Monday, December 29, 2014

Wise words > bad parenting

Poor Judah.  If you read this chronicle of our (occasionally?) tumultuous life, you'll notice that he might get a little less airtime.  It's not that he isn't awesome (he's probably the most photogenic of our three, with the perfectly dimpled smile to match), or that he's inherently less lovable than the other two.  It's just that he had the misfortune of being the toughest.



It's his inherent toughness that keeps him out of the spotlight sometimes.  He takes after his mom in that it generally takes an act of God to get them to admit a) something hurts; b) something is unpleasant or in any other way dramatic; or c) get them too worked up.  They are relatively drama-free.  Elijah, Jael and I?  We manufacture drama.  Life free and easy?  For us, looks like the pot needs a little stirring.  Ironically enough, Jael might be the very best of all at this.  But Judah likes things the way they were the day before, and the day before that -- routine, order and stability.

The times when he will use his great physical strength (and occasionally unleash the best purple-- actual purple-- rages that I have ever seen) is when his keenly developed sense of justice is violated.

 
 
             An early sampling of Judah's purple rages
 

 

I triggered the purple rage a week ago, for example.  We had come home late from a friend's and full of candy and exhilaration, I swept the kids to bed, one by one, Judah being the last to go as usual.  This is our special time together, the only time he really gets Rachel and I to himself, and was already not pleased that it had been shortened.  And then I did the unpardonable.  I swept him off to bed without any food.  This would not have been a big deal (he couldn't have been hungry) save for the reasons listed above.  Food before bed is simply what happens.  And now I was telling him the very created order as he knew it was passing away.  And so the battle began.

 For those of you who have never seen Judah wage war, it's very much like my high school girlfriend used to argue with me:  repeat the same point over and over against my carefully rationed arguments until I stalk away in disgust.  When faced with the crushing arguments of truth, raise your voice and repeat your single argument LOUDER. When he stated his argument the first time, "Daddy, I need to tell you something..." I listened.  By time #5, I was ready to throw him in the trash can.  By time #10, I was threatening to take him to bed with no story.  By time #15, when the story had been lost, I was despairing of waking the other two children.  By time #20, I think he had forgotten what he wanted to tell me.  (I tested this theory between times #20 and #25.  I finally stopped and looked at him and instead of giving out more consequences (losing stories for a YEAR ?)  and said, "Ok, tell me exactly what you want."  He just repeated himself as if I hadn't even spoken,)  Eventually, around time #30, I carried him upstairs for brushing of teeth.  I should have worn full-body armor.  He's just too damn strong.  He can already take out Elijah -- I think I'm next in two years or so.  It'll be really embarrassing to admit a 5-year-old beat me up, but I'm already practicing my speech.

It was while attempting to brush his teeth that I finally lost it.  45 minutes of patience went out the window, and I started snarling back at him that he had better... or I was gonna ... and that he was leaving me no choice... and I kept praying that I did have a choice, but I couldn't think of one amidst the parenting trenches.

By God's mercy, Rachel walked by at that moment and took pity on both of us. "A word," she said, just as I inhaled for round two of snarling. "He's just like you," she said.  "You're both stubborn as anything.  You both hate change.  Why do you get to tell him that he can't eat his apple tonight?"

I had "Because I'm his dad," all ready to go, but sat on it for a minute.

She continued.  "If I told you that you couldn't eat while we watched TV tonight, you'd have a fit."

"Of course I'd have a fit!"

She looked over my shoulder to the baleful, soggy boy behind me, brown eyes glumly looking away from mine as I turned my gaze to him.  And just like that  -- I got it.  The anger ebbed from my body almost in one palpable wave.

"Judah, " I said, "would you forgive me?"

He looked at me warily.

"And would you be willing to eat your apple in bed tonight?" The eyes, lifeless for the past fifteen minutes, lit up with joy.

He took ten minutes figuring out which apple he wanted to eat -- and subsequently only ate a few bites, as we found two days later when we discovered the desiccated remains of the apple-- but the relationship was restored.  And strangely enough, the rest of the night I had his big (BIG) brown eyes burned into my vision along with the words of St. Paul from 1st Corinthians 13:4-6 (The Message) "

 Love doesn’t strut,
Doesn’t have a swelled head,
Doesn’t force itself on others,
Isn’t always “me first,”
Doesn’t fly off the handle,
Doesn’t keep score of the sins of others,
Doesn’t revel when others grovel,
Takes pleasure in the flowering of truth.

