Of Becoming a (Little) Man

A sight to see around our house lately is our little two-year-old coming into his own.  Where once he parroted his sister and then began mimicking her words with his own twist, he has now branched out completely.  He has his own thoughts, ideas and desires.  And he is not so bad at expressing them.

The concept of a talks-a-lot big sister not letting her little brother speak for himself?  Not for this guy.  He'll shout to be heard.  Literally.

In addition, this little guy is all boy.  While, yes, he still asks to wear his sissy's headbands or colors with the pink crayon, we also find ourselves saying (much more than we ever have to with our little girl), "No hitting!"  Because hitting, pushing and kicking are just his ways of playing, conveying frustration and being an annoying little brother.

Don't get me wrong, he is also very loving - willing to share his chocolate with me when I ask or putting his arm around his sister at dinner or giving his little brother just-because kisses or snuggling with Daddy during TV time.  He definitely has a sweet streak - it just sometimes gets out-shone by his ornery side.

It's such a pleasure to watch him grow and realize he truly is becoming a little man.  Oh that we would raise him right.

1,000 Gifts:
1052. Duck, Duck, Goose with six adults (four of which are 50 or older), a pre-schooler, a toddler and an infant
1053. Extended weekends
1054. A kitchen built for entertaining
1055. Beautiful Thanksgiving weather
1056. The smell of fall in the air
1057. Family traditions

Thanksgiving Weekend:
Playing outside with Grandpa - Joey's first time in the tree house.  I love how it looks like the brothers are conspiring.

This is how we found them when Mom and I returned from our laidback version of Black Friday shopping.

Bowling for the first time.  They loved pushing the ball down the slide.

They even both beat Daddy the first game (then again, he didn't have the aid of bumpers).

Love tiny bowling shoes.

Tickles from Grandpa.

So proud of him for branching out and trying something new at Pops. The fact that it was mock Russian makes it that much better.

Getting Duck, Duck, Goose instructions.

Love her giggles.

Iconic Pops photos

Loved our family time.

Sights of the Season:
We open one Christmas-related book or movie every day of December leading up to Christmas.  Love seeing these under my tree!

Joey's "First Christmas" ornament - perfect!

Of Getting Out the Tree

This evening as we jumped the gun on our Christmas decorating, it seemed as though the amount of involvement by various members of the family has truly grown exponentially.  While last year we had an excited, but still not really understanding, three-year-old and a brand-new toddler who wasn't interested in much more than crawling around the greenery, this year brought an exuberant four-year-old with a plan and a penchant for hanging ornaments (our tree actually lacks the clustered effect one might expect by the decorating abilities of two children under the age of five), and a two-year-old who could not wait for it to be his turn with every new piece of memorabilia adorning the branches.  I mean, he was into this thing - much more so than I believe his sister was even last year.

Of course, there was also the little crawler who was relegated to his spot in the corner, just watching the action, but when he was let loose, he was ecstatic by all the glimmer and flair.  With a ten-month-old opening gifts next month, I think this will be, by far, the most fun first Christmas in our family.

In any event, I'll declare this season gets more fun with every passing year.

1,000 Gifts:
1037. Two kids bent in the dirt
1038. The two of them, working together, to rip open a letter from their cousin
1039. Chicken on the bone
1040. Memories hung on a tree
1041. The little guy, standing in his crib
1042. How excited they get to see their little brother
1043. How thrilled he gets to crawl after them

Of Keeping the New

Last week, as I attempted to dress three children for a photo shoot with their aunt that was supposed to take place at 10am, for which I was hoping to arrive by 9:30 so as to allow more actual photo time, I scrambled to find three pairs of socks, pull on three pairs of pants (ok, four if you include mine - and that was important to me), tug on shirts, locate jackets and secure shoes.

Meanwhile, the children had been bathed and were eating breakfast.  And as I scuttle to and fro that middle son of mine has pushed off his shoes, tugged off his socks and run happily to play.

Frustrated, I demanded, "Emmett!  Stop taking off your shoes!"  Because anyone who has ever put tight shoes on a squirrely toddler will tell you, it's not fun and it's not quick.  We were behind and this shoe thing was not helping.

So, we re-locate two socks and two shoes and put them back on.  I scurry to find that third jacket.  I return to find that same boy in socks.  No shoes.  Trying to work himself out of the jacket on his arms.

"Stop taking off what I have put on!"

