A certain little mister recently celebrated his fourth birthday.

It was an event that would normally have warranted a birthday post on the pages of this here blog.  BUT.  But I haven’t been feeling the bloggy bug lately, in case you hadn’t noticed.  I’m not entirely sure of the future of Such The Spot.  But that’s beside the point.

Today, I’m here to show off share some pictures.  Mostly because Miss Kelly (Jayce’s godmother) requested that I do so. :)

It was a super great day – one that perfectly suited our four-year-old Buzz Lightyear fan.  His special treatment started early–on Wednesday–when Grandma Kiss Poke (long story) flew in for the occasion.  That event was followed up by not one, but two days worth of lunch dates in town.  By the time his birthday actually rolled around, Jayce was already drunk off the attention and affection his grandma had been showering on him for two days.

Come Saturday morning, the fun continued.  He awoke to the sound of Mickey Mouse singing the happy birthday song (courtesy of Daddy’s iPod).  He got dressed quickly and headed downtown with Daddy for early members-only hours at the zoo.  Meanwhile, us girls were here at home, hard at work on a cake and decorating.

Before they headed home, Daddy stopped by the party store to let Jayce pick out a special birthday balloon.  Betcha can’t guess what he picked…

When they got home later on that morning Jayce was surprised to walk into a room full of balloons.  Our “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” shouts took him back a bit; he was a touch shocked by our enthusiasm I think.

It wore off quickly though.

We spent the day playing his favorite games, opening presents, and eating the meal he requested (chicken and broccoli).  Grandma Kiss Poke even made her famous potato salad and it was thoroughly enjoyed by all.

There was cake.  Homemade vanilla ice cream.  And we closed out the evening all crowded onto the couch, watching Tarzan.

Little mister could barely keep his eyes open come bedtime.  But he couldn’t pass on the birthday sleepover he and his daddy had been planning for a week.  The two of them dug out sleeping bags and flashlights and took to the floor, falling asleep only after the very last shadow puppet had been identified.

All in all, a perfect day.  See for yourself.

There was painting.  Still with the never-ending painting.

There was music.  I’m proud to be an American.  Because I am.  We are.

There was a little boy, decked out in his red, white and blue.  {And a dirty face to boot}.

There was a bbq, just the three of us.

There were old-fashioned bottles of root beer.

There were sore {painting} muscles, loosened in the hot tub.

There was a crackling fire.  ‘Smores with peanut butter cups instead of chocolate bars.

There were three faces missing.  The ache of missing them.

But there was happiness.  Gratitude.  Patriotism.

Happy Independence Day, friends.  Cheers!

Guess what I spent the better half of the day doing.

Go ahead.  Guess.

Here’s a hint:  It’s an activity I’ve grown to hate.  Doing this activity left me feeling lightheaded, and dirty from head to toe.

It was utterly miserable.

But it’ll be worth it in the end.  I hope so, anyway.

Photos to come soon.

When I was expecting my first  I worried about stretch marks

I worried about the sleepless nights.  The pain of a natural birth.

And then she came.  I looked into her eyes and I swore she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.  I stayed up all night, though not because I was feeding or tending to her.  I stayed up because I couldn’t stop staring at her, wondering at how I’d managed to produce something–someone–so perfect.

There was a tilt-shift then.  A change in my life so profound that a whole new person existed where before she did not: a mother.

I went from worrying about how my child’s presence would affect me to how my shortcomings would scar her.

I was sixteen then.

Fresh in my mind were the typical teenage disagreements I’d had with my own mom.  Fresh were the ugly words I’d hurled at her in anger.  Stark was the realization of how bratty I’d been.  How selfish.

My new role brought with it a change in my relationship with my own mom.  A friendship, where before I can’t say there’d been one.

She watched as I doted on my baby–rocking and nursing and loving.  Though, in all honesty, I didn’t always greet 2 AM feedings with open arms and a cheery demeanor.

I’ve certainly had my moments, then and now.  The icky kind.  The raised-voice, impatient-toe-tapping, count-to-ten moments.  Moments in which mothering is not my strong suit.

My oldest is a guinea pig of sorts.  Together, we sail uncharted waters and brave new, unexplored frontiers.

