On Saturday morning we got up at a quarter-to-five, made some STRONG coffee, dressed in layers, and then woke Kate up so we could go to The Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta. This is a seriously cool event, but it's not without its drawbacks, specifically the fact that the main event for the day is the Mass Ascension, in which hundreds of hot air balloons take off from the field -- starting at sunrise. "Sunrise" as in "when the sun comes up." That one. It's pretty brutal. I mean, I get to get up pretty close to that time every day thanks to having a toddler, but I spend a good half hour after that just sitting around drinking coffee and trying to wake up. Of course, at the balloon fiesta, you can buy a funnel cake to reward yourself for being conscious at that time in the morning.

We actually haven't gotten up in time to go to one of the ascensions in years, opting instead for the evening events. But as I mentioned in a previous post, Kate has become completely fascinated by hot air balloons in recent months. When she gets to see TWO hot air balloons fly over our house at the same time, she talks about it for hours. So the opportunity to let her see 500-something balloons at once was just too good to pass up.

The city actually operates a pretty efficient Park and Ride service from various points around Albuquerque directly to the field, and since trying to drive in and out in your own vehicle is a nightmare, we almost always use that service. Thus, Kate got to ride on a Big! Yellow! Bus! in the Dark!, a fact she told us repeatedly as we waited in line to board one of the school buses used for shuttles. She could not get over it about the Bus! It was Yellow! When we went over bumps, she squealed like we were on a carnival ride and this was the fun part. I started to worry that she would cry when we had to get off. Here's a picture from the ride back to our car, when it was actually light outside. You know. Several hours later.

We really hadn't given a lot of thought to how Kate would react to a balloon close up. She always sees them from a distance, but one of the coolest things about the fiesta is that spectators are not restricted to one area of the field. You can walk right up and touch the balloons if you want to, and it makes you realize how huge they are. While we were milling around on the field (having a breakfast burrito with green chile, like good New Mexicans) I started to wonder what Kate would think about that, and we didn't have to wait long to find out. The first time one went up in the air, as part of the Dawn Patrol balloons that take off to test the conditions for other pilots, Kate clapped. But when turned in our direction, flying really low, she started hollering "Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!" and ran to hide behind Dan's legs. He had to hold her for the next half hour or so until she learned that the balloons were not going to hit us. Then we had to deploy the Monkey Backpack/Hidden Leash to make sure she didn't go jump in a basket and stow away for takeoff. Here's a shot of the balloon that took the flag up for the national anthem at the start of the ascension.

Once the ascension starts, the field gets pretty crazy, and there are points in time when you're basically just stuck in a big crowd until the balloon next to you takes off and you can move again. It's kind of a claustrophobic experience if you lean that way, and I do, but this year we got caught next to the Creamland Dairy Cow balloon, and that actually gave us the funniest moment of the day.

The cow balloon is huge and complex because it's shaped, well, like a cow. I think almost every year I've gone, they've had trouble getting it launched, and this year was no exception. Three times they got it all blown up, and then something would happen and it would collapse again. Kate's interpretation of that was that the cow must be having trouble waking up. So when the cow would start to inflate, she would shout encouragement to it: Wake up cow! Except that "wake" sounds like "yake" when she says it. So she sat on Dan's shoulders, screaming "Yake up, cow! Yake up!" and when it would fall over again she would say "Uh oh. Cow sleepy." She was a big hit with all the people standing around us.

After the cow fell down for the third time, we managed to break out of the little people-knot we were stuck in and go find our friends Cody and Erika, who were there with Kate's friend Lily. They were both in a state of near-narcotic happiness over the morning's events. They hugged each other about six times.

The cow finally took off, which just made the girls even happier.

I got to see the bees, which made me happy.

And then we went home, where we fully expected to pay a heavy price for waking Kate up so early. But she was actually in a marvelous mood for the rest of the day. She talked about the balloons non-stop. And the first thing she said this morning when she got out of bed was "Cow? Cow flying? Yake up, Cow!"

Totally worth it.

Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name.
Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.
Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.
For Thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever. Amen.

I can't remember at what age the Lord's Prayer became something I could recite without even thinking about it. When you grow up in the church, you hear those words spoken so many times they become embedded in your brain, and I think that's a good thing. It makes them quick to come to mind. But in the last few years, I have been spending a good bit of time pondering why, when Christ taught his disciples to pray, he gave them four words in particular. The words I got stuck on are "Thy will be done."