In this exasperated moment, I had clarity of thought to recognize these very words as ones I could just as easily have heard from God Himself - in fact, I'd dare say it was the Holy Spirit who pointed this out to me, saying, "Are you hearing yourself?  Why, then, do you continually take off what I have put on?"

And I recalled right there in the Scripture where we are commanded "to put off your old self, which belongs to your former manner of life and is corrupt through deceitful desires, and to be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and to put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness" (Ephesians 4:22-24, ESV).

Too often I am that child, the one God is trying to dress in the new manner, holy and righteous as He, preparing me for the tasks ahead.  And there I am, stubborn and obstinate, ripping off the new (or maybe even doing so more subtly, simply slipping off what still feels a little uncomfortable at times, what hasn't been broken in), in favor of the old, the easy - the harsh words, angry tones, bitter spirit.

And all the while He's there, pleading (in a much more patient manner than I tend to display with my own children), "Daughter, stop taking off what I have put on!"

Since that moment of epiphany as I hurried the kids to the car, I've noticed a change.  As I strive to keep on the new, the old is what suddenly feels out-dated, uncomfortable and stiff.  I find myself, after years of trying it back on to see how it fits, finally ready to throw it out - because goodness knows I don't dare desire to see my children wearing this hideous monstrosity.

I think I just might like to keep this one - this one He has put on.

1,000 Gifts:
1026. Three children in my lap for story-time
1027. Following the Spirit's leading in service
1028. Twister with my littles - this old body ain't what she used to be
1029. A refreshing time with girls
1030. Keeping on the new
1031. A sick Sunday morning which meant lunch snuggled in Mommy and Daddy's bed - for everyone!

Photos from Sunday:
Joey's baby dinosaur face.  Makes me smile every time.

Brother kisses are the best.  Especially when they're unprovoked.

Of Nine Months with Joseph

Our littlest guy celebrated nine months of living yesterday.  He celebrated in typical fashion - by living life as a nine-month-old, which is exciting enough, in itself, when there is still so much world to discover.

At this point one might normally be able to say he has been out of the womb as long as he was in it, but considering our little Joey stayed cozily tucked up inside me for a ten-day extension, we won't be able to say that until Thanksgiving (which is now nine days away, what?!).

Considering all the development which occurred in that first nine months and ten days of existence - proceeding from a tiny fertilized egg into a being with a beating heart, arms, legs, toes, fingers, eyelashes and a soft dusting of hair, 9.5 pounds of squirmy, squishy, sleepy baby - it's hard to imagine any more miracle packed into so short a time.  Yet the nine months following his exit into our world have had their fair share of milestones.

He now has two teeth to boast of and even saw the scissors to his hair for the first time this past week (just for a little over-the-ears trim, nothing major).  On top of using his hands and knees to transport himself wherever he would like to be, his new favorite is pulling up to get a closer look at all that used to be out of reach - like his brother's lollipop or Mommy's laptop.

He loves to giggle, grin, and, recently, wave "bye-bye."  His tongue is his favorite toy, as he sticks it out (and in) in rapid succession, like a giant lizard, flips it over and under and all around works it for all it's worth.  When he's sleepy, lately, he resembles a baby dinosaur, opening his mouth wide, tongue partially out, squawking for all to hear - sometimes a yawn is involved, other times not.  When he's sad or hungry and wants my attention, he cries, "Mmamamamamamamaaaa!"

He is, by far, our most exploratory baby, often getting lost in one room or another before Mommy even realizes he's missing (blame it on being the third child).  He loves finding new things and, of course, trying it all out in his mouth, feeling it out with that favored tongue.

He alternates between being a most amazing sleeper (13 hours or more) most of the time and spurts of waking Mommy at 4:30 in the morning, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.  He is our only so far to not have completely given up that early morning feeding, but I always know when it's growing time.

Considering when we first met face to face he was capable of little more than gazing, sleeping and eating - unable, even, to support his own head - I would say he has accomplished much in his, as yet, short little life.  Looking forward to seeing what else our little Joseph Peter has in store for us.

Just to give a visual to a little of the above:



1,000 Gifts:
1018. Micaiah, picking up her baby brother
1019. Joseph investigating his sister's face while she sits placidly, watching television
1020. Emmett kneeling to kiss his sissy's face, wordlessly and randomly
1021. Watching a favorite show after a long hiatus - still a favorite
1022. Preparing for a new resident
1023. Finding just what we need at just the right time and place
1024. "Look, Mommy! He's standing on his feet!"
1025. Being pronounced "Super Mommy" by my beautiful daughter

Of Following the Rules

I have rules issues.  As in, I seriously need/like rules.

