Ain't life grand?

Bless the child born to the mother unprepared for snow.

The first snow/ice storm of 2017 hit us early and hard this year. I didn't want to believe the warnings, and so I ignored them. Thank goodness for friends with kids (albeit girls--hence John's snow bibs above).

But before the snow storm of 2017, I left a lot of good 2016 memories undocumented. And so, here's a round-up of Will's 4th birthday, Great Grandpa's 100th birthday (whoa!), Halloween, Thanksgiving, and some sprinklings in between.

"I'm 4 and it feels so good!"

She's 99 and he's 100. Will heard me call them "Great Grandpa and Grandma,"
and later he must have translated "great" to "happy" in his head because he now calls them
"Happy Grandma and Happy Grandpa." It's perfect, and I'll never correct him.

Notice who's driving

The 2nd annual boys camping trip with friends

How grateful I am that Ryan has become such good friends
with my two best friends' husbands from college

Will never cared for stuffed animals. John, now that's another story. 

When Grandpa and Mati come to visit, there's lots to smile about.

...ice cream being one of them. 

The fair

Sweet friends whose mothers hope they'll marry. This is Hadley.

Sweetest of friends, Graham Laney, at his 4th birthday party.

Those arms can manage some pumpkins.

John has a signature worried look that we (unfortunately)
see often. With Ryan and Will in the mix, there always seems
to be something legit to be worried about. Honestly, I don't blame the little
fella. This was him watching Ryan cut down an old telephone pole
with a chain saw. I'm with ya, buddy.

Halloween 2016

In October, we had the quonset hut in the backyard taken down.
Will is in this photo. Wearing camo. Almost impossible to spot.

Life with my boys is this good. 

Thanksgiving 2016

Our beloved Mimi

Christmas pictures will be next! Before those, though, I just need to leave this right here.

Ain't life grand?

I said shit in front of my kids

"You're within the one-hour departure window. I'm sorry, I can't check your bags. You've missed your flight."

[Insert expletive in front of the children.]

Seattle, Washington. Day five. Two kids. One hotel room. Beautiful wedding. But, two kids. One hotel room. Day FIVE.

"Go stand in the 'Assistance' line over there to rebook your flight," said the airport lady who I wanted to punch. And it wasn't even her fault, but I still wanted to punch her.

"We will run. We will leave our bags here. Heck, we will leave these kids here with you. PLEASE let us get on the plane!"

She said no, and I said shit.

And went and stood in the Assistance line with people flying with tubas.

Kids, toddlers, boys: They don't do lines. So Ryan waited while I followed and corralled and excused-me'd, and pretty much Lost. My. Mind in the busy Seattle airport.

Turns out, we just did a dry run, as our flight got rebooked for the same time. The next day.

Fun.

Minus Whitney and Derek's beautiful wedding, I spent the first four days of the trip inside the hotel room because, well, the baby has to nap. And he's exhausted from travelling, and Seattle, your 5pm is really his 8pm, so... "It's 4pm? Oh! Gotta go!"

Anyone who knows me knows I don't do hotels the same way kids don't do lines. It's a weird, totally nonsensical, impractical, irrational germ-thing. But if I see you downstairs at the breakfast buffet and your hair looks greasy, I'm convinced you slept on my pillow last night and now my face is touching your hair grease. And the bed bugs. I truly can't elaborate further or I may not finish this post.

I don't do hotels.

(But my kids do, and that makes my blood pressure even higher. "Please don't roll around on the carpet." "Oh please don't play with the shower drain." "Please, please don't snuggle up with that communal blanket!")

So when Day 5 was not Trip Over Day, I lost my cool for a momentary, public, out loud, four-letter-word. Sigh. (That wasn't the word.)

In all seriousness, God's goodness oozed all over us the entire trip, and especially those last 24 hours. He allowed us to rebook our lodging, our rental car, and our flight within moments. We drove back from the airport, put John down for a nap, and afterwards enjoyed an afternoon corralling kids sightseeing in Seattle.

Not even a month later, I can say it was totally worth it.

And really mean it:

Will and I rode the ferris wheel overlooking the city. Very high, Very amazing. Very worth it.

Lasting good

Last week, Will turned four and threw his pacy in the pond in our backyard. Today, I moved too-small clothes out of both boys' drawers and replaced them with the next size up. John started Mother's Morning Out at BayLeaf, and Will now goes to preschool three days a week. Will's adorable vocabulary now sounds more like adult vocabulary: "I didn't realize that, Mom." "Actually, I'd like milk instead." And his little brain is thinking bigger stuff, too: "Why do leaves swirl when they fall off the tree?" "What do kangaroos eat?" "If a tree burns down, how will the squirrels find a new home?" And, these days, John does more than grunt and scream for what he wants. He points and he nods and he says "hot" and "treat" like they're going out of style.

Today, as I was folding John's 12-month clothes to put them in the bag for the attic, I got to thinking: Why does change, particularly my kids growing up, carry with it such a sting of sadness? It's actually totally impractical to feel sad about them growing up because I obviously would never want the alternative. So why do I feel sad?

For a while now, I've noticed when I give Will a treat, he usually always asks: "Will you get more of these for us?" Or when we go somewhere fun, "Can we come back here?" His concern about the lasting nature of his enjoyment always strikes me. He can't enjoy the present until he knows it's going to last. Once I nod, he happily carries on.

We all want good things to last.

Mom confession: I haven't corrected Will when he asks if I'll "do him a favorite (favor)," or if I'll let him push that "bunt (button)," or if he can ride the "ebelator" at the mall.

I want those little bits of adorable goodness to last as long as they can.

Of course I hope and trust the next phase will be as good as this one, but like all things future on this earth, that's unknown.

Just like Will with a bag of M&Ms, at every good phase of my life, I want to be assured. "Lord, can we do this again? Can this goodness last?"

Truth is, Lord willing, my kids are going to grow -- past toddler-sized clothes, mispronounced words, sloshing in mud puddles, obsessions with garbage trucks, even past snuggles and kisses. But thanks be to a gracious God who reminds me today that it's not them I should be clinging to for lasting, unchanging goodness in my life. That's only going to come from Him. The One who never changes. The One whose goodness is truly eternal. To look for it elsewhere will definitely leave me sad, at best.

I pray He'll write these baby phases on my heart in permanent marker, I pray the next phase will bring as much happiness and adorableness as this one. And I pray that the God who never changes will give me contentment and joy with every changing phase of my (and my kids') lives.

(And p.s., For those of you reading this who are thinking, "Man, she just needs to have another baby," -- because I know someone is thinking that -- I said I wanted to stay here. Not go back there. Smile, smile, wink, wink. Love ya, mean it.)

Who wouldn't want to freeze this adorableness:

That is MY kitchen from when I was a kid. Perfect condition for 30 years.
No lie: Will shattered one of the cabinets within 30 minutes. See below.

#boys

Practicing to be in Uncle Derek's wedding

Will's first day of preschool. 3-year-old class.

John's first day of Mother's Morning Out.

Throwing pacy in the pond b/c 4 year olds don't have pacys.
Lord, help us.

Honestly, I don't know why more people don't think to wear
goggles in the bath.

John's first haircut. June 2016

Just a typical afternoon at the Thomsen house