Five.

Happy 5th birthday to my big-hearted, larger-than-life Calvin. Love you always, my sweet Bub.

December baby.

Audra turned two on the 27th, while we were in Illinois for Christmas with my parents. We had a sweet, simple day of celebrating our big girl: a trip to see Frozen, games, cupcakes, and presents.

Nana let her lick the frosting.

Happy girl.

Hours of entertainment.

Birthday lovin' from Nana and G-Pop.

Her trademark nervous eye rub.

Dad did the honors.

Time for a checkup. Good thing we know all these nurses.

Dr. Audra taking care of her baby.

Shots for dad.

Rocking Tiny Baby.

I'm thankful every day for the little brown-eyed love who made our family whole. What an incredible blessing it has been to watch her grow these last two years...the fastest, sweetest years of my life.

 

Happy birthday, Peanut Butter.

The look of love.

We've got family pictures coming up this weekend.

Does that statement incite the same feelings of panic in you that it does me?

Let's be honest — the three other people in my house couldn't care less what they wear for an hour on Saturday morning. In fact, those same three people would probably prefer to be in their pjs and not forced to prance around a park in tidy outfits and hair bows. But someone has to care, and that poor sucker inherits the responsibility of choosing clothes for the whole bunch.

As with every year past and future, I am that sucker.

Lucky me, getting to dress four people for photos! And not just any photos. The Photos. If I was one of those good moms who hauled their kids over to J.C. Penney every three months to document their growth, this would not incite panic. But instead I try to lump a year's worth of milestones into a single hour every 360ish days.

No pressure there. No, sirree.

I've had nearly six months to figure out what everyone's going to wear. And I had it figured out…until I realized it's only going to be 73 on Saturday. In July. For the HIGH. And our pictures are at 9:30am, so it will probably be in the 60s. This, I did not anticipate. I anticipated the opposite, actually. My backup plan was hand fans and ice packs shoved down the back of our shirts and pressed powder and a LOT of Frizz-Ease.

But you know I'm all about things being effortless (snort), so with a few minor tweaks I think we're good to go. And thank heavens for that, because you know you can't have a family picture without PERFECTLY COORDINATED OUTFITS.

What's that all about, anyway? When did that start? I feel like the pictures of me and my siblings as kids aren't all matchy matchy (can't speak for Nate's, though…his twin brothers had matching sailor suits! Awww!), but now I feel like I'm doing it wrong without a defined color palette and lots of textural layering. Thanks, Pinterest!

Seriously, though — color palettes aside, it's hard not to have a perfect family picture complex. Have you seen what's out there right now? Do a quick Pinterest search for "family photo inspiration" and be prepared to feel inferior.

We will never look like those people. No matter how many pops of turquoise and layers of tweed I work into our pictures, our life — our family — will not look that good. I mean, first things first — have you seen my hair? Uncooperative at best. Also, I have a fat roll. Where do these mothers keep their post-kids flab during pictures? Is there a removable option no one told me about? And let's not forget that one of my children hasn't smiled more than a handful of times since birth…

It feels a little hopeless in these days leading up to family pictures. Every time. The clothes will be wrong, the kids won't cooperate, the fat roll will inevitably be on display no matter what I wear. And you know what? It kind of is. The first time we had pictures Calvin wanted nothing to do with it. The second time, Calvin wanted nothing to do with it and was overdue for a haircut...and I was ginormous and swollen. The third time, it was like eleven hundred degrees below zero and Audra's shoes kept falling off.

We had no chance. And yet, we ended up with these treasures:

 

My hair looks weird. My kids aren't always smiling. There's no doubt I could stand to lose some weight. But this is what we look like. And we love each other — not in spite of these things, but because of them. I don't want to forget that about us.

However hot or cold or uncoordinated or unflattering we are come Saturday, I know the love will be in every shot, plain as day.

Why would I ever want to layer that under turquoise and tweed?

Hiiiii!

This morning Audie walked from room to room, pointing at everything and babbling excitedly. Every time she saw one of us she would say "hiiiii!" happily, then turn and walk back out, babbling all the way down the hallway and into the next room.

Pretty sure I don't need to tell you how much I adore this baby girl. Or her bow.

Go Tell it on the Mountain.

After much practice at home and at school, Calvin made his second theatrical debut in the Sonshine Learning Center Christmas pageant — this year, as a shepherd. His class sang rousing renditions of Go Tell it on the Mountain, Away in a Manger, and Silent Night.

Preschool is worth the cost, if for no other reason than witnessing this 45 minutes of absolute chaos and total cuteness every Christmas. 

And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. Luke 2:8-11

Snow day.

I love a good snowstorm. There's something so sweet about being forced to stay home with the people you love.

Well, lots of somethings, actually.

Like watching your husband make your daughter giggle.

Teaching your son how to roll cookies in sugar.

Listening to the sounds of your kids playing...on their own and together.

And enjoying the snow from outside

And in. 

 

But nothing beats decorating the Christmas tree in jammies.

(Except maybe eating the cookies you taught your son to roll in sugar.)