I think I don't - I like to pretend, because I am fiercely independent, that I don't like to be told what to do.

It is a lie.

I need structure.  I need guidelines.  I need painstakingly clear directions.

Lest you think I exaggerate, you need to know I have had no less than three different teachers, in three different states of our nation, in three different stages of my life who have disliked me on varying levels for my need to clarify.  One praised me the day I asked my first "smart question."  One scolded me in front of the entire class, telling me she'd put more restrictions on her open-ended project if I really wanted her to (though it was perfectly clear this would be a punishment).  One e-mailed me the Webster's definition of the project I was to complete, because I clearly didn't understand enough to not ask.

I'm not kidding.

I have a deep fear of doing something wrong, of earning disapproval, so I map out every detail of what's expected (and somehow meet disapproval anyway).

Only today did I realize this is where things work well for me in the kitchen.

After all, what is cooking but following a step-by-step guide for creating something delicious?  My obsessive need to read, re-read and then check again on each individual stage of the baking process lends itself very well to producing the desired result.

I can cook because I can follow directions.  Because I need to follow directions.

And I like to cook because it's the one thing left in my life with clear-cut instructions - and tangible evidence of my ability to follow them.

It's the one thing left, after the meaningless trophies, the cheap certificates, the cap and gown, that rewards me for following the rules and gives opportunities for open praise.  No one sees the clean bathroom, the folded laundry or the sometimes-behaved children and says, "Well done!"  But they bite into a soft chocolate chip cookie and the appreciation is lavished.

Only one more deep insight unlocked for me today into my own psyche.

I think there's something wrong with me.

1,000 Gifts:
1010. The bright orange of freshly pureed pumpkin
1011. Open windows
1012. Rewarding my children
1013. Re-living fond child-hood memories through my little ones.
1014. Preparing for a weekend of catching up
1015. The bright colors of fall leaves
1016. Pinecone turkeys
1017. A sink-full of bubbles and tiny hands to appreciate them

A product of yesterday morning's photo shoot with my lovely sister-in-law - I feel this photo captures the essence of my crazy life.

Of the Costume Conundrum

I kind of maybe really enjoy coming up with fun Halloween costumes.  Not since the days of plastic smocks and cracking masks have I ever longed to simply purchase a costume.  The fun for me is in the creativity.  So, when Micaiah told me what she wanted to be this year, I was kind of excited about the prospect for a family costume.

True, I might have thrown together the details at the last minute, but it's because I knew we had what we needed.  Re-purposing our own clothing to create the perfect ensemble?  Priceless.

Problem?  Apparently no one knew what we were going for.  Do you?

Tromping around our church's Fall Festival on Sunday evening, beaming with pride at my old swimsuit made new as Mama Bear's dress, my spirits fell when we began hearing guesses.  Dogs?  Mice?  Farm animals?

Clearly my creative spin was not quite as clever as I had envisioned - even the well-read among us missed the Bear Family references*.

Micaiah, of course, was all too happy to remind them, "I'm a Berenstain-Berenstain Bear!" (she always says it twice and it always sounds a little more like "Bouncy, bouncy bears"), but I was taken back to my high school days (my theory was we're never too old for free candy - apparently others don't feel the same way), my face painted entirely in blue, with blue turtleneck, white skirt and white gloves and only the one inebriated door-opener who called me for what I was, "Hey, look!  A smurf!"

Really?  Am I so bad at costuming that one has to be under the influence to recognize my work?

Apparently so.

Oh well.

At the very least, Micaiah was thrilled to wander around, collecting her sugar, declaring to the world that she was Sister Bear and her parents were Mama and Papa Bear.  And that's all that really matters.

Joey, by the way, was the male version of the littlest Berenstain Bear: Honey.

*To be fair, nearly everyone who was told immediately recognized us and announced, "Of course - now it makes sense!"  I was more sad that it wasn't more obvious without a caption.