I'm going to get back to those words in a minute, but first, it cannot go unsaid that the reason I have spent so much time thinking about those words that had rolled off my tongue with such ease my entire life is because they began to stick in my throat a few years back. The first time it occurred to me what a difficult thing it is to pray "Thy will be done" sincerely was when I was praying for the safety of my brother, who was headed off to Iraq. I realized that I didn't really mean those words. What I meant, if I was being honest, was some form of "Thy will be done, but of course, You and I both know that what I want is best, right?" I am no great theologian, but I know enough to know that's not how you're supposed to pray that prayer.

It got even harder for me to reconcile those words with my heart when my brother was injured. For the first time in my life, I was confronted with the will of God in a form that I would never have chosen, and it shocked me. How could God's will look like this? Why would I pray for that? Furthermore, why would God want me to pray for that?

That was almost five years ago, and today when I look back on all of that, I see much more of God's mercy than was immediately apparent to me at the time. But "Thy will be done" is still a phrase I think about a lot harder than I used to do. This week, we as a family and our church family as a whole observe two years since a dear friend of ours, a husband and father, died quite unexpectedly. We were in no way prepared to lose him, and the shock of it is something I can still feel quite clearly. We miss him, and that hurts. Then yesterday Dan and I heard a new piece of sad news from friends who have been going through what can only be described as a severe trial this year. We had prayed so hard for different news, and maybe the beginning of a happy part of that story, but that wasn't the answer we got. And once again, because I could not think of anything else to say about it, the Lord's Prayer came to mind as I sat in front of my computer screen and wept for those who weep.

"Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed by Thy name.
Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven."

The truth I've been grappling with for the last few years is that me praying those four words does not somehow magically activate the will of God. God's will is going to be what happens no matter how I pray. So all I can conclude from the command to pray this way is that Christ knew that we would have moments of doubt and struggle, and that in leaving us those words, He was giving us a way to practice accepting God's will when it does not look like what we would choose. In saying "Thy will be done," I am acknowledging that it is God who is in control, not me. It's true whether I say it or not, but saying it helps me remember that it's true. I need the reminder.

Another reminder at the end of the prayer gives me a lot of comfort:

"For Thine is the kingdom, and the power and the glory forever."

Not "Thine will be the kingdom." Thine IS the kingdom. Right now. In everything, no matter how good or bad it seems to me. That's not an easy Sunday School answer, or an idea that instantly takes away the pain and the sorrow we feel while living in a world broken by the fall. This week, we miss Brent. We grieve for our friends who are going through such a dark and difficult time, and it is right and good that we do that. I'm thankful that nowhere in Scripture do we hear that Christians aren't allowed to grieve. But we do so as people who know that God is in control of even these things, and His is the kingdom.

Here is the story of how we bought Dan a suit this evening. I am going to tell it in two installments because I want to go to bed. The first part is basically all background. The second part involves Balloon Fiesta, New Mexico's unpredictable weather, sweet tea and a minor miracle. Settle in.

In a week, my sister is getting married. This has caused much excitement in our home as I've previously mentioned. What I have not mentioned is that it has also resulted in something of a wardrobe crisis as well. I'm not sure if New Mexico natives are aware of this, but the Land of Enchantment has a very laid back dress code going on. You could pretty much go to the swankiest four-star restaurant in Albuquerque where they come by and remove individual bread crumbs from your tablecloth with silver tongs and while you'll probably see some folks who are dressed up, you'll also see a few people in blue jeans and cowboy boots. This is all very good and charming in a Wild West sort of way, except that it has brainwashed me and made me forget The Rules.

What are The Rules? Well, let me tell you. I grew up in The South. The Deep South. And among other things, one thing the South takes very seriously is the Dress Code. There are certain events to which you wear certain things. I can't really be more specific, because most of the Code is unspoken, but there was a time in my life when I knew instinctively that if you are invited to a bridal shower at 10:30 a.m. on a Saturday, you should wear nice slacks or a skirt and a sweater set. Probably also your pearls (Real or fake). These are the Rules. I don't know why. You just do it.

Then I moved away and came here, to the Land of Come As You Are. And I have to say, it is refreshing in a lot of ways. No one cares what you wear out here, which is a relief sometimes. Except when you leave and go to a wedding. Now, to her credit, my sister Hannah is about the most chill bride I have ever met in terms of what everyone else should wear to her wedding. She's not putting any pressure on us. I called her to tell her what we were wearing, and offered to send photos for her approval since our outfits will be in her wedding pictures, and she laughed at me. The drama is all in my head, and it's because I realized a few years ago to my horror that I have lost my internal decoder ring for the Rules and now I don't know what to wear to anything once I'm out of the high desert. For about three years now, when we're going back to Mississippi and attending an event of any significance, I have to ask my mom what we should be wearing. She still knows The Rules, and she's much better at picking out clothes for me than I am anyway.