That quotation above captures why even amidst all the failings, trials and 1st world misfortunes that this little family lives through day to day, we can go forward without fear and with confident hope for our uncertain future. 

(Tomorrow: More Judah -- more bedtime -- more injuries for me! Tune in then ... )


  
 
 

Sunday, December 28, 2014

After the naughty list comes the naughty words...

 
 
 
 
 
... cause you know, every family needs a "Seven Dirty Words" a la George Carlin.

I thought the typical "F word" started our list, until the day that the firstborn was walking all around the house screaming, " I need a F***!"  When we stopped snorting so loud that we could approach him without cracking up (because he was three at the time and if we laughed, we'd hear it for the next nine months), we gently inquired where he had heard it. He said he made it up himself.  I said maybe he could say "duck" instead.  The response:  "Maybe.  Did you know that "duck" and "f***" rhyme, Dad? "  I had to admit that I did. "So it's like saying the same word.  Sometimes I'll say "F***" and sometimes I'll say duck."  Thankfully, he forgot about that within the week.

Not to be outdone is his sweet brother, whose forays into linguistic vulgarity are accidental rather than experimental.  For example, he has a most difficult time saying the "st" sound, choosing to replace it with "D."  Sometimes this makes his would-be insults less insulting, like when he gets really angry and tells us that "we acting dupid."  That doesn't quite sting so much.  Other times, though, the results can be devastating.  He loves a good tree branch as a handy weapon and can wield it quite effectively when other (larger) children attempt to forcibly move him against his will.
Still, the day he told us that "the other kids tried to beat me up but I grabbed my *stick* and hit them with my *stick* until they ran away.  Then I waved my *stick* at them one more time when they went inside.  They not fight me anymore while my *stick* is out,"  we didn't even try to stop laughing.



This last particular dirty word, however, is my fault.  I didn't even know what a rotten fellow I was. I was sharing a particularly nice post-nap cuddle with the Jaelster with Elijah neatly tucked away in the kitchen with his new Legos (Thanks Ina Tubbs!) and Judah snoring away upstairs, when Elijah hollered that he needed help constructing his massive semi-trailer.  I inwardly rolled my eyes, but Jael tucked sweetly over my shoulder and we waltzed in to save Elijah's day. On the way in she picked up her head and gave me a slobber-kiss.  Not normally the over-romantic type, I inadvertently polluted Elijah's ears.  "Awewww," I said.  "Isn't Jael such a snuggle-bug today?"

"DAD!"

"What?"

"Apologize RIGHT NOW!"

Ummm... what??"  By now I was concerned.  He had just gone  0 to 60 faster than his mother on vacation, which is tough to do.

"How would you like it if I called you a BUG?"

"Ah, I wouldn't care--"

"You wouldn't!  You're lying!  You tell us not to call each other filthy names, but then you think you can call Jael that!  How would you like to be called a bug?  Bugs are slimy!  SLIMY!  You wouldn't!  Don't EVER do it again!"

Don't you want help with.."

"Apologize to Jael now!"

So I did.... and I have never (and by never I mean not when near Elijah) called Jael a term of endearment again.  Me and my potty mouth.

On the other hand, Jael's future boyfriends should probably wait until LJ moves out of the house before bothering to show their face.  :)

 



 



 

Tuesday, December 23, 2014

The Naughty List

I feel a little bit bad for my kids around Christmastime.  One of the decisions that we have consciously made with our children as they grow up is that we will not knowingly attempt to make them believe what we know to be untrue.  I could write an entirely different post here, but the short version of this is that our children know who the Tooth Fairy is, are grateful for any -- and it's not much-- candy that they get at Easter, and don't believe in Santa Claus. They know who he is and represents, and they are quite familiar with his predecessor St. Nicholas, one of the perks of attending an Anglican church. (and luckily, so far, they have managed not to burst the Santa bubble of t heir cousins).

However... in a culture that uses Santa as the whipping stick for good behavior in the winter (as in every trip to the grocery store we make in December, there's at least one parent desperately begging their child to behave else 'Santa might put you on his naughty list'), it's a little harder to skate blithely through the Santa mines unscathed.  Let me break it down.

Jael = not a problem.  She can only say about ten words.

