Ten on the tenth, part 1

ten years ago

Yesterday when everyone was all fancied up for church, I told them I wanted to recreate this picture.  I meant something along the lines of stand in front of the Christmas tree in an orderly manner.

They had other ideas.

Weird kids.  (I shouldn't have shown them the picture from ten years ago.)

Gone are the cradling-Mark-in-the-crook-of-Braeden's-arm days.

The other day I glanced out the window and saw a group of Mark's friends.  Then I realized the one holding the umbrella was Mark.  I recognized the umbrella (it was mine) before I recognized the tall kid holding it.  In the same way I think my youngest brother (the one with two children) is about 16, I think that my youngest child is still a baby.

He isn't.

(And Ammon isn't 16 either.)

There is no baby left in my baby boy.  He is ten.  In the bitter and sweet emotions that swirl around growing children, the best choice is to choose the sweet.  He's growing up.  I enjoy my kids more and more the older they get so I will blink back any melancholy and tears and embrace these children that insist on leaving their cherubic baby traits behind.

My kids keep getting more interesting, funnier, smarter and more challenging.

What's not to love?

Mark's fellow red headed cousin Talia's birthday is two days before his.  (We try to keep those red heads together.)  We celebrated their birthdays last night at Grandma Geri's:

Mark and Talia with Braeden singing along to "Happy Birthday" in the background.  All captured inexpertly by Pinkie Pie.