I feel for her, as the oldest.  Having to endure experimental discipline, the strictest of expectations, the sternest disapproval.

Unfortunately for her, I don’t take this motherhood thing lightly.

I recognized early–at the age of 12–that above all else I wanted to be someone’s mom.  When others dreamed of careers in nursing or teaching or law, I dreamed of the little minds I’d help mold, the tiny souls I’d guide.

It’s everything I dreamed it would be.  Significantly more, in fact.  Some good, and some less so.

I still worry, though now the thoughts that keep me up nights aren’t self-centered.

I worry whether it’s enough: the blood, sweat and tears.  Oh.  And the prayers.  Countless prayers.

I know now that when I turned to my mom at 16–pregnant and scared–she wondered at the outcome.  She questioned–and rightfully so–how but a girl could have a baby.  How I would possibly fare.

Nearly 16 years later I dare say I’ve done okay.

That’s not to say that I don’t shoulder my fair share of sorrow.  That I don’t carry guilt.  That regret escapes me.

It most certainly does not.

There are ways I’ve failed these babies of mine.  Ways big and ways small.  Ways in which I’ve yet to learn.  Ways in which I may never know.

Still.  Dare I say I’ve done okay.

These I’ve learned about motherhood:

1. You can’t possibly fathom it until you’ve become one.
2. It’s underpaid.
3. You’ll never sleep the same again.
4. If you don’t have a relationship with God, it’s a good idea to start one.
5. Hindsight is 20/20.

We do our best.  We take these spongy souls and try to fill them with love and kindness and honesty and integrity and ambition and courage and faith and empathy and service and strength and compassion and sincerity and smarts and ohgoodlordwhatamImissing, amen.

We lose sleep, thinking that maybe selfishness or laziness or worse has taken root.

We beat ourselves up with what-ifs and why-nots.

We second guess.  We obsess.

And we fail.  Each of us does, in one way or another.

And that’s okay.

Because there is but one perfect parent.  And He ain’t exactly on diaper duty, if ya know what I mean.

The other day, while Jayce and I were out shopping, he saw a mother trying to console her unhappy newborn.  He looked up to me and said the most insightful thing.  He said, “that baby doesn’t have to cry because he has the right mommy.  Just like I have my right mommy, he has his right mommy.”

In my moments of unsurety, I take comfort in this: I’ve been entrusted with what I believe to be the most important job in all the world.  I’ve been entrusted with shaping these wee ones into little people and, eventually, beyond.

He entrusted me with mine and you with yours.  He entrusted my mom with me and yours with you.  And those before with those that came before.

The right mommies.  Indeed.

Dresses.  Both frilly and not-so-much.

Spring khakis and his signature fauxhawk.

Praise.  Worship.  And He is risen!

Baskets ‘o’ goodies.

There was chocolate.  {the good kind}.

Jellybeans.

Eggs balanced on branches and tucked under vines.

Grilled steak and potatoes.  Blueberry mojitos.

Strawberry pie.

Sunshine.

The trickle of water from a fountain.

Birds chirping.

Children laughing.

And Disney talk {our daily fix}.

All week I’d built this day up in my mind.

Prepping our hearts for Jesus.

Spending the day together.

Soaking in every moment.

Yep.

It was all it was cracked up to be.

Maybe more.

May your celebration be eggstra-ordinary.  Happy Easter!

You know how months and months of waking up to the blasted alarm wears you down?

And how making a kazillion PB&J sandwiches gets tiresome?

How, eventually, the workout routine becomes–yawn–boring?

How Monday after Monday after Monday of sorting, washing, folding and putting away socks and t-shirts gets redundant?

How there comes a point when the weekly menu begins to look eerily similar to that of the week before?

You know, don’t you?

You’ve been there.

All that work is not without reward though.

Because along comes Christmas break and you sleep to your dreams content.  You eat tinfulls of peanut butter balls and pralines and macaroons and fudge.  There are parties.  Wine.  Spiked nog.  Rum that’s all hot and buttered.

The days become lazy.  There is not an alarm to be heard.  Not a menu to shop for.  Nothing to do but sit on the couch and zip through your Netflix queue.

