The day I had to tell my 3-year-old I wasn't going to French kiss him

Today Elliot bit his tongue. It was slightly tragic and involved a bit of whining, some tears, and a very sad face. He is known to draw blood since he has some nice, healthy, pointy chompers, but this didn't seem to be that big of a bite. I, being the kind mama that I am, asked Elliot if he needed a kiss. He gave me a pouty nod and I leaned over to kiss him on his cheek. You know, a little back rub and a kiss on the cheek to help him feel better. There he was, mouth wide open, tongue sticking out, expecting me to kiss the ouch on his tongue. Hmm, not exactly what I had in mind. I told him I'd kiss his cheek and hold him to help him feel better so I tried to maneuver around his tongue, but he was quite insistent, matching me head bob for head bob. I got a few cheek smooches in and he finally gave up, probably because all of the silliness distracted him from the pain. Silly fellow, that Elliot!

Christmas clinic

Another Christmas program is in the books for the vanWestrienen family. This year's is particularly significant because all three vanWestrienens now take part in the hoopla. Now that Elliot is 3 and in Sunday School, there was no way we were keeping him from trying out. He played a wise man, Audrey was a shepherd, and Isaac was pumped to have his first speaking drama role, playing client 2. Jim and I were so proud to sit back, no kid in our laps cheering on a sibling, and watch the show. OK, I cried about the no kid in the lap part, but I was still proud.

client 2, shepherd, and wise man (minus the crown and plus the mama because he was done!)

It was very sweet because they didn't want us to watch any of the rehearsals so we could be surprised and it was worth the wait. They all did so well and are already anticipating the spring musical. We are so blessed to have such an active children's program at church led by an amazing woman who loves theater and gives kids the confidence they need to praise God in this fun and exciting way.

wise man, plus crown and smile

happy shepherd

Isaac's big scene live on the big screen

raising readers

I love to read. I've realized that if I don't have a good book going and a long run planned, I'm kind of a grouchy person. And no one wants that. Needless to say, our kids have been surrounded by books since they were swimming laps in my belly. We are at the library more than once each week and have found out the hard way that you're only allowed to have 100 books checked out at a time. Yes, we read here.

Therefore, I am always thrilled when I see tangible evidence of their love of reading. Isaac recently finished a mystery called, "Vanishing Act" and really liked it. We were about to return it the other day when he asked if we could renew it because he thought I would  like it, too. "It's a really good mystery, mama. You should read it." I started to tell him we had a lot going on right now and I was in the middle of a few other books, but I stopped myself before I burst his beautiful little booky bubble. My kid was giving me a book recommendation, sharing a love of books. I quickly changed my tune, renewed the book, and started it that evening. He was so thrilled to wake up the next morning to see I'd marked my page and was enjoying the book so far.

Can't wait to share more books with all three of my little readers.

It's almost Christmas, so let's talk Halloween.

The kids helped me with this blog, so all quotes are true. And they think their mama and uncle are goofballs.

"I really like my pumpkin," says the ladybug.

"It's cute. Woof," says the puppy.

"I love my detective costume," says Encyclopedia Brown.

"Trick or treat!"

Five cousins share some Halloween fun

The three kids in their costumes, with their pumpkins

"The goofballs"-Glittery rock star and Canuck stuck in the 80's

Earnest

Earnest. Oh, how we love Earnest. Our tall, leaning, calcium deficient Christmas tree. We painstakingly chose him, braving the cold and wind. Well, it wasn't really as bad as all that. We pulled the kids around in sleds, raced up and down rows of trees, ran over stumps of recently felled trees to see if we could dump any kids, and whipped sled doughnuts until a certain 3 year old got inadvertently dumped, ate a faceful of snow, and decided it was time to end that nonsense. At least that is what we could gather through the screaming. BRRR. But, at that point we had already chosen Earnest and were heading in to seal the deal over a cup of hot cider. Our Earnest is a tall, stately gentleman and I imagine him wearing a proper hat and speaking with an English accent. And, now that he's up in our house and I see he's crooked, I imagine him with a cane.




We name our tree each year. I don't remember when it started and I don't remember the names from year to year, but I see a tree and I get a little nudge from the tree spirits as though they really want me to know its name. I always ask the kids if they have a name for the tree and I'm fairly certain that one of these years they're going to come up with something besides Audrey or Maclain. But, for now I take their ideas into account, remind them it can't be a name of a friend or family member, and then introduce them to our tree. This year it is Earnest.

Playing bucking broncos with the tree sleds-I'm sure that's what they're made for, right?

We take it home, belting out some good old-fashioned Amy Grant Christmas music on the way, and let the tree settle in. Jim does any branch trimming as the kids and I decorate other parts of the house. This doesn't take long since decorating isn't my strong suit. Then Jim mans the camera and I sit with our boxes of ornaments surrounding me. One box contains the ornaments Grandma and Grandpa Fischer purchased for me each year of my childhood. Another box has odds and ends we've compiled over the years, mostly gifts from when I was a teacher. Then the kids have a box with the ornaments they've made or gotten as gifts because each year we give them an ornament commemorating something new that they've learned or experienced that year. It gets easier and more relaxing and more fun each year.

These memories sustain me some days. The hard days we all have. Then I look at our silly little Earnest and realize I will be able to tell the approximate ages of the kids by the pictures of each year's Christmas trees because of the ornament arrangement. Jim and I sit back and let them go for it. I have him move a few up every now and again, but for the most part we have a very bottom/lower middle heavy tree with a few breakable ornaments up high. Apparently kids pick a branch for ornaments and stick with it. I love it.

old/tall enough to help string the lights this year, Isaac surveys his handiwork

hanging their special ornaments

leaning like Earnest

I love their excitement about Christmas lights and each package under the tree and each tradition and each morning when they wake up and ask if it snowed enough for sledding or if the pond is thick enough for skating. (no and no, so far. GRRR) Their enthusiasm and excitement for things grand and mundane is life-giving. It makes each Christmas Merry and each New Year Happy.

That's excitement about a handful of glitter (floorful, hairful, houseful, too)

That's excitement about his own string of lights on his own fancy bed!

Where I pretend I am rational

In the not so distant past, Jim and I walked into Baby Gap with a toddling little Isaac strapped into his stroller and a belly growing rounder by the day with a yet to be named Audrey. We walked back to the baby section and grabbed the adorable little 18-24 month clothes off of the rack and held them up to our boy who was still my baby. And they didn't fit. They were too little. And I checked the weight and the height and they really didn't fit. He couldn't wear clothes that said month anymore and was ready to move on up to the Ts.

So I did what any rational woman would do. I started to cry and left the store because I had to emotionally prepare myself for having a child who wore clothes containing the letter T. And now that same kid just walked out of Target the owner of a brand new pair of size 3 dress shoes to match his size 8-10 Christmas sweater. I mean, really, what is this world coming to and who does he think he is? Growing and such. And then I noticed that Audrey would soon have to make the walk across the aisle from the T section to the big girl section where there are (gasp) bras and bikini underwear. Again, who authorized this?

So I did what any rational woman would do and I paid for my stuff and I pushed Elliot in the cart and Audrey hanging on to the side and Isaac running along beside me as we pretended we were fire breathing dragons running through the parking lot. I can't stop time. I can't get those baby clothes moments or toddler clothes moments back, but I can try to make these moments matter. These size 3 shoes, almost out of Ts, last kid barely fitting into the cart moments.