Picture of the Week: The Wrong Kind of Flowers

Lydia had her "parent observation day" at ballet. It's the closest thing to a recital for this class.



Brian came straight from a meeting. He was a little bit late because he was determined to get flowers. In America, that's what daddies do when their little girls have recitals. They bring flowers.




All Brian could find (in this area of town) was this laurel. Sometimes people buy them to put on idols or relatives you haven't seen in a while. It's a sign of honor. So, much to everyone's surprise (and giggles) and Lydia's everlasting delight, Brian "honored" our little ballerina. Maybe they were the "wrong kind of flowers" but I don't think this little girl minds. 

On Materialism [Or "Why we ARE getting our kids Christmas presents"]

For the past few years, I've read a lot of books, posts, blogs and even a recent Real Simple article about minimalism, gratitude and a no-present-mentality at Christmas. People don't like American Girl dolls or opening gifts before church or Black Friday. There seems to be a "right" number of presents to get your kids. No one agrees though. Is it 2? One for each year old they are? 20 (as long as they are books)? Maybe you shouldn't get them gifts at all. Go in as a family and buy a goat for some family in a third world country.

Everyone seems to be looking for a fix for this problem of materialism (or you may call it "melt-down-if-i-don't-get-what-i-want-entitlement-syndrome").

Let me tell you. I've done the research. Moving to a developing country doesn't fix it. My kids still want candy for breakfast, an iPad for Christmas and have the occasional meltdown when "life is not fair". And I'm not much better. We are consumed with materialism: stuff and our love for it.



Because...materialism is not an American thing. It's sin.

Well, that puts a damper on Christmas doesn't it? But let's call it what it is. And when we can see sin in our kids and in us, we can actually fight it. You can put up a good fight by limiting presents, making your kids write thank-you cards, giving things away and probably steering clear of toy stores. But, fighting is only successful when you are stronger (or wiser, or more resourceful) than your opponent. And, we are not.

We cannot move away from sin, because it lives deep in our hearts and the hearts of those around us. We cannot starve sin, because it feeds on our desires, not presents. We cannot replace sin (with gratitude, for example) because the "Thank you" will not be from our hearts. We cannot fight sin in our own strength. That's what we have to teach our kids. That's what we have to preach to ourselves. We are not strong enough, smart enough, good enough, thankful enough or far enough away. Materialism lives in our hearts.

We are getting our kids (a few) Christmas presents. I'm not even sure if we'll count them. They will write...er, color...thank you notes. I hope they enjoy the gifts. I hope they are grateful. And I pray that they feel that pull of materialism in their hearts. I pray they feel at least a little bit helpless in the fight. And I pray we don't fight the battle totally for them. I pray we point them to Jesus; not just the "reason for the season", but our victor. The one who fights for us, who conquered sin...even the meltdown-in-the-middle-of-the-store kind...the one who will cultivate gratitude, love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control in us.

Maybe next year we'll buy a goat for the family down the street. And still we'll teach them the gospel: every Christmas, every day.

Picture of the Week: A really cute picture of Molly

Just waiting for her sister at ballet class. Pretty cute, right?

Picture of the Week: Perspective

Isabella was due for her immunizations. I didn't want to bring my older two. The waiting room is so dirty, all these sick kids, no appointments...just a mad rush to the doctor's door when it opens...hoping she'll say "Ok, you can be next.", and the ever-present-mosquitoes. Trust me, I remember from having to bring in Molly for her immunizations! 

The Plan: Bring in Bella, keep her in the carseat (safe from most of the germs) and quickly get her out. 

Well, I ended up having to bring all three. I walked them all down to the doctor's office, removed everyone's shoes and sat down. When I looked around I didn't see that dingy, dirty, crowded waiting room I saw 18 months ago. I don't think they remodeled. I had a changed perspective. 

There are just things that you adjust to after living in a developing country for a while. Stuff doesn't seem so bad, so scary, so hard. You start to compare Pondicherry to Charleston, Cubbon to Central Park, paneer to cottage cheese, chapattis to tortillas and Gems to M&Ms. The milk and cheese don't taste so different, you expect people to be late (and are ecstatic when they are not!), and realize everything is going to be ok. At least on some level, and I think this perspective is quite nice. 

At least Molly got to enjoy the slide. 

On Scarcity [or "Why I Almost Ate the Chocolate Chips Out of the Dish Drain"]

Right now we are stocked up (no pun intended).

