Everett's Dedication

 On October 4, 2015, we dedicated our fourth little one unto the Lord.  We gathered in much the same way as we did when our other three children were dedicated.  My childhood pastor and his wife traveled from Salem, WI to lead us in a time of reflection, reminding us of the special passages of scripture that was read at dedications one, two and three.

 

 

I was grateful for the opportunity to welcome Pastor Mark back into our home as he has been present for many significant moments in my life: baptizing me as a young girl, presiding over my marriage ceremony as a young bride, and dedicating my children as a young mother. 

 

 

As parents, we have identified the importance of inviting others into our lives to share in the joys, challenges, milestones and many significant moments of parenting.  The Lord has been gracious to us, gifting us friendships that have spanned years, friends who have become family as we've shared our stories over bottles of milk and wine.

 

That day as Pastor Mark held our son, we were joined by our dear friends, the Staceys and Lockes, who lovingly accepted our request to be Everett's godparents.  We are grateful for the many moments we have shared as families and anticipate all that we will experience in the future as we raise our kids together. 

 



 

We were also able to celebrate and share the experience of dedicating Everett with our church family on November 29th.  Our friend and pastor, Casey, held each little one and offered up a prayer of dedication.  With tears in my eyes, I listened on as Everett cooed into the microphone, offering up his own praise offerings.

 

 

"To taste the sweetness of ordinary joys, we learn to enter each day with a conviction about the givenness of all things...We've been given a place to be, some things to do, a need for sustenance, and a people to share this with.  God originates these gifts.  God is present with his gifts...At some point, we all have to come to terms with the spiritual truth that true joy is found in God and God is found right where His gifts are."

 - Zack Eswine

 



Three

 

Hello {three}.



 

The littlest lady didn't ask for much when it came to her third birthday.  When prompted she would quickly shout out, "PURPLE CAKE."  So, with purple crepe paper hung, purple paper plates and napkins placed, and her purple layered cake prominently displayed we celebrated {three} with a small gathering of family.  She was bestowed all of her favorite things: tiny pouches of miniature lip glosses, clothing, fashion accessories, and musical instruments.  All the many things that make our little girl's bright personality shine even brighter. 

 

With year two and its many moments of good, bad, painful and beautiful behind us, we are settling into a more predictable, but ever so exciting groove that is three.  To know June is to know the multitude of fantastic faces she is able to make within seconds of each other, to be the recipient of booming shrieks, roars, and cries of delight and sorrow, to be patted (gently or roughly) on the back acknowledging your presence and close proximity, to be mesmerized by her dazzling personality and ability to captivate a room, to watch her long, blond curls bounce as she moves and tiptoes about, to behold her delicate and rhythmic dance moves, to witness her fearlessness as she scolds and bosses older children unaware of her own age and place, to hold her fair and delicate hand as she comes close to cuddle, to lock eyes with her bright blues as she animatedly tells a story or recounts her day, to listen to her prayers always ending with the hope that Jesus "will have a lovely day," to observe her independence as she dresses, undresses, selects and re-selects various outfits throughout the day, to be impressed by her determination to prep meals, groom herself, medicate and pry open the bottle of kid's multivitamins independently, always independently. 

 

 She is the epitome of sugar and...cayenne, our little firecracker, bold and bright. 

 

With the arrival of {three} we finally said farewell to her beloved pacifier, a friend to us all.  With the surplus of available helium balloons in our household due to two November birthdays, Jeff, always the clever one, suggested sending her remaining pacifiers up to heaven to Uncle Brad for safe keeping. (There were three in the house.)  She agreed, and bravely sent the first one up on the morning of November 16th.  Fifteen minutes later she was ready to send papi number two up.  Bon voyage and cue the waterworks.  Within seconds, I found our little lady sprinting up the stairway attempting to scale the shelves of her closet to reach pacifier number three resting (or so she thought) on the top shelf.  Unbeknownst to her, number three had already been pitched.  She sobbed.  I wanted to, but refrained.  In all honesty, she grieved the rest of the day offering up heart-stabbing comments such as "I can't do this anymore."

 

It was a tender day as I watched our girl overcome sadness and persevere.  I hope that I will never forget her fighting spirit that day.  I think it was a big day for her and I, a reminder to acknowledge my children's sadness, empathize with them, offer grace, extend love and be quick to rejoice with them when the tears are gone and they find joy once again.



