't be sad.  I'll give you everything you ever dreamed of.  I'll buy you cotton candy."

For posterity here are a few other things that occurred during your 4th year of life:

• You completed your first 50 piece puzzle.

• Hit the ball with your baseball bat without a T-ball stand
• Began to write your name ("vint")
• Attended Mother's Day Out 2x/week and then 3x/week here in Florida
• Moved to Florida
• You were a ring bearer in your first wedding

• You became a big brother

• You learned to cast a reel, all on your own
• You continued to be the earliest riser in the family (with the exception of your Daddy who gets up at 4 a.m.!)

• We lost and found Gus (your lovie) more times than mommy can count
• You experienced numerous ear infections
• You acquired several superhero costumes.  You were fierce and strong and irresistibly cute.

• You grew everyday.  In your fourth year of life, you were loved, most loved.....

Luchadors

Tony recently traveled to San Diego for the annual American Association of Oral and Maxillofacial Surgeons convention.  While there he picked up a few souvenirs for the kiddos and me.  When he ran across these Luchador masks, he immediately bargained down the price in order to bring them home to Vincent.

For you see, frequently during the week the coffee table is cleared from the living room and the red carpet becomes a wrestling ring.  Fortunately, we have a more than willing female to referee the matches and the mother sits back and enjoys the entertainment (when I'm not bracing myself for injury of my youngest). 

The masks have upped the game and the giggles are constant.  Sophia enjoys declaring the "winner" and creating funny names for the contestants ("Tougherbat!").  I enjoy watching safely from the sidelines.  Just check out the fun....

Taking One Day at a Time

My grandmother offered sage advice every year on the first day of school.  After my brothers and I posed for the annual “first day of school” picture we walked towards our family Suburban and past my grandmother sitting on the front porch.  She would stop us and ask for a kiss before we left.  Then she would look us straight in the eye, usually while holding one of our hands, and say with great sincerity, “I hope you have a wonderful school year.  Remember, do what you are supposed to do each day and you will not get behind.”  It was practical advice, encouraging achievement and hard work.  I found the admonition to be rather odd.  There were so many other things to warn us about – peer pressure, moral integrity.  It strayed from the usual warnings to “mind our manners” and “be sweet.”  But every year, without fail, she counseled us to never get behind in our school work. 

Her advice and my response are prime examples of wisdom wasted on the young.  Only now, in my early 30’s, am I able to appreciate and strive to follow her counsel.  Never in all my years has this advice been more practical than now.  For you see, there are big things going on in the Morlandt house and choosing to bite off one task at a time is saving me from being eaten alive by all there is to do.

First, we are adjusting to Sophia attending school 5 days a week.  She started preschool at one of our local elementary schools.  This is a fantastic program that partners typically developing children with disabled children.  Evening meals now include lively discussions about magic ears (cochlear implants) and strollers have turned into wheelchairs overnight.  What a blessing to be a part of this unique preschool.  Sophia has to be there by 8:20 so leisurely mornings have turned into a highly coordinated dance to get out the door by 7:55. 

 

{First day of Preschool!}

Vincent attends Mother’s Day Out two days a week at a small, local church that reminds me of home. 

{Vincent on his first day of Mother's Day Out}

Packed lunches are a new part of our routine and I can be found each evening standing over a mountain of baggies containing grapes, lunch meat, cheese, pretzels, goldfish, and cups of yogurt.  When I’m finished packing the lunches and placing them in the refrigerator there must be a thorough cleaning of the counters BECAUSE….

Our house is now on the market and I try to leave the house “show ready” each morning.  This means I wake up and make all the beds, pick up clothes, stray toys, and place each dirty dish in dishwasher.  As I work, my grandmother’s words echo in my mind, “Do what you are supposed to do each day and you will never get behind.”  So for the first time in my life I am performing household chores on a daily, routine basis.  2 loads of laundry a day.  Wipe the counters each evening.  All toys put away before the small ones climb into bed.  Sink empty as the sun sets.  Dishwasher humming as I finally crawl beneath the covers.  And when we awake in the morning?  The house is orderly, fresh, and ready for a new day.  Why haven’t I been doing this all along?  Maybe because there is equal truth in the saying, “Cleaning with kids is like brushing your teeth while eating Oreos.” When small children are involved, keeping house can be quite the discouraging task.