We have 4 boxes of mac n' cheese, plenty of vanilla extract, a couple jars of yeast, fruit snacks and goldfish. I'm even burning a "pumpkin spice" Yankee candle! Visitors bearing gifts came the same week as a care package, so it feels a bit like Christmas. I never thought things like cereal and canned cranberries could make me so happy....until I lived here. The things I was used to are scarce. While we have it pretty good in this city (the second Dunkin' Donuts just opened!), there is scarcity. There are many things we can't find. And when we get them I have some decisions to make.

Do I hoard? Do I share (with my kids...neighbors...friends!)? Do I save them for a special event (Twizzlers for potty-training!)? Will there be more coming? And should I really be worried about this?

Then there's the dilemma of last week. I was baking some chocolate chip cookies (for Bible study, husband and self) and I dropped a handful of chocolate chips in the sink. Remember, our water is not drinkable. I gasped. As the typhoid-infested water swirled around my precious chocolate chips I truly thought, "Is it worth it to dig them out and eat them?". Much to my immune-system's delight, I didn't. But I know that those chocolate chips that I dug out and threw in the trash were close to my heart in some strange way.

Of course, American "goodies" are just the surface of the scarcity I feel. I am making friends here and I have good communication with many in the States. But like my cupboards, I feel I must stock up. I have a good phone call, a delightful play date, an unexpected email and I feel encouraged. I feel connected. And I want to hoard it. I want to soak it all in because I know that next week I may be busy, the time zone difference will get in the way, and thousands of miles really do matter. It gives me anxiety just knowing that, again, what I was used to is not available to me anymore.

And so I miss out on what is available: God. There is no (no, not ever) scarcity in God and His grace. He is there and pouring out His love on me. All this worrying about saving or giving or making the most of stuff and time and people never satisfies. It was never meant to satisfy me anyways. I was not made that way. None of us were.

Of course I knew that when I could run to Publix for chocolate chips or to coffee with a friend. I knew it when things were "easier". Yet I seldom felt my need of God. I was so easily satisfied by what I was used to. I didn't feel this longing. I didn't feel thirsty.

So maybe I need to feel this scarcity in things (and even relationships) so that I can feel and believe in (and therefore fully trust in) the fullness of God. This is the path He has made for me, so that my heart can delight in Him when I am in want or plenty, when I am eating Reese's cups or rice, when I am with friends or simply standing in front of my washing machine...I can delight in what my soul was made for. I can delight and not dig out of the drain. 

Picture of the Week: Guest Room

In high school we used to joke that you were truly grown up when you went to eat a restaurant by yourself.

In college, we changed it to going to the movies alone. (I never did this one. Kinda creepers right?)

Now that I am actually a real-life grown-up, I still have to be reminded of it. Thirty-three used to seem to old and off in the distance. Here I am. Thirty-three, wife, mother, and hostess.

Yep. I think [at least one of] the big "grown-up" hurdles is hosting a guest. For eighteen (and more) years I was a part and then a guest in my parents' home. I have had my own home for a while, but maybe it just takes time for things to hit me. I have my own home. I am the hostess. I better wash these pillow cases....

I thought of this tonight while I made up our little futon for an incoming guest. We've never met him; much like the woman we hosted last week. It's not all that common, but more common here than I had thought.

So, new rule: tidying up your husband's office, putting out clean towels, clearing the princess figurines and fluffing pillows for a guest certainly puts a badge on my grown-up-ness. Oh, and I will go to the movies by myself...whenever my children let me. 

Picture of the Week: Oatmeal

There are many epic moments in a baby's life. Rolling over. Sitting up. Sleeping through the night. Our youngest has accomplished one of those. So far. 

Isabella is "epically" giving solid foods a go. It's just pureed oats and water, but she seems to like it. As a bonus for me, it's a great way to get the other two girls sitting, quiet and actively encouraging their sister. Everyone's happy! 

Picture of the Week: Something Interesting in the Hallway

"Our neighbor, Anshula is doing something very interesting in the hallway." -Brian's text to me after he left for a meeting.



And what do you do when you receive a text like that? You open the door of course! I had to make it look like I wasn't just opening the door to sneak a peek at my neighbor and her "interesting thing"...so, I acted like I was showing Bella our fall door decor. Because you do that. You open your apartment door to show your 5 month old the outside of the door. Don't you?



