Monday, December 16, 2013

A Quiver Full

I take back what I said in my last post about too much college football; there's no such thing as too much college football.  I missed it so much Saturday.  By the way, did anyone notice that a certain longtime Texas coach resigned?  Perhaps I should venture into stocks.      

So, if you were checking Facebook constantly on Friday for a post about Reagan's third birthday, you were totally disappointed.  Nothing has gone as planned regarding Reagan's birthday this year, & that includes my attempts to sit down & blog Friday.  This year I decided to go all out for her birthday celebration, by which I mean actually inviting other kids, as opposed to only family members.  We picked a theme, we ordered invitations/decorations/party favors, & we had a perfect locale selected, the picturesque park across the street from Nana & Papa's new house.  I began obsessing about the weather, because as everyone knows it is incredibly helpful to obsess about things over which you have absolutely no control.  I learned this lesson well four years ago when I opted for an outdoor wedding.    

If you've been enjoying the frigid temps lately, you're welcome.  Next December I'll plan an even bigger event outdoors & maybe instead of highs in the 30s & the threat of ice, we'll have a white Christmas in Louisiana.  I watched the forecast in the week before her party & things just went from bad to worse.  I thought if it rained, we could set up in my parents' garage & do crafts or something & eat cake & open presents.  Usually in Louisiana, rain is enemy No.1 threatening outdoor plans, but the forecast that Saturday called for a chance of ice with highs in the mid 30s.  So precipitation or not, I figured it would be too cold to do anything other than huddle by a fire drinking hot chocolate, which does sound tempting . . . except that my mom's idea of a house warming party doesn't involve toddlers, fire, & hot chocolate.  To celebrate #4, I may just book something indoors, which means we're guaranteed to have at least one Saturday next December that is sunny & gorgeous with highs in the 60s.   You're welcome in advance.  

Before I get to the pics, I'm going to let you in on a little birthday party secret.  I CANNOT WAIT until my kids request a birthday party at Skatetown.  I loooove to roller skate & like most people in their thirties who have kids & a job, I don't often get the chance.  No doubt I will score some serious mom points with my kids & their friends as I whizz past them all on two wheels.

So, before I share the party pics, here's a quick recap of how we arrived at birthday No.3 for Miss Reagan.  




The theme for this year's party was Strawberry Shortcake; I can't resist a good theme.  I ordered two dozen cake pops (which, by the way, is in no way cheaper than ordering a cake), half of which were strawberry, & they were all iced in white & pink.  I also washed & cut up a bunch of strawberries & bought individual angel food cakes so everyone could make their own strawberry shortcake.  It was every bit as cute as it sounds.  Reagan's presents from her daddy & me were all Strawberry Shortcake related, which made it mentally easier on me considering there are gifts for her stashed all over the house & I needed a way to remember what was for her birthday & what was Christmas.  We enjoyed a nice afternoon indoors &, given the reduction in the guest list, totally made ourselves sick on cake pops. On an unrelated note, if you're interested in a Strawberry Shortcake themed Christmas meal, I might be able to hook you up with coordinating paper plates & napkins.

We returned home with the leftover food, birthday loot, & two tired kids, which made for a long Saturday night.  By the time baths were taken & everyone was ready for bed, Reagan had a few minutes to enjoy her gifts.  A special thanks to those who gifted her with something that makes noise.

On Friday, her actual birthday, I dropped Henry off with his Grandmama & Trey & I took Reagan to eat lunch.  When I told her Happy Birthday that morning when she woke up, her first words were, "Where's my cake?"  I suggested to Trey that we take her to Chili's so we could get me her a molten chocolate dessert. 

I'm going to tell you up front that I probably set some sort of record for most photos taken during a meal at Chili's.

Waiting for daddy to join us:

Coloring while we wait for our food:

Not looking at the camera as I requested:

Entertaining herself with the table decor:

Working on her angry face:

Sorting the artificial sweetener by color:

Still waiting . . .

And still . . . 

Finally, her "cake" - - 

Trey didn't eat any of it, & Reagan & I gave it a valiant effort, but we still left this much.  What a waste.  