Serenity is found in an orderly home.  Only now that I’m forced to keep my house in order am I reaping the benefit of the daily discipline I was admonished to cultivate by my grandmother all those years ago.  So when I survey all that is set to occur in the next four months including the arrival of baby #3, potential selling of our house, a move to a new city (more on that to come), and the changes that come with both kids in school I attempt to channel my inner “grandmother,” checking one thing off my list each day. 

{Deep cleaning one set of blinds a day....}

I’m broadening my grandmother's wisdom to include limiting my worry each day.  I ration my mind’s wanderings to only those things that need to be decided or done that day.  When I allow my thoughts to encompass all our current “what if’s,” I quickly become overwhelmed and accomplish nothing.  A powerful admonition comes to mind and I cling to it now, “Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.  Each day has enough trouble of its own.”  (Matthew 6:34).  As I type I envision laying my head right there on My Father’s lap, allowing him to smooth back my hair and whisper those words.  And when a lump rises in my throat He’ll turn my chin to meet His eyes.  He’ll lean in and with a gentle smile say, “Sarah, are not two sparrows sold for a penny?  Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father.  And Sarah, even the very hairs of your head are all numbered.  So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.” (Matthew 10:29-31).  Trusting Him this day and thanking Him for the wisdom imparted so many years ago to a brace-faced, immature girl by her loving grandmother.  “Remember Sarah, do what you are supposed to do each day and you will not get behind.”  One box a day.  Two lunches each evening.  One set of blinds each morning.  One task at a time and it will all get accomplished.  And for those things completely out of my control, trusting Him each day....

Vincent's Birthday Parties

I feel like I am never going to catch up with posts and pictures from the summer.  I even have a post in the works about an Atlanta trip that we took over a year ago.  Then there was Gatlinburg, our summer Texas trip, anniversary parties, and book reviews.  Not to mention random musings and writings - all waiting to be published.  Baby steps..... Baby steps.....


On the heels of Vincent's 3 year old update, I will post about his 3 year old birthday parties.  He had two parties this year - one in Alabama and one in Texas.  He is one blessed little guy....

CARS Birthday Bash

Vincent chose a CARS theme for his birthday party and our church's gym was the chosen locale.  We had access to half the gymnasium along with balls and scooters for entertainment.

{Pretty Hannah}

 {Hannah's brother, Isaiah.  Hannah and Isaiah were Vincent's Bible Study Fellowship buddies.}

{Scooter races!!!}

{Traditional racing was the most popular activity, by far.}

 Later we made our way downstairs for chicken nuggets, cake, presents, and a bean bag toss.

{The delicious and messy Publix birthday cake}

{The spread - watermelon, chips, chicken nuggets, and veggies.}

{The favors - bubbles and CARS stickers}

{Vincent and Evie, another BSF buddy}

{Lawson and Sophia}

{Pretty Cate}

{James}

{Sweet Abby}

{Baby Neil with his daddy and Tony's fellow resident, Hari}

{Baby Neil's mommy and twin sister Mina.  This was the twins first birthday party!  They were such troopers and seemed to enjoy all the action.}

{Jean Jean and baby Madeline.  A birthday party re-cap is not complete without a picture of Jean Jean holding someones baby :)}

{Mrs. Scroggins, Vincent's BSF teacher, and me.}

{Arabella, Lenora, and I - sure missing these guys}

{The whole crew!!!}

 



{While some ate lunch, others colored}

 {Cake Time!!!!!}

 

{Before presents we played a game of bean bag toss - thank you Pinterest}

 {Presents!!!}

{It started at the party and hasn't stopped since - Darth Vader and the Storm Trooper.  I love Hannah's face in this picture!}

A Texas Cowboy Birthday

We left for Texas the Monday after Vincent's birthday party.  Since we were going to be in Texas so soon after Vincent's birthday, Mimi and Grandpa planned a family bash in his honor.  The theme was appropriately Texan, complete with everything "cowboy." 

 

{The kiddos with their great-grandfather - Opa}

 {Getting all dressed up for the party!}



 {Decorating the cake was a family affair}

 {No surprise that there were some silly shenanigans going on....}

 {The birthday boy with his cowboy themed cake.}

  

{Calling Daddy to tell him all about his party}

{Uncle Michael and Ms. Emily arrive - let the horseplay begin....}

{On the menu was authentic, spicy Texas bar-b-q, complete with ribs and beef brisket - something we rarely see here in Alabama).

{Aunt Dinah brings in the cake}

{The real-deal tool set, complete with "big boy tools."  He has found a reason to open this box every day since the party.}

{The new ride with his new cowboy boots.}



What a memorable 3rd birthday!!!!