My point is that I, guilted by no one, have been kind of uncertain what we should be wearing to the wedding. I'll save you most of the agony by saying that Kate and I are all squared away. (Kate will be adorable. I will pass for her mother.) But when we started trying to figure out what Dan should wear, we sort of hit a wall. Clearly, what I remember of The Rules state that an evening wedding calls for a suit. Dan used to have a suit. He still has it, in fact. But it was bought in a rush for job interviews during his last semester in college, and it's never fit right and isn't comfortable at all. So he never wears it. Meanwhile, Dan's work dress code falls under "New Mexico. What Are You Going to Do?" The man can wear blue jeans to work every day. He is happy as a clam. So am I, because I don't iron. If he had a job where he had to wear dress shirts and ties, we'd be paying a second mortgage in dry cleaning costs because if it's up to me, it ain't going to happen.

About a month ago, we started looking into what we would need to do to get Dan a nice suit for the wedding and other occasions in life that just call for a suit. Those of you who know us in real life know that Dan is tall. Really really tall. I never really thought of this as a disadvantage for a person until I realized, when Dan ran into the top of a low doorway ten minutes into our first date, that the world is just not built for people as tall as Dan. Furniture is too small. The roof of a compact car almost touches his head. Heaven help you if you have to fly on an airplane and can't score a seat in the emergency exit aisle. And it turns out that in the land of suit-buying, Dan's tall suit size translates into "What? Are you serious?" Then they bring out the two suits they have in that size, which are never on sale, and that is the end of the attempt to find you a suit. The only exception to this procedure appeared to be at stores where you had better be prepared to donate an organ to pay for the suit they'll be selling you. So we got pretty discouraged and concluded, at Hannah's insistence, that it would really be OK if Dan just wore a dress shirt and tie to the wedding. I was OK with that, because I do, regardless of what this post might lead you to believe, understand that the most important thing is that we're going to be there to support Hannah and Daniel at their wedding and no one really cares what we wear, Rules or not.

But as I mentioned, we bought Dan a suit tonight. And you'll just have to wait to hear the rest of that story.

This is the second part of the epic saga relating how we bought Dan a suit yesterday evening. Part One is here, in case you just can't keep up with all the action.

Yesterday did not go as planned. My plan for Kate and I was to spend a pretty quiet morning and afternoon at home in anticipation of the fact that later we were going to meet some friends for the Special Shapes Glow, an evening event at the Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta. The glows are events where the pilots don't fly the balloons, but inflate them so spectators can look at the designs. When it gets dark, they light up from inside and it's like looking at giant Christmas tree ornaments.

While we are big fans of the Fiesta, the one frustrating thing about it is that it is very weather dependent. If there is too much wind, it's dangerous for the pilots to take off in the mornings, so it's possible to get yourself down to the field at the crack of dawn only to witness a field full of disappointed spectators. In the evening, too much wind during a glow means the pilots won't inflate the balloons for fear of scorching the canopy. The fiesta's policy on canceled events is that your ticket can be used for another event later on in the week, but I think that's kind of lame, since it assumes you can make it to another event. Which brings us to yesterday.

The glows are a fun event to go to with friends, since it isn't as hard to muster your conversational skills at 6 in the evening as it can be at 6 in the morning. So we had emailed a bunch of friends to say we'd like to go and anyone else who was interested could meet us at the Park and Ride. In retrospect, I don't know what I was thinking. I don't organize things. It is not my spiritual gift. Almost every year we've gone to a Fiesta event with friends, and never once have I been in charge of the logistical planning. This is because if plans proceed without a hitch, I'm fine. But if there is any hiccup along the way that requires someone to make a decision about how to proceed, I am useless.

Now when people talk about the weather in New Mexico, they go on and on about how nice it is, and this is true. We have sun for a ridiculous number of days a year. It gets warm in the summer, but there is no humidity, which makes up for a multitude of ills. We get enough snow to be fun, but not enough that you start to hate the sight of your own driveway. And when it does rain, it usually doesn't last for long. But "predictable" is certainly not a word I would use to describe our climate. You can wake up in the morning to a thunderstorm that convinces you that you'll need your umbrella and galoshes all day, and by the time you get to work, the sun will be shining again. It's very disconcerting.