Judah = not a problem.  He doesn't approach strangers, unless it's DIRECTLY behind Elijah so they can't see him. (And generally won't talk to them even when approached. He might not be the world's most out going person, but we think he's relatively unlikely to be kidnapped).

Elijah = trouble.  This is the same child who asked permission to 'say hi' to the neighboring children at the grocery store, and when granted permission, ran directly to them (they were at least two years and twenty pounds older/bigger than him) and said, without pausing, "Hi-my-name-is-Elijah. Isn't-this-an-awesome-car? I-know-you-want -one- so maybe- if- you-ask-your-mom-nice-like-I-asked my-dad-then-you-could-have-one-too?-Well,-I'll-see-you-soon."  and ran away before the stunned preteens could say anything.  Yup, trouble.  And trouble that is willing to talk to anyone, anytime, anywhere.  (You could say he's "socially fearless."  Yeah, that's it.)



Anyways, this particular adventure started out when the two knights and I went on a 'special trip with Daddy' -- this would be running errands on my vacation day-- and ended up at the bank.  They insisted on coming up to the counter with me for their lollipops (we don't know how Judah is SuperFreak strong and ripped; his diet is like Buddy from Elf: candy, candy canes, candy corns...and syrup. I'm sorta kidding.) and voila, a friendly teller decided to talk to Elijah.  Well, she decided to talk to both of them while she rang my deposit through, but Judah decided that today was a good day to have eyes only for his lollipop.

"Hi, you guys!"

"Hi, what's your name?"

"Um, Laura, what's yours?"  I think she was a little startled by Elijah, who ALWAYS asks for a name.  He used to ask, "what's your real name?" (i,e. not Mama or Daddy) until we taught him that freaked people out, like he had just discovered they were CIA or something.

"Elijah. Elijah Wilson Nimon."

"Mmm-hmm.  Have you been a good boy this year, Elijah?"

"Not really.  Well, I can be when I don't have sin in my heart.  So maybe good and bad."

"Oh."  (Pause, regrouping)  "Well, I'm Santa's friend.  Should I put in a good word for you?"

Elijah, nonplussed, shrugged his shoulders and looked at me.  I can't read minds, but his face looked something like: Does she know Santa's not real?  Who's her friend that's pretending to be Santa?  Do you want to tell her, Dad, or should I?"

I felt an unexpected theological discussion coming on and opened my mouth to say something to potentially avert it, but before I could, Laura spoke again.

"Well, I help him make up the nice list and the naughty list.  Have you been so bad that I should tell him to put you on the naughty list?"

LJ nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders.  "I guess so," he said. "If you have to."

Stunned, she gave it one last go.  I had to ask for deposit slip after all this, which was a pinch awkward.  "Well, you want me to tell Santa to put you on the good list, don't you?"

Elijah gave it one last thought.  "I think the naughty list is fine," he said. "Besides, my mom and dad have already bought me presents."

Look on teller's face = priceless.  And I'll take Parenting 203 for the win, Alex.


Monday, December 22, 2014

"What has one good joint and..."

So one of the few special advantages that I have in life is being able to laugh at the children when I should probably have torn my (graying) hair out and ran screaming into the nearby parking lot.  I'm really good at that.  I mean, really good. I've even taught them how to laugh at their own foibles. It's heartening to come in a room where there's one person (that would be number #2) sobbing on the floor, face looking like he lost a fight to a steamroller, and next to him the firstborn is saying with a straight face, "It's ok Judah... sometimes that happens when you put the slippery socks on and won't wear shoes.... it won't hurt for more than an hour!"
 


It feels good (pun not really intended) when Judah runs full speed while looking backwards, crushes himself into the doorframe at Mach2, slides down the door like his new favorite cartoon character Wile E. Coyote, and while I am steeling every nerve in my body not to sprint over to him and scream," Are you ok?  I don't want to take you to the hospital!", bounces right back up and says in his best Arnold Schwarzenegger voice, "It ok... I not hurt..."   At those moments I feel like I might have done something right, that when I am long gone they might look back fondly on their memories of me and think that their old man was once something other than just old.

I feel triumphant (and strangely disgusting, all at once) when the oldest accidentally dunks his favorite stuffed animal into the "loo" that he has forgotten to flush for (drum roll, please) his league-leading forty-fifth time in a row, and I do not just throw him into the john to join the hippopotamus named Rhino in traversing the effluence.


