Can't meet us at the park...

...because we love you too much to turn your kids into popsicles.

 

Sorry, Little Rock folks, we're postponing our "meet us at the park!" family time at Pinnacle Park tomorrow due to the inclement weather. 

 

We hope to reschedule, and really regret missing our time to connect with you! Enjoy your iced-in time with family. 



Our first two years, in photo

We're excited to show you this short version (3m33s) of a video we created as a glimpse into what God's been doing in our family and in East Africa during our first two years. Just being photos, it will make more sense if you've been reading our blog or newsletters--but in any case, celebrate God's goodness with us! And please, pray for East Africa.

Snippets from a furlough

I call this one "jet lag". This is as soon as he got out of the car from the airport.

True story:
1. Middle son orders corn dog at restaurant.
2. Son receives and bites into corn dog.
3. Son exclaims with delight, "Whoa! There's a HOT DOG in there!"

***
My oldest, to his sister following her apology during a conflict in the car: "Whatever."
Me: "Now, do you think that was an interactive, helpful response?"
Him: "I was not trying to be interactive and helpful. I was trying to be an irritating jerk!"
Well. Points for honesty (?)--and that's about it. #thatsmymissionarykid
***
"MOM! Their bathroom has TWO sinks and TWO faucets!"

***
"Mom, are you sure we can drink the water from the faucet?"

***
Grandpa made his famous shaped pancakes on our first morning back. My boys' choice: bodas (Ugandan motorcycle taxis). You can take the boys out of Africa, but you can't take the Africa out of the boys...

***
"But Mom, I don't know how to use the drain!"
"Now, stop being helpless. You know how to use the... Oh, yeah. Sorry. See this little thing in the back? You pull it up..."
***

"Mom, can we stay in this country forever?"

eMi's response to Typhoon Haiyan

Many of you share our deep concern over the welfare of Filipinos who've been left homeless, and worse, from the utter devastation of Typhoon Haiyan. We wanted to let you in on our organization's disaster relief response, particularly in the event that you're interested in helping. Here's a recent word from eMi:

 

***

Since 1983, Engineering Ministries International (EMI) has been mobilizing Disaster Response Teams for major international disasters like Typhoon Haiyan. Motivated out of God’s love, we serve survivors vulnerable to exploitation. More than technical experts, we seek to be Christ-like, by bringing clean water and the hope of living water. On December 1st, EMI will send our initial teams of water and sanitation experts to come alongside Samaritan’s Purse in Tacloban and Bantayan. As our other partners—the Filipino Church and local & international relief agencies—identify specific needs, we will send additional design professionals to provide services throughout relief (before Christmas) and recovery (after Christmas) phases:
Water/Wastewater Engineers: • Design and set up various water, sanitation and hygiene systems
• Design and establish clean water distribution centers
• Design flood water mitigation solutions Structural Engineers and Architects: • Assess damaged buildings for safe reoccupation, retrofit or repair
• Design structurally sound and culturally appropriate transitional shelters
• Design retrofits and repairs to damaged buildings
• Master plan Internally Displaced People camps Transportation Engineers: Design retrofits and repairs to damaged roads and bridges
Geotechnical Engineers: Assess slope stability and soil erosion
Construction Managers: Oversee teams for construction of buildings and infrastructure




You can help


Experienced design professionals can volunteer for disaster response by contacting EMI’s Disaster Response Ministry Program director at disasters@emiworld.org. If you can’t go, you can give. Help mobilize disaster response assessment and design teams by donating to EMI’s Philippines Relief (emiworld.org/dr_philippines.php). By meeting a survivor’s immediate physical need in their desperate hour, we demonstrate Jesus Christ’s love in a practical way and open a door to share His Good News, meeting their deepest spiritual need.


***

Pray with us, please, for the restoration and Godward hope of the Philippines!

Little Rock friends: Meet us at the park!

Our family is back in the U.S. on furlough!
We're headed to the playground at Pinnacle Mountain,
and we'd love to see you there for a casual catch-up.

DROP BY AND CATCH UP WITH THE BREITENSTEINS
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 7
2-4 PM
Pinnacle Park, 11901 Pinnacle Valley Road, Little Rock, 72223

In case of inclement weather, we'll reschedule.

Some big "little" news

This is reposted from my post this week on MomLifeToday. We weren't actually able to file the paperwork at the embassy upon our visit, but plan on doing so when we arrive back in Uganda.



I am, as they say, “paperwork pregnant.”