Yesterday morning started off lovely. Sunny, no wind, and all around perfect for a balloon event in the evening. I got all our stuff ready and loaded as much of it in the car as I could so I wouldn't forget. Then it got cloudy. Then sunny again. Then windy. Then rainy. Then sunny and still, but with deep dark clouds off in the distance. Then more wind and another smattering of rain and colder by the minute. By this time I had had three conversations with the friends we were hoping to meet about whether or not we should proceed. Basically, I told them, beats me. As I said, executive decisions are not my best skill. So I did what I usually do in these situations and called Dan, who does not lack for certainty in many things. We agreed that we'd talk again around 3:30 and make a decision then, since that would be around when he'd need to know whether or not we were going so he could wrap things up at work.

I put Kate down for her nap and kept looking outside every ten seconds, to see the following array of conditions at any given moment: Sun, no wind, wind, no rain, rain, windy, cold cold cold, sun out again, warming up but windy now. Accordingly, I bounced back and forth between optimism and deciding to cancel. None of this was cleared up by 3:30, when Dan called. After a long talk, we agreed that we'd just call off our plans. So I called our friends and told them that we wouldn't be going, although they were certainly welcomed to do so.

And I think that if you live in New Mexico, or have a sense of humor, you know what happened next: Pretty much from the moment we made that decision, the weather consistently improved. By the time I was driving down the Interstate on my way to meet Dan for dinner, those being the alternate plans we had made for the evening, there was not a cloud in the sky and the wind had stopped blowing. We were tempted to just head on out to the field, but that's a bit easier said than done since you need to start the Park and Ride process a good bit before the event starts. So we went ahead and got dinner and I continued kicking myself for not just going ahead with our original plans.

We ate at McAllister's, one of the only places in town where I can get sweet tea, and that made me feel a bit better about life. And then we had some time to kill, so Dan suggested that we step over to Jos. A. Banks to look for a new tie for him. We had gone through his tie collection the night before and concluded that he could really use a new one. So into the store we walked. It wasn't until we were already in the door that it occurred to me that this might be a bad idea. Kate was with us, in all her two-year-old glory, and while I have seen the outside of this particular men's dress clothing store before, I have never had any reason to go inside. It turns out that it is a rather expensive store with lots of fine fabrics stacked in giant piles quite near the eye-level of a sippy-cup wielding toddler. I gather that they don't get a lot of kids in there to start with, because the saleslady's eyes (and her raised eyebrows) went straight to Kate as she asked us if she could help us. We said no, we were just going to look at some ties really quickly, and we headed over there.

We browsed for a few minutes, taking turns keeping an eye on Kate, who was behaving as if we were in a nightclub. There were a lot of mirrors in the store and piped-in music, so naturally in Kate's mind this meant that was time to dance. Really enthusiastically. But she was being good and staying occupied, so that was fine. We had picked out a few ties we thought would be good matches for the shirt in question when we did what we should have done from the start and flipped one of the ties over to check out the price tag. And as soon as we did that, we put them right back, because holy cow, I do not have any business touching a four-foot piece of fabric that costs $85. This may have been the other message the saleslady was conveying to us when we first walked in, but far be it from me to accuse her of wallet profiling us.

We had parked nearer to the back of the store than the front, so we headed that way, herding Kate the whole way. But on the way out, we saw a sign advertising a suit sale event that was underway in the store. Since we've pretty much been on a suit hunt for weeks, we decided to just take a quick peek. Unfortunately, the shelving methods proved too difficult for us to navigate without the assistance of the saleslady, who showed us the general (pretty small) area where we'd find Dan's size, and then went to answer the phone. So we started digging. We found a couple of suits that seemed like a good fit based on the jackets, but because the lady had been really vague in her explanation of what suits fell under the sale and which didn't, I was basically having to squint in order to bring myself to look at the price tags on the suits, like you do when you're watching a scary movie and you know a bad guy is about to jump out of the closet and kill someone. Obviously, I don't have a lot of experience in suit-buying, but I would expect to pay the amount of money they want for one of these suits for, say, a new kitchen appliance. Not a piece of clothing.