"Oh, hey Anshula [fancy seeing you here] what on earth are you doing?"




Brian was right. It was interesting.

My neighbor was preparing for Diwali, the biggest festival here. Around her were bowls of brightly colored powder. She was scattering them on the floor. After a few minutes, it became clear what she was making. Here is her peacock.











 All the Stock gals came out to see. Kinda put our door decorations (paper pumpkins and leaves the girls colored on) to shame.

Just wait until Christmas Anshula! It's gonna be epic.

Picture of the Week: Golu

Golu.

It's an innocent enough word. In a text, my neighbor invited me to celebrate "Golu" with her. I thought her autocorrect must have changed something. Golu? What is that? The following day she came up to our flat, along with her son. They dabbed a little dyed powder on my forehead as a formal invitation. Turns out there was no typo. Golu was indeed the festivity I was to attend. According to my neighbor, it was a time to show off some dolls that had been in her family for generations. She encouraged my girls to come along with me. Maybe like showing off your collection beanie babies or coffee cups or spoons.


So, we went to Golu. Lydia, Molly and I stepped into my neighbors house where we were greeted with sweets (very very customary here) and small gifts. Then we saw the "dolls". There sitting on display were twenty-something idols.

Not dolls. Idols. Ganesha, Krishna, Sri Sai Baba, Visnu, all the regular crowd. Incense was burning. Candles were lit. This was a display of what my neighbor worships.




And so Golu was not an event I will soon forget. It was not that I was asked to worship or even condone the presence of these idols. But in that moment in her living room, holding my chai and little girls' hands, I saw the reality (once again) of my friend's empty faith.

Dolls. That's all they are. But they are so much more. 

Missing Molly

A year ago we met another Molly. "Big Molly", "Other Molly", or "Molly Jo" moved here with her parents and little brother John (in his mommy's belly at the time of arrival!). For one year, her dad worked as a chiropractor. We got our backs adjusted, brought them a meal when baby John was born and became friends.

Molly and Lydia are just a few months apart. They spent this past year having "secret clubs", going to ballet together, making incredible messes (and having fun doing it!), and becoming the best of friends like little girls do. Our "little Molly" was usually included, happy to be counted a big kid.






Two weeks ago Molly (and her family) moved back to America. Lydia misses her. We all miss her and her sweet family. Things are just not the same with one less Molly around.

When Life Gives You Summer

When you live in the tropics, when the trees hold their leaves, when there are no rakes (only stick brooms) or piles your mom would ever think of letting you jump in (they may be a rat in there!)...how ever can you enjoy autumn? 

Here's how. 
Now every time we look out we see falling leaves. 


Happy Fall everyone!

Teach Your Child to Read: In One Million Easy Steps

I don't feel quite experienced enough in this whole parenting thing to be spouting out child-rearing advice, unless of course it's just plain obvious. Read to your kids. Read to them a lot.

This is a picture of our coffee table after a day of play and books and reading and "library". I recently complained that I am constantly cleaning up books, everyday restocking the bookshelf. My friend rightly said, "What a lovely problem to have!". Hmmm, yes. What a good problem indeed.

Yes, my girls play dress-up, have pretend restaurants and zoos; they even watch an occasional cartoon on You Tube, but I really see so much of their creativity, the questions they ask, the humor they "get" in watching TV coming from reading books.  I try to steer them to the "good books", not the "twaddle" that Charlotte Mason grieved over. And honestly, it's mostly because I enjoy reading some books ("Make Way for Ducklings", "Horton Hatches the Egg", etc) rather than others ("Ariel: A Tale of Forgiveness"). But some "twaddle" makes its way in and we make it through to find out just "what a princess should do" at the end. I suppose you cannot develop a literary critique without literature to criticize.

And of course, I don't mind the snuggle time. 

Picture of the Week: Not-so-wise Owl

I confess. I'm kind of a nerd when it comes to animal knowledge. I'd love to play you in a game of animal trivia. Do you know the largest rodent? The fastest insect? The only animals that will hunt you just for fun? Yep, I do. Chalk it up to lots of "Wild America" viewings with my sister, a dad who loves to be out in nature (and always finds the coolest stuff) and lots of visits to the zoo (in any city we are in!).

While here, I have been spotting birds and butterflies just outside my window that I had only seen on TV before. I have been learning the names for the squirrel-chipmunk thing that squeaks, the "Komli-Buchi" fuzzy caterpillar that will leave you itching if you brush up against it and the sneakiness of monkeys.