It wasn’t coursing hormones or a full bladder that stirred me this morning at 5:06, but a chirpy text alert from my cell phone: My lawyer letting me know my file was, at long last, complete. Sinking back on my pillow, sedated in a thick haze of half-sleep, I felt my mind drift to that moment when we will finally get a call to come meet our little girl. And that was it, folks. My mind is now fully awake, ready to blog to you.

Today, after nearly nine months of waiting, my husband and I will weave rather perilously through Kampala traffic, bypassing a few OB-GYN offices on our way to our city’s U.S. embassy. We will place our hands on electronic fingerprint sensors and turn over a steep amount of cash. We will present a stack of identification, along with a photocopied, long-awaited home study representing months of slightly intrusive questioning regarding the suitability of our family and home.
We will then hand through the window advance paperwork petitioning the U.S. government to pre-approve us as adoptive parents. Then it’s two more months of waiting as our envelope makes its circuitous way to Nairobi, then back to Uganda, at which point I hope to accept it with a pudgy, African hand encircling my index finger.

Folks, we’re having a baby.

…I hope.

I was realizing this week that with my other four children, I have prayed for them, for their spouses, for their walk with God since the moment I saw a faint pink line appear on that fateful stick of white plastic. For this child, too, I have petitioned God—sometimes silently, sometimes aloud—as I pray for my other children, picturing her fuzzy African head and soft, chocolate-colored shoulders bent over whatever toddler activity in which she might be engaged at the moment. Lord, help them to treat her kindly in the orphanage, especially so she can have healthy relationships later. Help them to feed her well so her brain can develop. Prepare her heart to adore you. Watch her for me, Lord. Please be her Father while she is fatherless.

But after so many months of waiting and so many exasperating, often humbling, lay-my-head-against-the-wall-and-sigh hurdles, I must admit...

Click here to read the rest!

The little things

In the past 24 hours, I:
1. drank water out of the tap
2. walked on carpet
3. ate at Chick-Fil-A
4. traveled on a road without a SINGLE pothole, folks!
5. passed about 20x the number of stoplights in Kampala
6. chose between, literally, about 30 different varieties of butter or margarine (good grief!)
7. saw a person wearing braces on their teeth
8. watched my kids wolf down breakfast cereal to their hearts' content
9. drank coffee from a Keurig
10. sat on a comfortable couch

11. whipped up a casserole with cream-of-something soups (okay, not the healthiest...but oh-so-easy!)

12. taught two of my kids to use a water fountain; got a fun little squeal!

13. went jogging on a sidewalk 

14. watched my kids play on a public playground
15. took a hot shower!

16. recycled something

17. picked out my own hair products, and shipped them nowhere

18. watched the kids drink up unlimited wi-fi

19. listened to my kids chant, "Christmas came early this year! We went to Chick-fil-A AND Target AND the grocery store with Grandma!"
20. threw my arms around the neck of my relatives

It's good to be back.

 

:)

Control

Went on my third indoor Ugandan bat hunt tonight. As in, in my house. Not as fun as you might think, but it can just be disconcerting to have it fly through the living room, you know? I confess to shrieking once. ....Twice. The guard, a.k.a. my minion, laughed good-naturedly. Maybe I'm just one of those hyper-controlling types who has to keep tabs on every single breathing mammal in her house.

I think I'm comfortable with that.

No place like...

It's official.

We have TICKETS!

Folks, we are coming home.

(Well, to one of them, anyway. Home is so complicated a concept now--!)

 

Sadly, John won’t be in until November. So I’m coming in with the kids on my own mid-October.

 

Let's see. That's takeoff at 4 AM...nineteen hours to Houston, via Istanbul. Good grief. Talk about kicking off furlough with a bang. (I've heard that 90% of missionaries could use a vacation when they get home from furlough. Let's just leave that statistic be for now, shall we?)

 

The kids are beside themselves about the plane ride. Last spring (U.S. spring, that is; it is always spring here!), J. asked if we could get on a plane, watch movies all day, and then come back to our orange house in Uganda. I told him that was a pretty expensive movie day. But, ta-da! Kid, it's a wish come true--with Grandma and Grandpa on the other end!

 

Because the reality is, each of us is so excited to see our families and friends and church. It has been so long. I get to meet my niece for the very first time, and we can hardly believe we will be hugging so many dear people in person.