Sometimes, though, my willingness to laugh bites me in the butt. Like this morning.  I will say as an aside it's not cool to make fun of disabled people, but when you parent one, you get a free pass now and then.  It doesn't diminish my love for little Jael ("the Yelpster") when I crawl one-legged across a room in her signature style or do the robot in front of her to watch that whip-smart little girl imitate me perfectly because it's the only way she can dance--yet. And I say "yet" because against all odds, limitations and expectations that I had for her when she came out as flat and flexible as an ironing board, she's walking at the same time our first two beautiful crazies did.  It was against this backdrop that this minor indiscretion of mine occurred.  She was driving me crazy by attempting to crawl downstairs from every room that we placed her while I tried to finish up getting ready for work.  Rachel was doing hand-to-hand combat with Judah over oatmeal and had finally won (I think?) when I noticed Jael working her way free again and ka-plunk!ing herself over to the stairs yet again.
"Rach," I yelled, "Get her before she falls."  Rachel gave a look that every woman should have in their arsenal for recalcitrant males... something between "do-it-yourself" and "you lazy donkey."   And then the humor kicked in.  "Hey," I said, trying to lighten the mood as Jael pulled herself over to the top stair, "What has one good joint and goes ka-blump, ka-blump, ka-THUMP!"

From downstairs the ethereal voice of Elijah floated up,  "That's easy, Dad-- JAELSTER!!"


Maybe I should just stick to the old classic, "Do as I say, not as I do."  They might have a better chance.  At least they know they're loved.

Thursday, December 4, 2014

Baby Steps




It felt like a scene from Rocky. Or not.  "Ladies and gentlemen, in one corner, leaning against the fridge, the princess with the dancing eyes, the one -- the only -- Jael Juliana!"  The little lady balanced her tiny butt against the fridge, standing straight and tall as she beamed at her brothers and I.

"In the other corner, a mere three feet away..."  yours truly.  For, Jael, though, the three feet could have been a mile. She had never taken an unassisted step on open ground, never mind four.  She looked at me as she swayed, eyes never leaving mine. As she went to take a step, she looked down at her legs, which started swaying like a sailor returning to port after a night on liberty... and much like the aforementioned sailor, down in a heap she went.

I propped her up against the fridge again, and her eyes never lost the giggle that danced in them.  This time she didn't look down, but put her arms out and one... two... three steps and fell forward into my arms.  "Good girl!"  I couldn't help it; I started clapping.  Then Elijah came running around and patting her on the back and clapping.  It was like a party.  She couldn't stop grinning and clapping for herself (at one it's still adorable); I couldn't stop crying.  It was the culmination of a year's hard work (for both of us) and prayer (by the hundreds of saints that have surrounded us and help us up before the very throne of God when we were too tired or fearful to do it ourselves).  AND IT WAS WORTH IT.  Oh, it was worth it.

 I realized that day, as the glow faded a little and I plopped her into her walker to continue the hard work (if chasing her brothers giggling can be considered hard work) that had made that last moment possible,  that watching her triumphant steps is a bit of a parallel to what my entire year has been like. Today is my birthday (a lady never tells her age, but Elijah follows no such social niceties... he's been running around bellowing at anyone who will listen, "my mom's turning [redacted] today!  How old are you?") and this passage has given me a bit of pause to reflect on the year that was and process some things that the insanity of daily life in the Court would otherwise blur.

This last year, if you will, was full of unforeseen challenges: we got through Jael's first surgery, added 5 new specialists and 2 new weekly therapies as well as a research program for immobile children (while balancing our two other children and their homeschooling).  Oh, and Micah had to switch careers mid-stream in the meantime.

But I am learning that through the heartache and challenge comes a great and surpassing kind of kind of joy. While I was excited that Elijah could walk at 13 months, it was nothing compared to the waves of relief and joy that I felt when Jael began taking her first steps in her walker, in no small part because of the physical challenges we'd worked through together to get her there! And much like Peter on that dark night in Galilee so many years ago, I am learning to keep my eyes on Him who is enough.  Like Jael, looking down at my own wobbly legs leads to collapse.  I am not strong enough to fight all the paper tigers that loom up at me daily with their fearful  thoughts of her future and the challenges that lie ahead of us, known and unknown.