1,000 Gifts:
994. A pocket of electricity for loved ones
995. Warm days and cool nights - fall is here
996. The full moon behind hazy clouds
997. The light of the moon, orangey as it rises
998. Our children, discovering for the first time the changing colors of the "waterfall" - the wonder of the Fountain for a new generation
999. Paper airplanes - the simple joy of every day
1000. "God, I love you. . . I just told him." - Micaiah's response to being told we obey to show Him we love Him - evidence of a child-like faith
1001. Emmett's constant declaration: "A spaceman's got to do what a spaceman's got to do!" - such assertiveness from our shy one

Of Saying No

I'll be honest, we are not a baby-signing family.  I kind of wish we were.  I have a book of signs for babies.  We've watched Signing Time quite a bit.  But I lack the consistency.  As in, I usually forget to accompany my words with a physical motion of any sort.

Our older two both eventually learned "More," "Food," and "Please" so we could survive feeding time.  Anyone knowing our kids wouldn't be surprised by that combination of words. (Don't worry, we did teach them "All done" too).

Otherwise, nothing.

Joseph, however, seems to have figured something out.  Even if it's not technically correct.

When he reached the age of six months, we considered this to be the appropriate age for his first swats - nothing serious, just a small slap to the back of the hand when he touches something we prefer he wouldn't or to the leg when he's heading into a room where he doesn't need to be.  A firm "No" accompanied by a little swat (not even enough to draw a whimper) are typically all it takes for him to switch directions.

Eventually, though, much as I remember his older sister doing, upon hearing the word "No" as he crawled away, he began to stop, sit up, look at me, and slap his lap.  He knew what I was saying.  And he wanted me to know it (also that he could handle the discipline himself, thankyouverymuch).

Today, though, was the first time I had noticed a similar reaction when caught touching what shouldn't be touched by baby fingers.

"Joseph, no." I stated.

He looked at me, clapped and smiled, so proud of himself.  He was slapping his own hand, his own way.  And it was darn cute.  Philip agreed when he saw the same thing later that evening.

Now, he won't clap just to clap.  Only when we say "No".  As if it's a Sign.  Clearly that's what that little two-letter word means - "Let's Clap!"

What was really great, though, was later in the evening when Philip was antagonizing his littlest son (frustrating the children seems to be one of his favorite past-times) by putting his daddy hands all in Joseph's face.  And then Joseph clapped.

"I think he's telling me no!"

I think so, my dear.  I think so.

1,000 Gifts:
975. What once was lost, now is found (My camera is back!)
976. Melting crayons into something new
977. Creating a care package - mailing love
978. Her licking a stamp - apparently the old is not lost.

After a hard-core effort this evening, my camera was finally found, after I remembered we took photos at an air show two weeks ago and I hadn't seen those pictures - erego, it was misplaced at the same time.  Sure enough, it was found in Philip's coat pocket.  That's what happens when the temperatures drop suddenly and then pick back up, leaving the coats in the closets for weeks.

At the air show, me and my boys.

Love this face.

Standing on his own for the first time!

He loves his brother.

One of the few moments they were paying attention to what was happening in the air.

Joey and I were interested, at least.

Of Our Determined Boy

This youngest kid of ours - he goes for what he wants.  If it's just out of reach he will not give up until he has found a way to get his hands on the desired object.  If there is water in his brother's cup, he will try every possible angle until he has figured out how to get the liquid in his mouth.  If there is anything, - a stick horse, a slinky, whatever - between the boy and his toy, that item will be tossed aside without a second thought.  Don't try to distract him.  He's on a mission.

That boy.

Case in point: His first time to his feet - all because there was a toy in the corner of that chair and he just had to have it.

Is this the one?

Got it!

And . . . straight to the mouth.

This tongue his is trademark, always out, always wiggling around.  Silly goose.

1,000 Gifts:
971. Reminding myself I'm not a failure.
972. Having it all ready on time.
973. The squeaks of a little boy's hands on the balloon - and the squeaks of happiness from his mouth.
974. A column written

Of Eternal Conversations

As a part of our home-schooling efforts, we generally share a "verse of the week".  This past week, Micaiah's verse was Matthew 16:15, "Go into all the world and preach the gospel to all creatures."

While she traced a few of the words on her coloring sheet with clipart of the earth on it, I pulled out our inflatable globe to discuss the continents with her:

"And this is Africa, where Aunt Dia went, and Europe is over here - that's where Aunt Becky and Uncle Gary live [these are Philip's aunt and uncle who currently serve as missionaries in England)].  And God wants us to go into ALL the world," I explained, indicating the entire ball in my hands, "to preach the gospel - which means to tell them about Jesus.  That's why Dia went to Africa - so she could tell people about Jesus - and that's why Uncle Gary and Aunt Becky live in Europe - so they can tell people about Jesus."

