Words can not describe

I write this next post with a heavy heart. One of my dearest friends has lost her baby. She was due next month. She noticed he wasn't moving and then the doctor couldn't find a heartbeat. Last night she had to deliver her stillborn baby. My heart aches for her and what she is experiencing.

I know it is a cliche to say that I can not imagine what she is going through, but I honestly can not wrap my head around the devastation she must be feeling. This baby was to be her first.

I can not stop thinking and praying for her and her husband. Last night as I was cooking dinner, I turned around and saw Samantha dangling from the open silverware drawer and George up on a kitchen chair dancing. While this scene would have normally sent me into a tizzy of yelling, yesterday was different. Yesterday I felt thankful for my children and all the craziness they bring. I know my family is a gift and I don't know what I would do without them.

Dear baby Rocco, the world was a better place because you were in it. Although your time here was short, your life mattered. You were loved and you are missed. As you watch down from heaven, please watch over your parents and let them feel your loving presence.

The Marten Family Christmas Letter

It is this time of year that you take a look back and count your blessings. We have so many I don’t know where to begin.

Sammy’s wall art has really been improving and I think it has to do with the different mediums she is using. I think she finds she prefers markers to pen because they really cover the canvas better.

Riley has gotten much wittier in her backtalk. I mean she is so mature. the words that are hurled from her sweet eight-year-old lips are really something I would expect to come from a teenager. Second grade has really improved her vocabulary.

George has improved leaps and bounds on his Tae-kwon-do. Riley in particular has really noticed the progress he has made in his flipper kick to her leg.

Cooper, our half lab, has done a really nice job of getting nearly all of his throw up on the hardwood floors, sparing our carpet. I am also happy to report that he has kept the diaper eating to a minimum.

Ben and I collapse on the couch every evening at eight and congratulate ourselves on keeping the children alive one more day. We are also pleased to announce we have cut or wine drinking down to two bottles a night. Cheers!

We can’t even begin to imagine what 2010 may have in store for us and honestly can’t wait for the adventure to begin.

From the Mouths of Babes

Every Friday a friend of mine and me take turns watching each others kids for a couple hours. Just to give us two hours to do whatever we want without kids. Sometimes that means running errands that would usually take us two hours now take us 30 minutes. This is simply because we don't have to fumble with car seats when we are getting in or out of the car or dealing with tantrums in the aisles or having to stop to wipe noses. Sometimes we just go to a quiet place and get 30 minutes worth of work actually done in 30 minutes. Anyway, her husband is also a firefighter and we like to commiserate together about the joys of being a firefighters wife.

So yesterday I was watching her children (whom I really enjoy.) She has a three-year-old who is literally the size of a five-year-old, Tanner. He is exactly what I imagine my husband looked like when he was that age. She also has a very easy going six month old.

George had been DYING for someone to play the WII with him and he had found the perfect competitor. George and Tanner played for and hour and a half. They were both red cheeked with sweat dripping down the sides of their little faces. Do you know how hard a five and three year old have to work to get sweaty!? These two were playing their tiny hearts out.

I went to the kitchen to unload the dishwasher as George was being a not so gracious winner. That's when I heard Tanner, "George stop.... stop... (I could actually hear the tiny wheels in his head turning) stop busting my balls!"

"What?" George replied in genuine confusion, "what balls?"

"I don't know." Tanner replied in defeated desperation.

"What are you talking about?" George tried to understand.

"I don't know what I am talking about!" Tanner replied.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen I was trying to stifle my laughter like a child in church. Later, when I told the story to my husband he said, "Well, I know where Tanner got that saying," and I was nodding in agreement until he went on, "his mother."

School Pictures....bring it on!

First of all, I know, I know. I've fallen off the blogging wagon. Well, I am here to let you know that I am picking myself up by my bootstraps and climbing right back on. I will not let you down again, I hope.

Now, take a look at Georgie's school picture. He is smiling so sweetly you can almost see the halo over his perfect little blonde head. Let's rewind a couple hours to when we were getting ready for this angelic photo...

Crap! It is school picture day! Of course, it is also laundry day so
Georgies closet looks pretty pathetic. I rummage through the few shirts left hanging. Oooh, this one has a collar. Wait, that is the one he wore last year for pictures. Let me look through again. Ooooh, darn, that is the same shirt I just looked at. I glance over at George. He is watching me in his jeans and t-shirt that he has already put on in angry anticipation of what I would pick out. George does NOT like dressing up. Between Georgie's stare and the ticking clock I am begining to feel the pressure of finding something halfway decent for him to wear.

Then, it was as if the heaven's opened up and a ray of sunshine from the heavens came down and lit up a shirt with a collar! The angels were singing in my head as I lifted the shirt in victory. However, my choir was soon silenced by a scream coming from my son, "Noooooo! Not a shirt with BUTTONS!" Before I had even said anything he fell on the floor in a seziure like stop, drop, and roll. I just stood there and looked at the shirt. I was in genuine shock. He didn't even have to change what he was wearing. All he had to do was but this shirt on over his t-shirt and he could still wear the jeans.

Unfortunately for George his best attempt at dramatics don't hold a candle to what his sister is capable of so I know consider myself a trained professional in dealing with tantrums. I knelt down and wrestled the shirt on the boy. George contorted his face into what I imagine an angry pug would look like and he stomped his feet all the way from his room to the car.

I followed George to the car and took him to school. As the teacher unloaded him and I waved goodbye and I though, this is going to be a big waste of $25.