 

Not to mention a few creature comforts, and a land where everything takes about three steps less! When my dad was here, he remarked that in talking to people about America, it sounded as mysterious and baffling as John's Revelation! Sure enough, one of my co-op students who has always lived in Uganda had the most interesting story to tell everyone about his grandparents who live in the UK: "They have this box. And you open it, and put in dirty dishes, and then close the box. Then you press a button. And when you open the box, the dishes are CLEAN!" Indeed!

 

So, hitting at least four U.S. states when all is said and done, we are returning to the land of grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles...and Chik-fil-A, and dishwashers. We'll hang around until the new Year, with John joining us around November 2. I'm thankful our kids are already talking about people and things they'll miss here, and that with relationships and ministry here, we'll be ready to return.

 

But for now, there's no place like home.

 

 

Last day of class--in photo

Well, today was my last day of class at the YMCA this year. We'll fly back for furlough soon (more about that later!), and these ladies are gearing up for their practicums at local schools. Two of the kids came with me; J. was so disappointed I couldn't take more, and made me promise to tell the ladies about the Mickey Mouse hat he was wearing that day. The kids add a palpable energy to the classroom, and help with demonstrating some of the techniques.

The students presented their creative teaching strategies--not stellar, per se, but a big step up from last term in many senses. And more importantly, they're getting it. Slowly, and in small ways, I am seeing the light come on. They seem to grasp the need, and even more, to want their classrooms to be like this: full of grace, engaging, energized. They seem to want to make the playdough for themselves, craft the games, visit the websites as opposed to me wondering whether any of this would be actually utilized in one of their classrooms.

Later, I shared more ideas for teaching math (er, "maths"), and again allowed the ladies to try out learning centers spread around the perimeter of the room. They seem to eat this up, and I love that they can experience each idea and examine it.

I think I will remember for awhile the moment when, as I slid the last games into my basket after class (the students simply remain there for the next teacher), one of them came before the class and asked for a round of applause for such wonderful material. After a year of various questions of failure, it meant a great deal to experience that sound and those smiles. It reminded me of the verse B. and I talked about over lunch, when I explained to him I didn't have a teaching degree: The leaders saw that Peter and John were not afraid to speak, and they understood that these men had no special training or education. So they were amazed. Then they realized that Peter and John had been with Jesus.

And...I didn't update you on my prayer request for my talk about grace and the Gospel, because I felt the jury was still out. I'd started the talk as I usually do--"how many of you think we can earn our way to heaven?"--and was set back on my heels a bit when every single person, nuns included (I have three, and also a few Muslims), raised their hand. Later I wondered if I'd taken more of a tack of proving my point in a more Western manner rather than just speaking out of my own sheer delight at this incredible gift that has so wholly altered my existence. The English barrier--pointed out to me by a student after class, who subtly indicated I might be talking too fast for students coming from the village--was no help.


But I revisited the topic next week, and was encouraged by a few nods--which turned into a few smiles this week as I elaborated, and continued to point to how grace changes us. Then, how grace turns our classrooms from places of shame and fear to places of courage, confidence, and creativity.

I really don't know what the result of these devotional times are. But I felt like I was finally able to communicate relatively clearlynd like everything else, I find myself praying that God will turn a few crusty loaves and a couple of dead fish into a meal for more than my little mind grasps.

Tossing, counting, and adding balls of newspaper

Introducing science and math concepts with file folder games (www.filefolderfun.com)

Exploring phonics taught with "word slides"

Using "word wheels" to teach word families

What we're up to, and how you can pray--part three

Well, the life-altering adventure that is teaching the YMCA Institute Wandegeya commenced again last Thursday. I will admit to arriving a little bruised and skeptical, glancing around campus with a mental eyebrow turned down toward a pair of pursed lips. But still, the situation called for great faith.

Thankfully, a whole lotta things went a whole lot better. I have 40 (as opposed to 90) students. Even more, they’re all diploma students (as opposed to certificate students), so at first outlook, these ladies have greater dedication, training, personal investment, and caliber  that requires less cultural translation on my part in such a brief time. All in all, I’m energized that they seemed able to understand me and seemed engaged, even enthusiastic? the whole time. I’ve unquestionably learned a lot too, so being a veteran with more reasonable expectations and costly experiences has been a happy little surprise...not to mention considerably less labor intensive.