At this, Micaiah stopped her coloring and looked at me with interested surprise, "Is Jesus real?!"

I could see in her face this confusion over the fact that anyone would travel to or live in a completely different place just to tell people about this Jesus who was in the stories Mommy and Daddy read and the teachers at church talk about.  Until this moment, I understood, Jesus had been no more real to her than Santa Claus or Rapunzel - great characters in books and movies but nothing more.

"Yes," I said, "Jesus is real."

Excitedly she responded, "I want to see him!"  What she was really asking was, "I mean, seriously, if this guy is real, why haven't I met him?!"

"Well, he is real, but he lived a long time ago.  He doesn't live on this world anymore," I indicated the ball in my hands, "He lives in Heaven, with God."

"I want to see God and Jesus!"

"Well, we can't see them now.  They live in Heaven.  But, if we believe in them and do what they say, then someday, when we die, we will get to be with them in Heaven."

"I don't want to die!"  Suddenly she was scared and I realized the error in proselytizing a pre-schooler.

And while the topic might have gotten a little scary for her, it was a good conversation (up until she began focusing on the death part).  It was one of those moments that made me realize just how important my job, between the washing of the dishes, the folding of the clothes, the enforcing of the naps and the changing of the diapers, really is.  These children are my ministry.  And nothing could be more valuable.

1,000 Gifts:
966. Eternal conversations
967. A twirling dress
968. My husband, the official snuggling buddy of the two-year-old classroom
969. An old camera revived (while the other is still in the land of the lost)
970. Fancy desserts (at home)

The photo I would have posted on Friday - stained glass cookies hanging in the window (until it's time to eat them, of course).

Micaiah, wearing Aunt Dia's old dress from Mexico (I believe?).  She looked adorable.

Emmett wanted his picture taken, too.  And, apparently, so did Diego - the orange kitty who has adopted us.

Last but not least - Joseph.  Our little one-toothed, crawling, eight-month-old.

Of the Need for Tame

It was 30 days - all it took to change me was 30 days.

Now, my tongue, which longs for the sugar and says it is satisfies, ruins the body, where the sweet turns to sour and I am left anything but satisfied.  If I could only tame that tongue.

And then I read the words of one wiser than I - the own half-brother of our Savior.  The one who instructs us to be slow to anger and I am reminded of truth - all truth which belongs to God.  Anger, which manifests itself through the tongue, promising these harsh words will satisfy a need, a desire.

And there goes that lying tongue again.  As the anger in which I so readily indulge does nothing but sour the spirit.

If I could only tame that tongue.

Could 30 days deprived of anger likewise turn my soul against the bitterness of wrath?  If only it were so easy.


1,000 Gifts:
882. Nursing the baby, schooling the girl, and watching the little boy run in the grass - a morning well-spent
883. The coolness of fall
884. Refreshing rain
885. The weathered wood promising meals in the sun and lessons in the breeze
886. Sesame Street Band-Aids
887. Her tiny notebook filling with drawings - her favorite things recorded (butterfly, blocks, rain)

Photos of Our Morning:

(I love this look - "Are you seeing what he gave me, Momma?!")

Of Schoolin'

Philip and I have tossed around the idea of homeschooling since before we had children.  It was always a nice idea.  Until I realized my daughter was about to turn four, the year in which most children enter Pre-School, and I still had no idea how to even begin teaching my little girl the formal learnings of life.

Of course, I understand Pre-K is rather an optional thing and not entirely necessary for success, but as far as I'm concerned from my home-schooling base zero over here, I have an entire year now to figure out how to do this thing before it becomes for real.

Which means establishing routines so she won't be completely freaked out by the idea of a schedule which requires her to do Mommy-orchestrated activities other than her own agenda of playing house or Uno Moo.

It means me putting a system into place for how, where and when work and lessons are completed and learning to multi-task so the as-yet un-schooled children don't feel neglected.

It means figuring out how to lesson plan for someone under the age of thirteen (the youngest age with which I have real-life teaching experience) and how to select and implement a curriculum (even if it's self-designed).