In a few minutes, the saleslady came back over to see how we were getting along, and as it turned out, once of the suits Dan had really liked did fall under a sale of some sort. So we started having this really complicated conversation about pants. Apparently, the suit jacket we found was actually part of their separates line, which meant that the lady had to measure Dan for pants and then go find out if they had a matching pair in his size in the store. She did this without ever fully divulging what, exactly, the cost of these two items together would be, and then she randomly launched into trying to sell us a much more expensive suit by pointing out to us something about the collar being made out of horsehair so that it takes on the shape of your body over time. (What?) The whole time this was going on, I was basically trying to maintain eye contact with her and ask questions that would get me actual answers not related to horsehair, but every ten seconds I was having to whip my head around and go "KATE!" to try to get some kind of an idea where in the store my child was. At this point, she was in full Wander Mode and was just ambling all over the place, stopping occasionally to break it down some more when a song she liked would come on the radio.

Finally, the saleslady realized that we were so not in the market for the more expensive suit and went off to check into the pants situation. She came back and announced that they did not have Dan's pants size. They had a size above and one above, and the different in either direction was pretty extreme and most likely not going to be fixable through tailoring, especially since we need this suit this week. We talked over a few options, but the truth was that the suit we were looking at was really the only one we could afford to be interested in, so we started gathering Kate up to leave. The saleslady went to put back the pair of too-large pants she had pulled out in case Dan wanted to try them on, and then she said "Oh wait! We just got very lucky. The pants in your size were actually put in the wrong place and that's why I didn't find them!" So suddenly, with that minor retail miracle, we were back in business, and off Dan went to the dressing rooms.

Up until this point, I felt like our ill-advised jaunt into a high-end men's clothing store was going relatively well in the child department, because while Kate had run around a good bit, she hadn't gotten upset or damaged anything. I was maybe starting to pat myself on the back a little bit about that. And as you know, pride goeth before a giant smackdown. We got into the dressing room, and Kate started calling for Dan, who had disappeared into one of rooms. "Daddy! DaddyDaddyDaddy!" she was calling him. I didn't really try to stop her because I thought we were the only ones in the dressing room. I hadn't seen any other customers. Which is why I also didn't stop her when she started crawling halfway under the door of the dressing room that she had apparently decided Dan was in. She had most of her body in there backwards, and was happily chirping away in her usual conversational tone, when the door opened and a man who was NOT DAN came walking out, stepping over Kate to get out of his dressing room. Kate totally freaked out when she looked up expecting to see Dan and saw this dude instead, and she came running over to me with giant terrified eyes. I was mortified. Here I was, just chilling out on a bench, watching my kid invade a TOTAL STRANGER'S dressing room. Mother of the Year. The guy was really nice about it and said he had kids too, so he understood. But there is really just no recovery from that. Thankfully, he was done trying on stuff, or maybe Kate's little performance convinced him that it was time to wrap it up, and he left.

Dan emerged from the dressing room wearing the full suit, and suddenly we were joined by the store's tailor, who appeared out of nowhere and started talking very rapidly in near-undecipherable half-English about the minor adjustments that would need to be made to make the suit fit just right. The only problem was that we had never gotten a straight answer out of the saleslady about what, exactly, this suit would cost if we bought it. So she came back, we asked our question, she disappeared to do calculations, and we stood there with the tailor, who was not a very conversational guy in any language and was also not too happy about Kate trying to snag his tape measure by jumping around at knee-level like one of those excitable small dogs. At this point I was hoping that maybe they have a trap door in Joseph A. Banks that will just swallow you up if you prove to be completely out of your league. No such luck.

But it was worth the humiliation, because a few LONG minutes later, the saleslady returned and quoted us a price that was unbelievably good, not just for the store we were in, but for anywhere else we had looked before. So we said we'd take it, the tailor took his measurements, and we're picking up Dan's new suit on Saturday, a week before the wedding. I will put up some pictures when we pick it up. Kate pronounced the suit to be "Ooooh! Nice!" when she saw it. I agree. Dan looks very sharp in it.

All around, I think our evening was redeemed, even though we made a bad call about the balloon fiesta weather. I'm really thankful that we found such a good deal, because we had basically given up. And at this point, I'm just relieved that now we've successfully bought Dan a very nice suit and we won't have to do that again, hopefully ever. Or maybe at least until we no longer have a toddler with us. I can't handle the stress.

We've returned from our trip to Mississippi for Hannah and Daniel's wedding, and I'm writing this as I steadily ignore our overflowing suitcases and the shoulder-high piles of laundry I need to deal with before we can return to normal life. Why does that always happen? I really left the house reasonably clean, and within ten minutes of us bringing our stuff through the door, the place was in total squalor.