I have also learned some cultural views of animals. For instance, if you are in traffic and someone does something really stupid, you should yell "OWL!". It's like calling him an idiot. People here think we are being sarcastic by putting owls on our school curriculum.

If a gecko falls on your head (from his perch on the ceiling) it's considered good luck.

When a grasshopper lands on you, it's a sign of wealth.

My friends can't believe all our kid books with pigs in them. They aren't cute farm animals. They are disgusting.

Monkeys are a nuisance, like a pigeon and thief in one. Not fun cute little oddities.

And in my friend's neighborhood, they discovered a cobra family. Rather than killing it, most of the neighbors now (thinking it a good sign from the gods) offer it food and pray it.

So, next time you think you know it all (even about animals), just remember people in another country might not give a hoot. 

Isabella: Three Months

Let's just say it. Isabella is the cutest baby you have ever seen. Perhaps tying baby Lydia and baby Molly, ok, I'll give you that. 









Well, of those cute Stock babies, she is the smiley-est, the easiest to put to sleep and the biggest. Here is a sample Isabella-day. She wakes up at a pleasant hour (8-ish), smiles at me while I change her diaper and dress her in a SIX MONTH onesie, eats, hangs out cooing, talking and watching her sisters, fusses for about 3 seconds and takes a nap. Repeat about 3 times and there you have it, an Isabella-day.  






Just thought you'd like to know. This 3-month-old is beautiful (like her name means), a joy (like her middle name) and (I just can't help myself) a product of good Stock. 

Picture of the Week: Elephant-Head god

It's that time of year again. You can hear the drums beating. The lights are strung around town. Everyone's doorsteps are painted and idols line the street. Yep, it's the annual Ganesha Festival.

Hindus, devout and nominal, buy a Ganesha idol. Some are just trinket size, while others must be hauled on a truck bed. The idol is then carried home for worship. Food is offered, chants are sung and the worshiper pleads this "god" to remove their obstacles. A few days later, Ganesha is submerged in water (symbolically washing away the devotees sins...at least for a while). You see, this god is the "remover of obstacles". After all, his head was chopped off by his jealous father. Then replaced with an elephant head. What an over-comer!

I can laugh about how ridiculous this is at times. It seems downright silly to my kids that people would worship a hunk of clay shaped into an elephant-man and dunk it in their bathtub. Yet, I can't help but also grieve the seriousness of it all. This is reality. My neighbor invited me to the pooja at her apartment. It is all over the newspaper. Their are sales and special events for this festival. I can hear the drums right now. This is not some distant picture in a religion textbook of the "natives" worshiping a stone. This is here. Now. Modern civilization all around me.

Picture of the Week: Sick

It's a fact of life no matter where you live. People get sick. It just happens. I don't know why it feels harder here. It just does. 

Last week, Brian came home from  traveling. I was excited to have him back, not just to pitch in with the kids, but to start our "regular life"...routine, schedule. Instead of jumping back in, though, Brian was sick. It was a cold that turned into a sinus infection with a lingering fever and constant headache...combined with a rather unfortunate veggie burger incident. He slept, took antibiotics and about a week later he was (is) back to normal. 

Lydia made Daddy a get well card. While Brian was sick, Lydia learned how to make an "S". Great for words like "sick", "sorry", and "somebody help!". Also great for the "Stock" Household. Normal life with sickness, getting better and a practicing our handwriting. 

Since then

I will not let my blog die.

There. I said it. I have been a little busy lately. And blogging didn't seem like a huge priority for a while. Then, it got kinda long. No "picture of the week" for like...16 weeks. You come back has to be epic right? I mean, I can't just post a picture of a cow on the street (boring!) and expect all 5 of my followers to repost this on their social media preferences right?

Ok, so no to "epic", but yes to a blog recap. Since my last post:

We went to America.
Lydia was a bumblebee in a ballet recital (courtesy of my dear friend, and ballet instructor, Tennyson).

Isabella Joy Stock was born. Her name means "consecrated to the Lord" and "beautiful"...which she is.

Molly became a big sister. She calls Isabella "B-Bella".

We got to reconnect with family and friends.

We had Thanksgiving. In June. Just go with it.

We had fun.

 PopPop retired. And he's a whole lot more fun.