Little things gave some sizable relief: no gymnasium-sized classroom with six other simultaneous classes in it (or the obligatory I-shouted-across-the-room-for-a-couple-of-hours sore throat). Room between the desks instead of traipsing across the chairs oh-so-delicately in my skirt.  An unlocked classroom two flights up instead of six. The right person who tells when the term really does start, really does end, and really doesn't have class. It's little perks that make the difference, folks!

Pray for me tomorrow, if you would. It’s my class at where I’ll make the connection between showing students grace, undeserved favor...and connecting all that to the fact that we can't earn favor with God, but Jesus earned it for us. I get to show them what's changed my life. I get to share the Gospel (woot, woot)! 

Thank you, friends, for sending us here.

To that end keep alert with all perseverance, making supplication for all the saints, and also for me, that words may be given to me in opening my mouth boldly to proclaim the mystery of the gospel, for which I am an ambassador…that I may declare it boldly, as I ought to speak. (Eph. 6:18-20)

What we're up to--and how you can pray, #2

So. My (Janel's) second term at the Y starts tomorrow. They tried to casually sign me up for another class, but I think one will do the trick for now. I feel somewhat conflicted about this after last term's confusing...what? I don't even know what to call it.

I'm somewhat ashamed to admit that I've found myself naturally praying less for it, my heart sore and disillusioned, my enthusiasm a bit soggy (last night, I remembered: Brothers, never be lacking in zeal...). I'd love your prayers for faith, and for God to do more than I can ask, think, or imagine--whether I see it or not--for His own sake.

Thanks.

The visitors

It is a rare occasion that I would be able to mentally block out that I am homeschooling in Africa.

For one, we have this ideal indoor-outdoor schooling thing going on since it's palpably spring year-round; my children are regularly sprawled around the compound with piles of books, or painting a cardboard-box ziggurat in our garage-turned-schoolroom. (Anyone else not know what that was until they had to teach their kid?) There are the different birds we observe--like ibises or sizeable kites, or the African Grey parrot that we've heard but only glimpsed briefly.

There are also the random visitors that clink the gate in greeting. And there are the bodas that turn our heads to see if they are headed down the hill, or the fresh produce that we dive into shamelessly for snacks. There's co-op on a dusty driveway, or underneath an avocado tree.

 

And then--there's today, when a science lesson greeted me when I went to fling open the garage doors. We did indeed have unexpected visitors, though the latter pictured here is frequent enough. (We do school in a garage.)

That's six looong centimeters of cockroach. (Insert involuntary shudder.) I remember seeing these in Little Rock. You know, behind plexiglass at the zoo.

 

Frankly, I preferred our last guest, who popped his head over the eMi wall to chat with B. Usually on Wendesdays, the boys' Australian friend climbs a tree after finishing his 1:00 lunch, then whistles a tune until we come out and the boys inevitably get him to stay for the afternoon. Science lesson he is not, but I'll choose him over guest #1 any day of the week.

Peace for pastors

Last Thursday and Saturday found John and I in a breezy, tiled living room, palm trees waving out the window. It was comfortably crowded with nine pastors, give or take, and their wives. John was conducting a mini-seminar on biblical conflict management and peacemaking for Ugandan pastors-in-training....and--permit me to gush for just a second--that was incredible. John was, as he has been before in this area, sheerly a natural.

 

I think for me the best part was seeing them get the “aha” of the connection to the Gospel: that our vertical relationship with God plays out in the horizontal, the latter of which is so often fraught with pain and brokenness. But for all of time God's run after us, pursuing us as the great Relationship Mender, at the highest price: not faking peace or breaking peace, but going the distance to make true and lasting peace. It was such a privilege to talk with these co-laborers about practical ways to dig in and love well in relationships at the point when they're the least easy, the least comfortable.

 

It was also nothing short of sacred, there together, to hear this inspiring group of young leaders share some incredibly personal experiences. Watching John work and affect this type of impact was the kind of opportunity that makes you think, This is why we came here.  Watching him practically glow in his own private enthusiasm and passion for what he's doing after the first session, recalling how much he loved it, is something so fulfilling as a spouse.

 

So much of what we do here is decidedly unsexy; distinctly un-bloggable for one reason or another; vague and long-term at best in its fruitfulness. But there are a few sweet moments where God so clearly gives us opportunities to say, This--this!--is who our God is--and dream a bit about what He's doing, thankful we can be here and see it up close.

What we're up to--and how you can pray

Wow.

