A Christmas to remember

I know I'm STILL behind on my Christmas blogging. I'm determined to get it all in before the end of January, so I'd better get hopping. If I could just get Picasa to interface more seamlessly with Blogger, I'd be done by now. But alas, Picasa is giving me fits. If anyone knows how to send more than four pics at a time directly from Picasa to Blogger, please fill me in.

Last year, we adopted my sister's three gift approach to Christmas. I figure Jesus only got three gifts, so why should my kids get any more. In reality, they got a lot more than that because their father has a desperate need for Christmas to have the WOW factor. But I did reign him in a bit, and they got something to read, something to wear and something to play with each. Plus a stocking full of other stuff. Their big gifts were their "something to play with".

Blake got a set of golf clubs. He played his first round of real golf with Dad and Grandad the day after Christmas, and he managed to hit the ball onto the green on the very first shot. Andy called it beginner's luck. I think he's just bitter.

Sydney got Nellie (Samantha's best friend, for all of you not up on your American Girl lingo.)

Brady got a "Diego" horse. Actually, this is the Radio Flyer spring horse, but Andy had this brilliant idea to lay a Diego blanket over the saddle, thereby officially making it a Diego horse, and a gift worthy of Brady's two year old Diego tastes. Don't ever try to tell me that my man isn't creative.

Max got a police-themed bubble car. He LOVES cars, and I think he sat in it most of Christmas day.

We had gorgeous weather that day, so we decided to eat outside on the patio. Mom and Dad, in their zest to clean out the house and get ready for a big move, have allowed us the privilege of storing (using) their patio set for the next couple of years. It's HUGE, and we love it. They might not get it back. Ever.

Dale and Larry showed up in time for lunch and Grandma and Grandpa came in from Kerrville. Mom, Dad and Jas (or should I call him James?) were already here. It was so much fun to have everyone here, and we really enjoyed having a crowd for Christmas. Below are pics of all in attendance. The crazy hats were thanks to some Christmas poppers Sydney insisted I buy at Home Goods. They contained little bitty trains, some strange trivia questions, and these hats. I have to say that I was skeptical, but they were a big hit, and will probably become a Moreland Family tradition from this point on.

My daughter, the fashion photographer

I had my hair done today for the first time in over five months. I know, pathetic. Sydney immediately declared it "not so good", yet insisted on taking pictures for my blog. These are the pics that my darling daugher came up with.

Dinner on the patio

Tonight, the weather was a gorgeous 75 degrees. We actually ate on the patio, most of us barefoot. Andy commented, "Who would live in the North when you could have this?" I agree.

I will, however, enjoy dinner on the patio immensely more when it does not include temper tantrums and food throwing. But then, I guess I can't have it all...

Not so much

I don't know about your house, but there is almost always some kind of drama at dinner time at our house. Usually, it revolves around the fact that someone doesn't like what we're having. In my defense, two of my children really don't like anything but mac n cheese, hot dogs, pizza and PB&J. I just think that's a pathetic diet, so I force things like chicken and vegetables on them during the evening meal. The rule is that you must take one bite of everything on your plate in order to be excused. Dessert privileges are directly related to how much dinner you eat. For example, one bite of each thing on your plate earns you one bite of dessert. I've never subscribed to the "clean your plate" theory, but asking a child to try everything seems reasonable to me.

Last night, we were eating parmesan chicken, spaghetti and salad. Blake and Brady ate all of their spaghetti and asked for more. I replied that they must eat a bite of chicken first. Brady fell to pieces, screaming and whining and eventually being sent to his room to calm himself down. Blake proceeded to choke down the chicken (making constant vomiting noises), after making this comment: "Sydney and Max eat everything. Me and Brady, not so much." Such truth. He cracks me up.

Better than a day off

Today, I had an appointment with Dr. Jeff (our pediatrician) to see Brady because he was behind on some shots, or so I thought. So I took Brady out of school at 11:15 and headed on over to the office. As it turns out, it's Max that's behind on shots, and Brady didn't even need to be seen at all. I should really start writing this stuff down.

So my initial reaction was to think that I had totally messed up my day off by unnecessarily taking Brady out of school. Then I turned to ask him what he wanted for lunch, and he smiled that sparkly-eyed smile and said, "Go to lunch wif just Mommy?" That lunch was priceless. He chattered on and on about his brothers, Blake, Max and Diego (no, it never really lets up), as he ate his macaroni and cheese with mandarin oranges. He grinned ear to ear as he told the waitress that he wanted chocolate milk to drink. He was in heaven to be the only child, if only for a couple of hours. And I was in heaven to get to have him to myself.

I needed to feel wanted today. Funny how God knows just what we need and provides it in the craziest ways.

My New Year's Resolution

Each time we meet someone new, and they ask how many children we have, we answer "four". Nearly every time, they look at us like we're from Mars and make some remark about how difficult that must be, all the while pity registering on their faces.

But last week, I met a girl at church who made a comment that made me want to cry. When I told her we had four children, her face lit up and she said, "That's amazing. Children are such a blessing." God bless that woman.

Since then, each morning I get up determined to show my God that I will not squander the blessings He has given me. I've begun looking for ways to show my children that I'm blessed by them, and praying that they will feel blessed by me. I've spent far too long buying the lies Satan has fed me through popular culture. Satan wants me to believe that my kids are a hardship, that my job is too hard, too monotonous, and too thankless. But I now know the truth.

Children are a gift from the Lord; babies are a reward. Psalm 127:3

Praise God for that sweet girl whose single comment revolutionized the way that I parent. Praise God for all FOUR of my children. Praise God that He has afforded me the opportunity to be with them full-time. Praise God that He has given me a joy for motherhood.

So my new year's resolution is to remember to praise God for Sydney, Blake, Brady and Max each and every day.

I believe it was Maya Angelou who asked, "Do your eyes light up when your child enters the room?" (Yes, I saw that on Oprah.) I want my eyes to light up at the sight of my children, because I have come to believe that my Lord's eyes light up at the sight of me.

Daily dose of Diego

I could fill an entire blog with Brady, er, excuse me, Diego stories. Forgive me if you get sick of these stories, but they are a large part of our lives around here, and I need to preserve these memories.

Brady has taken to giving everyone in the family a Diego character name. He is ALWAYS Diego. Sydney is usually Alysia. Max is usually Baby Jaguar, and sometimes Rescue Pack. Blake is whichever Max isn't. I am usually "Mami". Andy is usually the Map, which I think might actually be a Dora character, but I digress.

Today, we were all laying around in our bedroom half-heartedly playing tackle while watching a football game, when Brady says, "Map!" He gets no response, so he says it a little louder. Eventually, he's two inches from Andy's face yelling "Map!" I look at Andy and say, "I think he's talking to you." By the way, today, I have been dubbed the Grumpy Old Troll who Lives Under the Bridge (a villain in a Dora episode, I believe). Maybe I need an attitude check.

I can think of at least three separate instances where someone asked Brady what his name was and he answered "Diego" without even skipping a beat.

A few minutes ago, Brady appeared in the kitchen, demanding an Animal Rescuer sandwich. For those of you new to the Diego phenomenon, he is an animal rescuer. Our conversation went something like this:

Me: What exactly is that? Would a PB&J do?
Brady: NO. I NEED an Animal Rescuer sandwich.
Me: Okay. How do I make one?
Brady: It has bread and peanut butter and jelly.

Hmm. Sounds like a PB&J to me, but I know better than to argue with Diego.