Lydia was in a bike parade. It was fourth of July, in case you couldn't guess by the decor.

We moved back to Asia.
Sweet Molly turned two. Also, I cut her hair. I keep getting compliments on it. I tell everyone if they would just sit in front of me and wiggle their head while I try to cut, it would turn out the same.

We reconnected with friends again.

Taylor came! And I took horrible pictures of her. Despite my lack of photographic skill, she was awesome to have here.

And I blogged. Epic or not, The Stock Household is still here!

Thoughts before leaving [home]

It's 8:53 pm, our time. We leave for the airport at midnight and then just a quick little 36 hours later we'll be in America. I have so many thoughts and prayers bouncing around right now: Go to sleep Molly. Did we pack the girls enough clothes? I'm gonna miss mango season here! Friends' faces and voices, here and there. Family. What will our seats be on the plane?

I have thought and written much about living in two worlds. This paradoxical home and not-home feeling is very tangible when you are leaving home and going home spanning a 9.5 hour time difference. I am not saying anything new. I'm just saying it again. It's hard. It's exhausting and real and probably (no, not probably...but yes!) good for me. 

This God we serve, He is good. He knows what's best for us. He knows my hurts, my fears and worries. He knows the feeling of guilt I have for leaving this place and the probable criticism and self-righteousness I'll feel in America's opulence. 

Oh, but He is good. And He holds me. Not only will He [maybe] get us good seats on the plane, and [maybe] give me a safe delivery of our 3rd little girl, and [maybe] make melatonin work wonders on my children. He will be with us. He will [definitely] be with us. And in His presence, I am home. 

Picture of the Week: Ballet and Belly

On her last day of ballet class for the season, all the girls got to wear a costume borrowed from their teacher's collection. (This teacher knows how to make a little girl's day!)

Here's our beautiful ballerina.




And my belly made the picture.
Yep, there it is. 

Picture of the Week: Bests

It's difficult to say Lydia has a best friend...especially on a team with 8 girls all under the age of 7. And well, she's four. "Best" could mean whoever is into singing "Frozen" songs with her, who will share her toys or ice cream, or who has the best pool. Let's face it, four-year-olds don't really hide their friendship-standards. 

But if we had to say who her best friend is, I would say Lily. Lydia would say that too. 

And if there is anyone who is more different than Lydia, personality-wise, how she processes things, humor and interests...it might be Lily. These four-year-olds don't take ballet together anymore (soccer is more Lily's thing, while Lydia can't bear the thought of running around and possibly bumping into other people!), but Lily is willing to dress up and dance around the house with Lydia. Lydia is also considering the career path of "swim animal doctor" (Lily's future profession) just so they can go to college together.

And no, not everything is a metaphor, but these two remind me of their mommies. Maggie and I are just about as different in our personalities, our processing and interests...yet we give each other grace. OK, mostly Maggie gives....but here's the thing about true grace and true friendship: it's beautiful. It's not just letting the other person be different. It's not just tolerating. It's loving each other and being sharpened. 

So, let's just say these little gals give each other grace, they love each other and if there is some giggling under the table...it's probably Lily and Lydia pretending they are princess zoo-keepers hiding from sea monsters. 

Picture of the Week: She Came in through the Bathroom Window

Two nights ago, Brian and I brutally (and gleefully) killed 6 mosquitoes hanging out in our apartment. 

Since moving here we have acquired Mr. Miagi swat reflexes, a bug-zapper racket (best Father's Day present ever!) and a joyful vengeance for mosquito-death. 

We do not have A/C so we keep our windows open. Yes, we have screens. But then there's the bathroom window situation. And honestly, it kinda hurts my heart to show this picture here. This is a freshly-cleaned (yes) window-vent in our bathroom. [When my mom visited here her need-to-clean instincts drove her to scrub this vent...scrub with no avail...it just always looks dirty. That's how many things are here.] There is no way to seal these completely. I mean, I guess duct-tape could work, but then...you have no vent. 

On the other side of those grimy slates is a large tunnel-like vent shared by all in the building. Where does it vent? The parking garage of course! And in that parking garage is a little canal of standing water. Standing water + tropical climate = little hatching dengue-fever-carrying mosquitoes just looking for a vertical tunnel, unsealed vents and dinner. 

So, here's to nightly mosquito-hunts, racket in hand and vengeance in our hearts! 