Reagan's birthday has been a real morale booster for me.  It's hard to believe she's three, & every night when Henry wakes me up, & then wakes me up again (& again), I think about the three-year-old sleeping soundly in the next room & all the vivid memories I have of her as an infant who took months to sort out her sleep patterns.  Admittedly, by six months Reagan was sleeping better than Henry is at present, but I am hoping he's just taking a little longer than she did to sort things out.  I am also certain, after much trial & error (& stuffing him full of fruit & rice cereal), that his love of nursing is the main night-waking culprit, but I'm just not ready to wean him yet, & he'd put up the fight of his life if I tried.  I figure he loves it so much that he's willing to wake up to do it, & that's a lot of love as there are few, if any, activities I enjoy so much that I'd wake myself (more than once a night!) in order to participate in them.  So, I'm choosing to be flattered.  Sometimes when I'm awakened I say this aloud to myself, I. Am. Flattered.  No, really, I am flattered that he adores me so much he can't sleep more than 3ish hours without nursing.  And repeat . . .

Reagan's birthday & my sleep struggles with Henry have me rereading these verses in Psalm often, "Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, The fruit of the womb is a reward.  Like arrows in the hand of a warrior, So are the children of one's youth.  Happy is the man who has his quiver full of them . . . " That's Psalm 127:3-5.  I adore the simile in these verses not only because I'm overly excited by figurative language, but because if you're up to speed on your reading, the arrow/quiver imagery should not be lost on you.  Or if you saw Catching Fire . . . but you should read!  If I am a warrior, & my children are arrows, then, again if you read (or shamefully only watched the movie), you know well that arrows can land dangerously far from their intended target in the hands of a careless warrior.  So, I continue to prayerfully guide my arrows, my rewards, "for everyone to whom much is given, from him much will be required," (Luke 12:48).

On the Christmas front, I should let you know that Comcast has made a rather untimely change in their Music Choice channels & the traditional holiday music is now airing on 842 instead of 834.  That may clear up some confusion for a few readers who, like me, keep hitting 834 & wondering why you're seeing Dwight Yokem.  Not that Dwight Yokem isn't awesome.

I am about finished with my shopping (which will be a relief to our local UPS man), but I have a mountain of presents that need to be wrapped.  I told Trey not to get me anything, & I sincerely mean it.  Last Christmas he got me an iPad & an iPhone 5, & I am still enjoying them both & there is really nothing I want or need at the moment.  I think this is a sign of maturity.  I mean yes, there's a few hundred dollars worth of things I want for the house at Target & Pottery Barn, but that can wait until they're on sale after Christmas.  The folks at Pottery Barn have been working me over lately, bombarding me with emails offering 20% off my purchase, or, the PB holy grail, free shipping.  I've been incredibly strong & have been immediately deleting these emails.  Again, maturity.  I am intrigued by the possibilities of a gift my mother bought me, something she claims will help Henry sleep.  After months of futile efforts to prolong his sleep, I've got it narrowed down to, 1) a life size doll of me, 2) some sort of prosthetic breast, or, 3) drugs.  I'll keep you posted.  

Last night Trey mentioned something he was considering for his sister, Deni, & since his back was turned & he couldn't see my face, I said, "Um, no.  We can do better than that."  I've been online a bit today & this is what's happened - - 

If you didn't already know, Deni is an Auburn grad.  I know.  It's kind of annoying at times, but worked out well this year as I will always hold Auburn in slightly higher esteem for their victory over Alabama this year.  Their glorious, glorious victory over Alabama this year.  So I'm browsing online for possible gifts for Deni & I stumble on these boots.  These four-hundred-dollar boots.  But aren't they fabulous!?  Naturally this discovery led me to seek out these - - 

If you were considering spending $400 on me for Christmas, seriously, don't get me these boots.  I mean, yes, they're amazing, & if I were eighteen & attended LSU football games wearing denim cutoff shorts rather than attempting to watch the games on TV in between diaper changes while still dressed in my pajamas, I would beg for these boots.  Anyway, this has been a short tutorial on why online shopping can be just as time consuming, & just as expensive, as showering & heading to the mall.  And our mall doesn't even have a Pottery Barn, or a Macy's, etc., etc., all of which I can easily access online.  It's really amazing that I've stopped looking at the sweaters on sale at Macy's online today to even write this blog.  Again, maturity.   

Moving on, if you weren't already aware, this Wednesday at 9PM (central time) NBC will air Michael Buble's Christmas Special.  Apparently this is the third annual Michael Buble Christmas Special, but I guess I totally missed the first two. 

Finally, in salted caramel news, I found this at Brookshire's:

You can do what you want, but let me suggest that you buy yourself a box of this, warm some milk around 8:55 Wednesday evening, & slowly sip your simmering salted caramel hot chocolate while the dulcet tones of Michael Buble lull you into Christmas oblivion.    

Again, you're welcome.


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