It’s blissful.

Heavenly.

Maybe a touch gluttonous.

And then one fine day you look down into your crumb-filled lap and wonder, hmm.  Have I always been this wide?

All the sleeping in catches up.  And throws you off in the wee hours of the morning when your brain can’t handle a singlesecondmore of REM.

Your hands turn idle.

Your heart turns restless.

Your body?  All the more.

In the nick of time really.  Because just when you think you can’t take the lazy?  The nowhere-to-be, nothing-to do?

Reality comes knocking.

So you open the door.

And welcome her home.

Come on in.  Stay awhile.

Have you made your big plans for New Years Eve yet?

We have.

Jeff, Jayce and I have reservations at our favorite Mexican restaurant.  We’ll have an early dinner and then come home so that Jayce can get to bed at a decent hour.  Jeff and I will probably hit the hot tub for a bit before crawling into bed by, eh, 10:30 at the latest.

We know how to live it up, don’t we?

It’s okay; we’re homebodies by nature.  And anything but late night’ers.

The girls won’t be home for New Years Eve this year.  But in years past we’ve done some fun things to ring in the new year.  I thought I’d share a few ideas for those of you who are looking for a festive, family-friendly first night.

1. Midnight Balloon Drop: Times Square has its ball drop, but a balloon drop in your living room is WAY more family friendly.  We did this one year by taping together two oblong plastic tablecloths (readily available in the party supply section of most stores). We also taped curling ribbon along the entire length of one side and left a decent portion of ribbon dangling (to later use as a rip-cord).  We then used packing tape to adhere the tablecloths to the ceiling in our living room.  Once three of the sides had been secured, we filled the “pocket” with colorful balloons (not helium!), confetti, and streamers.  We used a broom handle to push the balloons all the way to the far corners of the “pocket” we’d created.  Once it was stuffed with all the balloons it could hold we taped up the final edge.  At the designated hour (which for us was 9 o’clock – midnight central time), we pulled the cord and shouted our “Happy New Year!” wishes as the balloons rained down from the ceiling.  The kids were thoroughly impressed!

2. Mocktails: Have you ever seen these glowcubes?  They’re fabulous.  And quite festive.  They’re lighted ice cubes that are safe to drop into drinks.  It may be too late to order them online (which is the best way I know of to score great bulk pricing) but in the past I’ve seen them at Z Gallerie and Target (near the party napkins/ paper products).  You could make good use of them in various mocktails that are a-okay for kid consumption.  Check out great recipes here.

3.  Bubble Wrap Stomp: Forget noisemakers.  Forget horns and shakers and all those obnoxious poppers.  All you need to do is head to a shipping supply store and purchase a length (preferably five’ish feet or more) of bubble wrap.  Place it on a hard, flat surface (like a concrete porch, patio or sidewalk) and when midnight rolls around, let the kids stomp away.

4. List of Firsts: Think resolutions with a twist.  Kids aren’t typically prone to making goals of changing habits or behaviors like us old folk, but who says they can’t resolve to do something new this year?  That’s where the idea for a list of first comes in.  Sit down with a pen and paper and think up a few goals for the next 12 months.  Perhaps this will be the year in which you bake cookies for a local fire station.  Or visit an art museum.  Or learn to ski.  The only rule is that everything that makes the list has to be new to you.  Aptly titled a list of firsts, right?

5. First Night Food: A festive menu can make or break any party – this one included.  Why not spend a little extra time whipping up one or two treats that will make their eyes light up?  I’m especially partial to these.  Or this.  And for a breakfast treat while you watch the Rose parade?  These are sure to elicit smiles!

Check out THAT family for more WFMW ideas!

My little guy is tucked snuggly beneath his covers.

Cinnamon rolls have been left to rise.

The fire is all aglow.

Shadows cast by candle flames dance across the dark room.

My heart misses my baby girls.

But Grams and Gramps help to make my spirit bright.

Baby it’s cold outside.

I’m warm though.  Here in this place of fractured perfection.

Oh so close.

Blessed tonight.

And every night.

May your Christmas be full.  And warm.

May your blessings be many.  May you hold them tight.

May His light make bright your path.

Tonight.

And every night.