I'm being so irresponsible because I have to blog about how much fun we had. So. Much. Fun. I think it would be fair to say that Dan and I loved the trip. We were thrilled to be at the wedding of two people we love very much, we got to see so many people we miss, and we generally had smooth travels, which helps a lot. But our enthusiasm pales in comparison to Kate's. I swear. That child now thinks "wedding" is a word that means "awesome dance party that lasts way past my bedtime and has cake." She had the time of her life, and I would like to take this opportunity to thank the many people who probably threw their backs out when they took a turn dancing while holding her after Dan and I got exhausted and had to sit down. She did not want to miss a single song, and unfortunately I am now so old that I have to take a one-song-on one-song-off approach to wedding dancing. But this is where having younger siblings pays off, because they all took turns steering her around, and she is still talking about it. She danced! With Hannah! And Audgy! And Unca Ryan! And Aaron! And Kelly! And Rebekah! We are going to have to ration our exclamation points for the next month because Kate is using them all up reliving this wedding.

Dancing with Ryan:

A few of my favorite moments from the wedding:

The Toast from a Total Stranger. At the rehearsal dinner, the owner of the Lebanese restaurant where the dinner was held grabbed the mic after the father of the groom and gave a toast to "The boy and the girl," and urged us to please come back to his restaurant. It was hilarious, and I bet we would go back if we didn't live in Albuquerque, because the food was great.

The Music: Hannah and Daniel have such good taste. Sigur Ros and Coldplay for processionals.Yes! No one had to do the Chicken Dance at the reception. And during the ceremony, Hannah's friend Hannah (yeah, that's confusing, but hang in there with me) sang a solo of "Wonderful Grace of Jesus." It brought tears to my eyes both because it was so beautifully-done and also out of sheer gratitude that someone has finally written a tune for that song that doesn't make it sound like Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall, as I think the original version does. It's got such beautiful words, and the tune I've always heard sounds like something you'd sing at camp with hand motions and clapping. Here's to progress. And if anyone knows where I could get a recording of the newer version, I'd love to hear about it.

Four out of five siblings ain't bad. I wish Audrey were in this picture, but she was probably off being an amazing maid-of-honor and taking care of stuff. Good work, Audge!

Great Moments in Parenting/The Thrill of Victory: I would say we reached a new peak in our parenting skills when we fed Kate a Lunchable in a pew inside a historic chapel before the wedding. Yes, a Lunchable. One of those awful pre-packaged sandwich meat and cheese things. I'm not proud of that, but I am proud of us for anticipating the fact that if we didn't find something she could eat without much fuss before the 5:30 ceremony, we were going to have big problems. So we shoved processed food down her and flinched at every crumb that fell on the possibly-historic carpet, and she did great during the wedding. We may get some credit for that, because we spent a LOT of time trying to help her know what to expect. The way we explained it was that there is a Quiet Church Part of a wedding and then there is the Party Part, and during the Church Part you have to be super-quiet and sit still. That part of the message seems to have been absorbed, since she was great during the ceremony.

Here she is before the ceremony with her new best friend, Daniel's younger sister Hannah. There were a lot of Hannahs involved in this wedding. Little Hannah was the flower girl and was so sweet to Kate all weekend. They danced together a lot.

The Agony of Defeat: What we might not have done such a fabulous job of explaining to Kate is that there is something of an interlude in between the Church and the Party. This failure to communicate became apparent when Kate started demanding to go to the party the second Hannah and Daniel walked down the aisle as man and wife. Through pictures, through milling around talking to family and friends, she was asking about the party. Where is the party? Hey, remember the party? Party? Party? Party? And when we went to get into our rental car and drive to the party, she thought we were leaving WITHOUT GOING TO THE PARTY and wigged out completely. She was in her carseat, screaming "Paarty! Paarty!" with much weeping and wailing. You could tell she thought we had lied to her about there being a party altogether, and she would not listen to us explaining how we were driving to the party right that minute. It was one of those situations where you realize the here-and-now nature of the two-year-old mind. As in "If it isn't happening here and now, it's clearly never going to happen." The crisis ended when we pulled up at the house where the party was going to be. Her tears instantly dried up. So did mine when I saw the table loaded down with my next point, which is ...

The Food: There were cheese grits at the reception. CHEESE GRITS. I don't think I need to say anything other than CHEESE GRITS in capital letters again to let you know how happy that made me. Also while we were home, my dad made us both Shrimp Curry and Seafood Gumbo. Do you even know how much butter is involved in those recipes? We lumbered home weighing about five pounds more a piece than when we arrived. But it was so worth it.