I loved sitting next to my husband last night in my friends' home, who train Ugandan pastors. I get excited just watching him do what he's so very gifted in, giving a seminar on biblical peacemaking/conflict management last night to a group of nine Ugandan pastors-in-training and their wives. Even more humbling, even sacred, was to hear them share intimate, conflict-related moments of their past with this group of men who've grown so close  to one another over the past year.

We continue tomorrow morning; would love your prayers that God would keep doing great things.

Easy on the ice cream

I've been troubleshooting a bit lately. Costs of imported goods seem to be rising--perhaps the taxes?-- which likely hits Westerners more. Both my laundry detergent and my cheese alone, for example, went up two dollars per package last month. Holy cow. So as we try to maneuver a grocery budget, I'm realizing that produce, which is astonishingly inexpensive here, is a simple way to replace that bag of teddy cookies or fig rolls. Popcorn, veggie sticks, and g. nuts are a shoo-in; what else?

Enter my friend Terra's genius idea: fruit "ice cream." Three ingredients: chopped, frozen fruit; vanilla; and enough milk to make the mixer blades turn.

 

I can't believe it's this easy. But my kids love it. We typically use bananas--uber-cheap and non-imported. Love it that my kids are getting fruit with zero added sugar, and my snack cupboard remains shut. Confession: I adore this for breakfast, though I feel like a better mom when I don't call it "ice cream." My youngest and most picky eater asks for this every day. (See the grin?)

 Oliver refuses to "drink bananas," so we branched out to mango. Seriously--so. Good. Now I'm dreaming up flavor combos: mint mango? Coffee banana?

She pronounced it delicious. I think I'm hooked.

Don't have a hernia

Great news today: I don't have a hernia. Come to think of it, you probably don't have one either. More great news! 

I'll save you some scrolling--no, you were not supposed to know I might have a hernia. I was just a wee bit concerned about the tender lump I found in my lower abdomen Saturday; it felt about the size of J.'s fist. And after a jaunt to the Surgery following church, I was awarded with my very own ultrasound appointment.

 

Not a big deal, and I'm not huge on posting intimate medical details on the internet. But in the midst of a series of setbacks this past weekend, surgery in a developing country on a yet-unknown-lump was just not sounding as fun as it might have on some other day.

 

Anyway, my little nugget is just a fluid-filled series of sacs-within-a-sac. At this point, we’re going to let it go. Depending on what’s in the sacs, my body may absorb it all on its own. If not, they can drain them (easily) or remove the outer sac (more complicated). The doctor seemed to indicate that this all fell within the "weird but not abnormal" category.

I'll take a get-out-of-surgery free card any day of the week, and am hopeful that this will be a non-issue in a couple of weeks. I’d thought my little knot felt smaller, but maybe I’m just self-soothing J. Also in good news, it was my cheapest sonogram ever: 24 bucks!

 

I will take that non-hernia and run with it.

On Grace

"I used to think that the ability to turn back time would be the greatest possible gift, so that I could undo all the things I wish I hadn't done. But grace is an even better gift, because it allows me to do more than just erase; it allows me to become more than I was when I did those things. It's forgiveness without forgetting, which is much sweeter than amnesia." --Shauna Niequist, Bittersweet

Extra

Yesterday watching my husband leave the gate for work, I murmured to Oliver, "There goes a great man."

She replied, "He has extra good. There goes an extra great man."



I couldn't agree more.

MK Myths, debunked

In case you had any lofty thoughts about the nature of missionary kids, allow me to gently restore you. My children's sinful/imperfect natures somehow slithered into their carry-ons on the trip over, and British Airways didn't charge me a thing. (I bet they'd give you the same discount!)

Exhibit A: Missionary kids throw fits, as displayed by child #4 in thrilling colors this morning. eMi, next door to us, is no longer under any pretense that said child possesses a form of self-control. Someone in this house needs a nap! (And so does the kid who threw the fit, actually.)

Exhibit B: Actual quote to one of my sons approximately two hours later: "When I take your finger out of your nose, this does not mean 'Please use your other hand.'"

Exhibit C: Question posed from my husband: "So who can tell me the first and greatest commandment?" Son pipes up excitedly, "GEORGE WASHINGTON!"

So when you see my children on home assignment--have no fear: I am not raising Super Children. Take a deep breath. Uh, unless one of them is laughing and waving his hand in front of his nostrils.

Fierce and fabulous

The boys enjoyed a two-and-a-half hour "weapons party" at a friend's yesterday.  I admit to a small amount of discouragement that the most creativity exercised in the entire six weeks of our school year thus far was enthusiastically channeled into cardboard armor--but hey! Creativity is creativity. The "fighting" was only disrupted by a few handfuls of imitation Doritos and popcorn.They had SO much fun in boy heaven.