  

Picture of the Week: Beautiful

Brian really doesn't like it when I use all the "good pictures" on the blog and leave no unseen ones for our monthly update (which is due out any day now). Sorry, sweetie. I just had to post this.

Isn't she beautiful? She is in love with dresses and lip gloss. Her preferred hair style is this two braid thing that I can't do so well...but she loves it because she has no other hair stylist as of yet. This girl though is truly beautiful when she smiles. Here she is riding a horse confidently and joyfully,...and well, just look at her. 

Picture of the Week: Save your butter for pancakes.

Here's the setup: 
That morning we had visited a park outside the city. Just like every park here it had a few idols and temples. The main one was a bull statue. Morning worshipers had covered it with ghee (purified butter) and then stuck money to it. Lydia and I talked about what a waste of butter that was. 
Also important to the story: 
We have this pair of magnetic dress up dolls from my dad. Their names are Abby and Emma. Frequently (and I do mean frequently) Lydia and I play with them. We are usually Abby and Emma's moms and they have playdates, go to the park, etc. Mostly, it involves changing their outfits. On this particular occasion I am Abby's mom and Lydia is Emma's. They are having a lovely playdate.  

And the story: 
Emma [played by Lydia]: Would you like to come to church with us?
Abby [played by me]: No. We can't. Our family worships pigeons. 
Emma's Mom [also played by Lydia]: No!! You can't do that. Jesus is the real God. 
Abby's Mom [me]: What?! That's not true. We worship a pigeon statue and put butter on it. It's great. 
EM: Don't do that. Save your butter for pancakes. Come, worship Jesus.
AM: Why?
EM: Well, He loves you and cares for you. He's really powerful. And you don't have to put butter on Him.
[by now I have caught on that this is a fantastic teaching moment and I am playing along seeing what Lydia knows...it's amazing]
AM: oh, well that sounds nice but aren't my pigeons gods?
EM: No. Pigeons are not gods. They are birds. God made them. 
AM: So, I can come to your church and learn about Jesus?
EM: Yes, there is a sermon, singing songs and sometimes there is kids' time. We have chai and samosas too. 
AM: Really?
EM: Yes, and if you believe in Jesus you get to go to Heaven.
AM: Heaven? What's that like?
EM: It has shiny streets and lots of food that God makes...only good food. 
AM: Is there butter?
EM: Yes, but we can eat it. And Jesus is there and He can snuggle you. But you have to wait till you die.
AM: Oh, so when I die I can go to heaven?
EM: Yep. Or Hell. That's for pretend-god-believers. 
AM: What's that like?
EM: It's sad. The sun goes down there. It's very dark and sad. 
AM: Wow. Well, Heaven and Jesus sound a lot better. Can I come to church with you?
EM: Sure! 
AM: What am I gonna do with all this butter though?
EM: Let's make pancakes!

Lasagna ::::: [Alternate Title: How to Make Brian a Valentine]

Romance is alive at the Stock Household. As long as there is Italian food, there is a way to my husband's heart. Here's how I win him over.

Step one: Mix pasta dough.









Step two: Make noodles. (Seriously this is fun. I put oregano into the noodles. That's cool...I mean, if you like that sort of thing.)

Step three: Make sauce. (Sausage, more seasoning than my intuition tells me, ground chicken....on a side note: we might have given up on "beef" here for a bit)













Step four: Clean the veggies for a salad.















Step five: Snack the Molly













Step six: Layer

Step seven: "Mommy take a picture of my pig school!"

Ahhh, better than any Hallmark card.

He bought me roses. We watched a movie together. This is pretty much the best Valentine's Day ever. 

Picture of the Week: Family Day

Brian does not work an 8-5 kind of job. There are 6 a.m. Skype calls, leadership meetings in our home until 10 at night and everything in between. Saturdays find him at our business centre and most Sundays he's leading music or something else. So, as much as we can we try to take a "family day". Sometimes this is a lunch out, a picnic in the park or a trip to the mall (a huge highlight because Lydia gets to bring her baby stroller).

Today we pulled out our city's tourism book and checked a park near a lake. There was a train (for some reason shaped like a giraffe), boats (for next time) and slides. Hold on. Not just slides...but slides without holes, rusted jagged edges or broken ladders. Yes. Amazing.

I'd say Family Day was a success.

Here's to many more exotic-animal-shaped trains, slides in working order and time with a family that loves each other.