But like Jael, I don't have to look down.  I can look straight ahead, surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses (funny to think of Elijah and Judah that way), and with confidence take my faltering steps, knowing that these words still ring true: "Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you." Isaiah 46:4.  I couldn't be prouder of that little girl, and our family as a whole.  I look forward to another year of being blessed -- not blessed by getting everything that I want, but blessed to learn the lessons that mean the most: that perfect love drives out fear, that slobbery kisses might be a better birthday present than a new car, and that three small steps might just make a year's toil and trouble WORTH IT.



Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Bad gorilla socks

So, you're not allowed to read the end first on this one.  (With apologies to those who read the end of the mystery novel first because otherwise the suspense would kill them, Don't DO IT.)  If you do, you'll ruin my shortest post ever ;)




So yesterday, like so many other days, I had just dragged myself blearily out of bed at 6:00ish (on another note, we found what is essentially crack cocaine for parents -- an alarm clock for the kids that lights up green when they are allowed to get up... and not gonna lie, we set it five minutes later every third day, so soon I'll wake up blearily at 7:00ish), and found the firstborn waiting for me.  If you know Elijah at all, you know he has three speeds: talking, drawing and sleeping.  (For those of you that haven't met him, they get slower left to right.)  Unfortunately for me,he had woken up at talking speed.

"Hey dad, have-you-seen-what-I-got-from-Ina-the-other-day-I-lost-them-but-then-I-found-them-under-my bed! (pauses ever so briefly for air). "Answer the question!"

Me: "Nope."

"you need to come see them now... it's the best socks I've ever had!"

Me: "Oh,ok. What are they?"

"It's the angry, bad gorilla socks.  Did you know that most gorillas have white eyes, but these gorillas are so naughty that they have black eyes?"

Me: "Um, what?"

He dragged them out,

I laughed so hard I think I woke Jael up and brought the wrath of Rachel to bear.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you "bad gorilla socks."  (Scroll down to see)




















Sunday, October 19, 2014

Nuts!

 Two quick comments: First, I am about to embark on a subject that, as the resident prude in the household, makes even me squeamish.  To wit, my wife made me do it.

 Second, this episode's title is one of the most famous quotes of World WAR II.  Look it up-- if you had the stones to tell the German invading force that, facing almost certain death, well much respect to you, Brigadier General Anthony McAuliffe.  I was born in the wrong era.

So this is a compilation of three stories.  You may notice a theme here.  If you do, I assure you that it is all in your imagination.

 I'm beginning to think that there may have been a secret meeting amongst my children.  Goodness knows they spend enough time huddled together in the living room playing raucously and boisterly smacking each other around.  At least that's what I thought they were doing.  But I'm beginning to wonder if the conversations really went something more like this:

Judah:  I like Jaelster.
Jael: (roars like a lion)
Elijah:  Yeah, me too. I think that we're a perfect family.  Did you hear Mom and Dad talking about maybe having another brother or sister someday?
Jael: (cocks head to side, looks very worried)
Elijah: I know.  I'll think of something.  Oh! I know.  Listen, Judah
Judah: Ok.
Elijah:  (whispers in Judah's ear)
Judah: Ok -- I do dat.
Elijah:  Great! I'll tell Jaelster too.
Jael : (big smiles)

I never heard this conversation, but I figured out the plan.

Last Monday,  I picked Jael up from her crib, where she was sitting not-so-patiently waiting for me.  The sitting up, by the way, NEVER gets old when you weren't sure at birth exactly how much sitting up she would be doing in her LIFE.

Right about the time I got her halfway into my arms, she threw her head back and her legs forward, which is her general way of letting me know that she's unhappy with her current situation.  (If you haven't watched a Bruce Lee movie recently, it was something like that.  Except it ended with me laying on the ground moaning, and Jael looking very surprised, like she hadn't planned it out ahead of time.  (And the Oscar for Best Actress goes to...)