Good intentions

So. Had a friend over for tea; thought it would be nice to surprise her with a foot soak.

 

What went wrong: 

 a) used basin that had been used by someone else for bleach. Bye-bye, newish shirt and newish shirt my mom brought from America. Boo.

 b) thought I was adding jasmine essential oil. Grabbed oregano oil. Both of us think the water is accentuating our mosquito bites; oops, no. That's a skin reaction. No wonder things smelled like spaghetti sauce instead of flowers.

 c) Our sweet tea date takes a detour to the edge of the bathtub, where we must sit to soap the oil off our feet. Gracious friend is thankful for a tea date she will never forget .

 And...that's why most of you are glad you can enjoy my friendship from afar.

 

Tea, anyone?

And now for something completely irrelevant...

J.'s new trick: Crossing his eyes. Especially when in trouble, to make us laugh. What kind of parent would fall for that?! Well, judge for yourself

Like dominoes

The moral arc of the universe bends at the elbow of injustice.

Martin Luther King, Jr.

High-quality literary fiction is key to aid the soul in its nightly unwind, if you’re me. Lately I’ve been languishing in the less cerebral, squeaky-clean No.1 Ladies’ Detective Agency series. Despite the odd name, it manages to be well-written, and almost as fetching, takes place in Botswana (another Bantu language-speaking African nation). So I resonate with the cultural understandings now and again.

But lately my brain has muttered, wow. Living in Botswana sounds nice. So I’ve explored this random little emission of my subconscious. (Now, when I first started driving in Kampala [which seems like it should have more of an assertive term; when I first started combat, perhaps], my subconscious kept drifting toward peaceful images of coasting down I-430 in Little Rock—pothole- and boda-free 430, with nature whizzing by.) At any rate, I think the odd pull toward Botswana, which I’m not at all inclined to indulge, is simply because according to the author, it’s still Africa—but without the corruption.

When John and I discuss the causes of so much of the pain here, inevitably the word “corruption” bubbles up again. It’s like seeing the Psalms played out in front of you: all those verses about the wicked who are oppressing the poor and walking away unscathed. The adoption “business” alone is enough to make me sick—the wide and deep exchange of money on the backs of orphans, who are sometimes even being sold into orphanages.

But one of the unexpected effects of corruption here is more slyly subtle, more erosive. Corruption affects work ethic; it corrodes people trying. If you learn that from the top down, working hard doesn’t get you money or justice, but getting money in the fastest, slickest manner increases quality of life—well, why would you work hard?

Unfortunately, it affects the life of faith, too. “Health and wealth” gospels thrive here for obvious reasons. If the “big man”, the mkulu, in the pulpit with his photo on the marquee outside tells you to simply trust God for that house, job, and car you wanted (you can ignore the entire books of Proverbs, Job, etc.)…well, personal responsibility is eliminated while people lean against the thresholds of their huts for their ship (God’s ship!) to come in.

Do I sound cynical? I hope not. But I realize that a few people shoveling in cash as fast as they can has a lot of stark effects on these hospitals with no medicine, these roads that prevent food from getting through, these incredible taxes, these swollen costs of education—honestly, to these poor who are silently dying.

Is not this the fast that I choose:
to loose the bonds of wickedness,
to undo the straps of the yoke,
to let the oppressed go free, 
to break every yoke?

Isaiah 58:6

If only

One of my sons, who shall remain nameless, was being a little annoying tonight--to the (literal) tune of Mary Poppins. One can only take so much supercalifragilisticexpialidocious or "It's a Jolly Holiday with [insert name of sibling]", so I asked my son to please. Desist.

 Him, incredulous: For how long?!

 Me: Uh, until Jesus comes back.

 Him: But MOM! That's not for several DAYS!

Not the only one feeling older...

The lovely six-year-old...

So many fun kid birthdays this year. We just had a slew of three: water fights, bowling, treasure hunts, sugary slabs of chocolate cake with sprinkles. Time, as they say, flies.

And the parties are OVER for this year. Can anyone hear my transatlantic sigh of relief?

...the energetic nine-year-old...

...the larger-than-life four-year-old.

Oliver, bowling for the first time on B.'s birthday. She took second place!

All of our eMi friends at one of our massive birthday playdates!