Thus, we started yesterday morning, bright and early, trying to fill two hours with Pre-School activities before her littlest brother's well-baby check-up (he's 18lb 2.5oz and 26 inches long, in case you're wondering).  And for this girl, Tuesday, the day she would start school, has been right there under "Birthday!" since I first mentioned it to her.  Doing school at home?!  This was going to be amazing!

And it was quite wonderful for both of us.  Until I expected her to complete a few activities on her own.  Then suddenly her joy turned to tears and success to frustration and she may have become the first home-schooled pre-schooler to actually get time-out on her very first day (leave it to my girl).

So, we're learning.  Together.

But right now we have tomorrow's work all laid out and ready for action.  And, hopefully, by next year, we'll have this thing down.  And her first day of Kindergarten can maybe not include disciplinary action.

Our work station for now.  It kind of makes me happy to see it all together.  The ice cream cone concept was something Philip remembered from growing up (adapted together with a few other ideas I've found).  As she completes the work in a basket, the scoops go on the cone and when she's done, she chooses a bonus activity as a cherry on top.  I might be kind of proud of that.

1,000 Gifts:
871. A little girl on her first bike
872. New school supplies
873. A work station all decked out and ready
874. Late nights at IHOP
875. Energy to face the day
876. Impromptu naps
877. Princess balloons
878. A little boy in a purple tiara
879. Big Boy pants
880. A memorization partner
881. Voicemail

Of Turning Four

I would love to give you every exciting detail of celebrating a little girl turning four, but I'm plain worn out - so I'll do my best, but for the most part we'll let the photos do the talking.  What I can tell you is this girl is one heck of a party planner, because I'm not sure I could have imagined a better day for our precious daughter and she planned it all herself.

These were her surprises when she woke up this morning - a crown and a party blower (thank you, Dollar Tree) and the birthday library book we'd read last night - it was just there to hold down . . .

. . . her balloon!  Thank you, again, Dollar Tree!

Thanks to a wonderful friend for watching the boys, she and I had a special Mommy/Daughter Birthday Breakfast at IHOP (also thanks to the free Birthday meals they offer via e-mail).  She was excited to have a knife.  Not sure if we should be concerned yet.

No worries, though, because she's four - she's a big girl, now!

We played Rory's Story Cubes to pass the time while waiting for our food.  I love her stories.  They're pretty basic, but they always end happily ever after.

And when her food came, she put that knife to work.  I was rather impressed.  Mommy did not cut one bite of food for her - and she polished that whole plate.

And the ice cream that followed.  Ice cream for breakfast - what else does a girl need?

And this is pretty much how Emmett spent the morning.  He didn't get ice cream for breakfast, you can tell.

With her self-made party hat (and crown) - and, yep, she's still four.

She woke up early from her nap, which meant she got to help Mommy make the lasagna for dinner.  This photo kind of sums up her feelings on that.  She's a big fan of helping in the kitchen.

The outdoor decor.  She personally requested each of these decorations (though I would have used them anyway).  And that furniture set, in case you're wondering, was a $10 steal from our neighbors' future garage sale (you guys rock!).

Daddy and Dia used their lung power to fill the birthday tent with balloons.

 Birthday dinner outside.  The weather was beautiful!  Told you she couldn't have planned it better.

Presents in the tent, per her request.  And, yes, she really did alternate - present, card, present, card - as she planned - she didn't really care if the card went with the present, either, just as long as she had one between each gift.  And, somehow, the numbers worked perfectly.  Whew.

Joey liked this part, too.

I think the cake met her high standards.

I only lit two of the candles because after the first lighting left it's mark on Belle's arm, we were afraid to get the flame too close.

She didn't seem to notice.

All decked out in her bike gear.  Such a big girl!

Unfortunately, the training wheels she received didn't cooperate with my $10 thrift store find of a bicycle, so we made an impromptu trip to Wal-Mart for her to choose her brand new, shiny, pink and purple bike (and, fortunately for us, she happened to favor the cheapest one in the store - she's her Momma's daughter!).

And Daddy helped her ride it out of the store.

So, she got decked out again and went for a ride on the patio.

And even asked if she could share with her brother, who may have been less skilled than she but still loved feeling like a big kid.

And that was that.

Every moment of this day was a gift, as has been every moment of the past four years.  It seems to have gone by so quickly and, yet, just slow enough to savor.  I love this girl so much and am looking forward to continuing to watch her (and, hopefully, mold her) as she grows.