That was Monday.  Wednesday we were playing 'mudballs' (it doesn't involve mud or balls... this night being the exception), which is like Monty Python's storming of the castle bred with a pillow fight.  I am the bestial dragon, and the two brave knights (they're really pretending to be knights, although chivalrous they are not) defend it with honor, and in doing so are 31 of 33 all -time in their pursuit.  Both times that I have won they have told me in no uncertain terms that I cheated.  Oh well.  This time, as usual, they won.  When I am 'dead dragon,' I lay there until Elijah (or occasionally Judah) comes over and gives me kiss on the cheek, Snow White-style, to wake me up.  Well, Elijah did.  Judah, who has NEVER seen professional wrestling, climbed up onto the back of the couch and jumped.  Bulls-eye.  I couldn't walk for ten minutes.  Judah even had the good sense to giggle. I had to explain to him that highlight-reel dives onto man-parts are not allowed, even if they are fun.  That was a conversation I'd always wanted to have, let me tell you.

Which leads up to Saturday.  I should have known something was coming, but lately I have the memory of a goldfish-- and an optimistic outlook on life.  Silly me.  I worked late rebuilding a deck and dragged my sorry, getting-softer-by-the-day-in-an-office rear back home thoroughly bedraggled.  I volunteered to stay in the house with Jaelster while everyone else (including our neighbors) went out to the parking lot to shoot off plastic paratroopers that lit up the night sky when they floated down.  I actually didn't want to go out, but Elijah really wanted me to come... and the daddy guilt of having worked an 11-hour day and virtually not seeing him kicked in.  I limped out with Jael and saw one of the most amazing things in God's creation.



I saw little boys, as yet unspoiled by cynicism and coolness, whooping--delighting-- in the play laid in front of them.  I saw Elijah launching these little figurines far up into the crisp night air and Judah running to catch them as they descended.  I saw Elijah, the apprentice, learning from Mr. Dick and Mary, the masters, just how to pull back the slingshot and get them even higher.  I saw Jael's life flash before my eyes as Elijah carefully pulled back and fired without really looking.  We dodged that one -- but barely.

I had learned my lesson.  This jungle might be beautiful, but it was still a jungle.  I carefully walked Jael directly behind Elijah, far enough away so that we were out of reach of any stray part of slingshot that might be lost in the shot,  Judah ran the paratrooper back in and Elijah carefully loaded it up.  He spun around and switched hands so that it loaded easier and pulled back until it was at full tension.  The whole setup looked a little bit awkward, but yours truly was pretty tired and didn't put two and two together until he let it go.  I looked up to see where it went -- and dropped to the ground in agony, somehow holding Jael off the pavement, to see my pants start glowing neon with paratrooper strobe light.  The funniest thing about it all was how Elijah immediately (no question asked, nothing) sprinted behind Rach and wouldn't talk to anyone for five minutes.  I went back to the house and dry-heaved for ten minutes.  Judah giggled for twenty minutes.

And that, folks, is how my children successfully masterminded a plan to neuter me.  Thank God they haven't figured out the adoption process yet :)

 
 

Monday, September 29, 2014

One Year Old!



Well our baby is one. Early on after having Jael, I told Micah that I wanted to do two things to celebrate this first year with her: go away just the two of us for a night (which we did in August- thank you Grammy and Pa!) and have a BIG birthday party for her at Lynch Park. Since I've had children, I've wanted to have a party at Lynch Park but, you know, their February birthdays have hindered that thus far.

So we had a party! Probably the biggest party I've ever thrown and it was so much fun! We were SO blessed this year by our friends, family, and community. We received weeks worth of meals when she was born and then again when she had her first surgery. Friends and aunties and Grammys/Grams babysat big boys while I took Jael to countless doctors appointments. So many of those around us took interested in our new lives with Jael, celebrated each new thing she accomplished and continually lifted us up in prayer. We wanted to say thank you and celebrate- so we did!

Here's a taste of the party!
                                                                                                                    Some of the babies meeting!
                   

                    My dear friend who loves my kids so well                    




month by month picture banner



The cake



                             The incredible Auntie Laura!                                                            


The neighborhood crew!


   Decorating rainbow cupcakes!
                                                    Someone was partied out! haha











Brothers helping to open presents!
 
My beautiful, fun, smart, determined, strong little lady!




The Lord your God is with you,
he is mighty to save.
He will take great delight in you,
He will quiet you with his love,
He will rejoice over you with singing.
Zephania 3:17








One Month Old

Two Months Old

                                                                   Three Months Old


                                                                    Four Months Old


                                                                   Five Months Old

                                                                    Six Months Old


Seven Months Old

                                                                   Eight Months Old


    Nine Months Old


                                                                     Ten Months Old


                                                                  Eleven Months Old


                                                                     One Year Old!