blessed beyond measure

Though the quality of this year's pics is ridiculously, embarrassingly horrible, hey. At least they got taken. The tradition continues, with two irresistable boys and a spirit-filled Easter morning. one day the grave could conceal Him no longer one day the stone rolled away from the door then He arose over death He had conquered now is ascended my Lord evermore death could not hold Him the grave could not keep Him from rising again Happy Easter

Hang on tight, folks. I'm right on pace for a whopping thirty-six blog posts this year. Sheesh. Actually forgot my password to Blogger. Seriously, what is wrong with me? Surely life has more than I've been posting. And it does. Though it could be argued that it's just more of the same. Perhaps that could explain the extremely low priority of new blog posts in the daily grind, that I'm afraid my lone reader will give up on me for once more venting to cyberspace about my struggle with being gracious to my children. But there is more to life than that, too. Like, for example, how Aden is thisclose to being potty trained. On some days. And only if a number two isn't on the horizon. And not at night. But we've come a long way in the last month. He adores his underpants and no longer asks for a chocolate chip reward after every success. We're almost there. And the diaper money will thereafter go into the front porch fund, hallelujah. It's a g...

No, not the cowbell variety. Spring fee-vah. There's a song in my all-time favorite Elvis movie that has been rolling around in my head nonstop. Totally not ashamed to admit to loving Elvis movies. Tangent. Anyway, perhaps the groundhog finally scored one, as we just lived a picture perfect weekend. Not too hot, not too cold, slight breeze, brilliant sunshine, crystal blue sky. Brandon spent the weekend at Wildfire, rubbing elbows with the likes of Tim Tebow and Willie Robertson. So the boys and I took off for one of the greatest spots on earth, lovingly dubbed "Nene's playground". So named because when Nene lived closeby, that is where she and Trey did most of their chillin together. Picnic shelters, nature trails, a big playground, and a beach beside the lake. Can't beat it. Oh, not to mention near-perfect boys. On an outing with just their mama. Three cheers for happy hearts all around! Oh yeah, we are ready for spring.

Every morning I ask them if they grew the night before. Seems my arms are more and more full with each day's first hug. It's not my imagination either. Trey stands at chest level to me. Granted I'm no beanstalk, but still. His hands are almost as big as mine. He's on the cusp of exiting the child-shoe-sizing phase. Shirts that fit in late fall are squeezy-peezy in a certain turkey-and-cucumber storage compartment. Spring stock-up has me buying size sevens. Se-ven. And oh, Aden. While not the chub he once was, the boy after his mother's own heart can not let go of his double chin or belly. Oh it's delicious. On him, not on me. Poor waistbands. I've had to dig into the storage bin of Trey's 3-year-old winter clothes to cover Aden's big baby belly and teeny tiny tooshie. Or as he calls it, "deeny dahny guushy". So yes, they are growing. The best reminder of this is for me to try to cradle hold them, which I do on occasion wh...