He's six

I now know that {five} is one of my favorite years of life as a parent.  There is so much that occurs within that very important year of life, much to be savored, appreciated and to applaud. 

 

{Five} was a big year for our little man. 

 

{Six} was the magic number he awaited.

 

 

We celebrated {six} with a small gathering at a favorite local Hibachi restaurant.  A special pal was invited, and over flaming onion volcano towers, steak and fried rice we welcomed year six.  His only other request, a triple chocolate cake.  A close second, to lose a tooth.

 

Less than a month after his sixth birthday, our little man lost his first tooth during the refreshment portion of his first elementary school Christmas program.  The good doctor gave it a wiggle and seconds later plucked it from our very surprised son's mouth.  He beamed, held it up, and proudly walked his first lost tooth around the fellowship hall being sure to show it to his music teacher. 

 

My Joe,

 

There are times that I have to think hard, focusing my attention on the specific details of your young life in an attempt to distinguish your special moments from that of your older sister's.  I became pregnant with you six weeks prior to her first birthday, bringing you home twenty months after she first arrived.  Then there was your father's graduation from residency which moved us to Cleveland, OH months before your second birthday.  After which, there were the months of trying to become pregnant again with a younger sibling for you.  And, then finally the arrival of your little sister, just seven days before your third birthday.  Our middle child now, sandwiched between two lovely ladies.

 



 

Then there are the times I so clearly can recall the precious details and moments of your life as though they happened yesterday.  The day we found out we were carrying a son, and the simultaneous relief and joy your father felt as his head fell into the palms of his hands, overcome. The labor and delivery nurse announcing you were nine pounds, which explained so much. The way you never cried in the hospital, but sneezed and how your tiny sneezes were replaced by a funny little cough that lasted for months.  Five to be exact, and only after that were you able to sleep soundly through the night.  And, how deeply you slept, sharing a room with your Daddy and I until you were almost two, sleeping through his early morning routine, the accidental lights being turned on and off. Your big blue eyes, alert with wonder and suspicion.  Your ability to produce one crocodile tear that would slowly roll as if you could control its speed for effect.  Incidentally, this is a skill you continue to possess and execute even today.  Your sturdy body, always tall for your age.  Your amazing head of hair that required frequent trips to the barber, and the way you'd sit so still on my lap silently enjoying the attention while sucking on a lollipop.  Your stubbornness and willful disobedience that caused me to carry you out of the Beechwood Trader Joe's while your Aunt and Uncle looked on.  Trips to countless farmer's markets during our time in Ohio, watching you as you enjoyed various pastries.  Discovering our love for freshly baked croissants, chocolate for your sister, raspberry for you.  Transitioning back to Milwaukee, our time in the rental property, your sudden fears and displeasure of preschool, having to make difficult decisions as your parents.  Watching your overcome fears, wipe away tears, gain confidence and learn to trust other significant adults in your life.  Observing you navigate your role as younger brother, discovering you had a voice and opinions of your very own. Watching you grow in your role as older brother, your strong affection and fierce loyalty. Your ability to find a beat and sustain it, your sweet singing voice, and love of music.  Your sudden love of "tomato" bugs one summer, your affection for all things locomotive, your enjoyment of water (but never too deep).  Your contentment in the backyard, your appreciation for creatures great and small.  The blankets you'd tote around and wrap around you to be cozy and warm.  The dozens of stuffed animals you'd line along the wall of your bed, so their little eyes were looking right at you. Your strength, always present but slow to be discovered.  Your love affair with flavored milks and long showers, enjoyed separately, of course. The year of your life that you spent without a shirt, shedding it the minute you arrived home. The way you learned to let your Daddy help you, and respond to your needs. You were never one for daring adventures, but preferred to stay close to home, to me. 

 

You have always saved your most special moments for me, my darling Joe.  You may not know it, but I have known it for as long as I can remember. 

 

I predict {six} will be a year of growth.  Perhaps we will all experience a bit of growing pains as we learn to accept that you are becoming a young man.  I knew it would happen but as I sit here today, it suddenly feels as though it happened all too quickly.  I am ready; however, if you are.  Just keep reaching out for my hand every now and then.

 

Forever yours,

 

Mom