Meeting Some People Who Read the Blog: During the wedding weekend, I met or heard about a bunch of people who read the blog that I didn't even know about. Hey Mrs. Meigs! And Eli! And Mrs. Vicki's Mom! Sarah Emily, it was great to meet you in real life after being Facebook friends and talking to each other through Hannah for years. I'm glad you're all here.

I'll have more to say when I dig out of this hole my house is in, but as you can tell, we had a glorious time even though I couldn't smuggle any food home with me. We love you, Hannah and Daniel!

Gig'em Aggies

Texas A&M 52 - Texas Tech 30

*This block has been hi-jacked by Dan. We'll return to our regularly scheduled blogging shortly.

Dear Kate,

As I start writing this, I can hear you opening the closet in our living room, dragging out a big plastic container that holds your dress-up clothes, and fumbling with the latches. You haven't figured them out yet, so in a minute, you're going to call for me to help you, and thus will begin the first part of a new morning ritual you and I have developed in recent days: Arguing over your clothing.

I sort of thought this was the kind of thing that would happen when you were approaching adolescence and wanted to wear skirts that are too short, but here we are, at two years old, and you'd be stiff competition for any 13-year-old pouting in a department store dressing room. Our conflict is about what you want to get up every day and wear: Your diaper, a pink mesh tutu, white dress socks, and black dress shoes. Sometimes you want to layer a red and white polka dotted skirt over the tutu, but most days it's just you and the tutu.These are adorable dress-up things, and it would really be fine with me for you to wear them, except that Kate, it's almost November. Yesterday, we woke up to absolutely freezing cold weather with rain and wind. Today it snowed violently for an hour. No matter what I do it's hard to keep our house warm enough. I've got on layers of sweaters and socks, and here you are, running around half-nude, like you're on a Caribbean island. You will not discuss the possibility of putting the tutu on over some warmer clothes. You do not want to hear about these things called "pants." And you are very particular about how the tutu must be arranged. The ribbon must be in the front. The flowers must face a certain way. You will not tolerate any irregularities of the tutu. It is like living with a tiny obsessive fashion designer.

Last night we had a breakthrough. Your Grammy Wachdorf sent you a box containing two super-cute knit dresses with matching footless tights, and you love them so much that you actually consented to letting me put one of them on you this morning. As of right now I'm still typing and you haven't come in to make your usual tutu-related demands. Maybe these dresses will save me from insanity and you from hypothermia. If so, I owe your Grammy big time. But these little episodes really just point to the big trend of the last two months, and that is You are a Big Girl. You want to Do It Yourself. You actually say that phrase all the time, except no one would ever know, because you pronounce it "I tay it!" (I do it.) From what I can tell, all this means is that you're right where you should be developmentally, and that's good. I want you to learn how to do things. You have a pretty independent personality even if this weren't the phase you would be in by default right now, so it's no surprise. But that doesn't mean it isn't frustrating sometimes. Learning to do things means doing them reeeeaaaaalllly slowly. Sometimes we're in a hurry. Sometimes we actually have to be somewhere at a certain point in time and space. This means nothing to you. You still want to put on your own socks (No Mommy! I tay it!), and it takes forever. I'm taking a lot of deep breaths these days. Counting to ten an awful lot. Trying to leave plenty of time for you to do things. Praying that I don't actually burst a blood vessel.

While our conflict level is definitely up this fall, so is how much real communication we can have, because you are talking so much. You never stop, even when I'm not in the room. You're puttering along, having a conversation with imaginary people about imaginary scenarios, and in those unguarded moments, it's been funny to me to hear my own verbal patterns parroted from your mouth. Apparently, when I talk to you, I end with the word OK a lot. As in "We're going to put on some pants now, OK?" I never realized I do this, but now I know that I do, because when you are playing, you end most of your sentences with "OK?" I also call you "Honey" a lot, especially when you're hurt. A few weeks ago, your daddy and I moved a dresser in our bedroom, and for the next two nights when I got up to go to the bathroom during the night, I ran straight into its corner because I forgot it was there. I got a massive bruise on my leg for that bit of clumsiness, and when you saw it, you said "Oh HONey! I get some me-cine. (medicine). Alll betta. (All better.)" You actually went and got a little bottle of lotion and pretended to be putting in on my bruise too. It was hilarious.

Here you are "reading" Harry Potter to Dangles. Or, as you call it "Parry Hotter." I'm reading it to your dad in the evenings, so you had to get in on the act. You are very dramatic when you read out loud.

Since I've talked about how you're being difficult in one area, I should probably be fair and mention an area of your life that you're suddenly being amazingly un-difficult about. Ready? Here it is: You're eating. Eating food. Willingly. And lots of it. I don't know what to do with myself I'm so surprised. It isn't that before now you haven't liked food. You like it fine. You just don't eat very much of it, and that is why when we go to your pediatrician for checkups, I don't even ask them to tell me what "percentile" you fall into on the growth chart anymore. After years of conditioning to think of numbers in terms of academic grades, it just makes me feel like a failure, and I worry that your doctor is going to burst into the room and demand to know why I have been denying you food. She never does that, of course. At all your checkups, we have the same two conversations. The first one is about how it's OK for you to not to be very big if you're gaining weight and not losing it. The second one is about how it's also OK that your head circumference continues to outstrip your overall growth. Seriously, it's kind of comical. I believe I may have recently used the phrase "Onion on a toothpick" when describing to your Aunt Hannah what you look like when your hair gets wet. Sorry about that. Clearly, right now you're having a growth spurt, and I'm having to constantly tell myself that this is what it is. A growth spurt. Not the Glorious New Normal where you eat like a human being and not a bird. This too shall pass. But in the meantime, we're getting a huge kick out of giving you food and watching you actually consume it. It's like a bizarre new TV show in our kitchen. "Kate Eats an Entire Turkey Sandwich." We are riveted.

The other thing I can see coming out in you that is allllllll me alllllll over again is the fact that you are pretty bossy. Yes. It was probably your lot in life anyway, since you'll be an oldest girl in birth order, and I think that just predisposes a person to lots of babysitting and the overpowering urge to tell people what to do. But there's no denying that you got it from me, and your daddy is having a big laugh over it, when he isn't busy trying to find things you took from him by force. Last weekend after we came back from Hannah and Daniel's wedding, we were having a lazy Saturday morning, and you piled up in our bed, where we were drinking coffee and talking. At first, you were content to sit between us and listen, but it didn't take long for you to start ordering the universe as you saw fit. You had to hold the plate with the bagels on it. You wanted to hold a coffee cup too but were overruled on that one. You wanted your legs covered up with the blankets, and directed me on how to arrange them for you. Then you turned to Dan, grabbed his pillow, and said "Daddy own pillow" as you took his pillow away from him. Yes. You get your own pillow, father. I need this one. That about covers your approach to most things these days. So we're talking a lot about sharing and asking for things instead of just taking them. It's slow going. You don't want anything to do with it.

But whether you want it or not, the world of sharing and considering others is coming to you, Kate. I've buried the lead a bit here, but the other big piece of news from the last couple of months is that you've got a baby brother or sister on the way. (At 14 weeks along, everything looks good.) He or she will be here in April, and we couldn't be more excited. I'm not sure what you understand about this news. You talk about the baby in the tummy a lot and when we pray for the baby, you reach over and pat my stomach. You consistently refer to the baby as "baby sister," which makes me nervous that you might not react so well should our new arrival turn out to be a boy. You notice other people's babies a lot, but I know that you can't really comprehend what all this is going to mean. I'm not sure I've got my head wrapped around it either, frankly. Two kids. What in the world are we going to do with two kids? I feel like I just figured out how to manage with one.

When I was expecting you, I spent a lot of time thinking about how you would change my life. I didn't know you, so I couldn't really think very concretely about what you would be like. Maybe it's because the new baby is such an unknown to me at this point, but this time I mostly spend a lot of time thinking about how he or she is going to change your life. While I know that initially, there is bound to be some struggle to get used to sharing our attention (not to mention your toys) my main emotion when I think about this is excitement for you. You're going to have a sibling! You have no idea what good news this is. Kate, as I've become an adult and my own siblings have too, I have found that my brothers and sisters are some of my favorite people in the world. There is a very powerful connection that comes from growing up in the same family if it's a loving family, and I want that for you. I want it for this new child. So that's why we're getting on the roller coaster again. This time around, I know what we're signing up for. I know now that there is almost no force of nature that can equal the chaos a newborn can bring into your life. I know what sleep deprivation is like. But what I know this time around that I couldn't have known before is how much we're going to love this new child. I know that because I know how much we love you. So here we go.

Dear April Baby: We love you already and can't wait to meet you. Grow healthy and strong. You have a lot of people waiting to meet you.

Love,

Mommy

This is a picture we emailed to our families in August to tell them the big news. Yes, August. I've been holding out on you, Internet.