Merry Christmas!! This season, we celebrate the joy of
light overcoming darkness and love for one another. May your days be
merry and bright!
Love,
The Vassars
Oscar (2), Sylvia (4), Rafa (4)
Friday, December 25, 2015
Tuesday, December 22, 2015
rudolph
Singing Christmas songs with the Vassariños is one of my favorite holiday activities. The kids amaze me in how quickly they learn the songs. Oh, to have a little kid sponge brain...
Not all teaching is perfect, though. S's rendition of Rudolph cracks me up every time. She has no idea what she's saying, and why I can't stop laughing when we sing together.
Rudolph, the red-nosed reindeer
had a very shiny nose.
And if you ever saw him,
you would even say it blows.
Not all teaching is perfect, though. S's rendition of Rudolph cracks me up every time. She has no idea what she's saying, and why I can't stop laughing when we sing together.
Rudolph, the red-nosed reindeer
had a very shiny nose.
And if you ever saw him,
you would even say it blows.
Thursday, December 17, 2015
sights, sounds, and smells of christmas
One of my favorite events at our church is the Sights, Sounds, and Smells of Christmas. It is a very festive, family affair with countless adorable crafts, music, and a generally fun atmosphere.
And cookies.
And cookies.
Tuesday, December 15, 2015
Monday, December 14, 2015
current interests
O has started really getting into books! He has always enjoyed being read to--particularly by mami, he definitely has the strongest case of mamitis of the three. But, lately, he's discovered just flipping through a book on his own. These book nerds love it.
He's also a big fan of puzzles.
S is our engineer. She is incredibly creative and gets very focused on building with magnatiles, tinker toys, bristle blocks, whatever we pull out for her.
R is obsessed with music. He asked for a violin last year for Christmas and this year asked for a violin and lessons. For show and tell, he brought his symphony toy and danced for his friends.
The ukulele is a cherished 'toy' in the house.
He's also a big fan of puzzles.
S is our engineer. She is incredibly creative and gets very focused on building with magnatiles, tinker toys, bristle blocks, whatever we pull out for her.
R is obsessed with music. He asked for a violin last year for Christmas and this year asked for a violin and lessons. For show and tell, he brought his symphony toy and danced for his friends.
The ukulele is a cherished 'toy' in the house.
Sunday, December 13, 2015
family
There's nothing like family. Sadly, we lost a sweet member this week. With broken hearts, we traveled to be together to celebrate Tere and weave our hearts together with love. And it was beautiful. Even as we grieve, she is smiling.
Since the kiddos were all dressed up, we snapped this family pic.
S LOVED playing with her cousins and aunts and uncles. I think he feelings were mutual.
Of course, Granddaddy also got in on the fun!
We're still working on car rides being fairly pleasant for all. When we nearly hit a breaking point, we obeyed the Texas stop sign and introduced the Vassariños to dipped cones. They approved.
Since O refuses to sleep in the car, we also learned what he's like if he skips his daily nap. Not a monster. As our happy child, he just gets hyper when he's tired--so, it's exhausting, but it could be much worse.
We didn't want this to be the reason to bring the family together. Being together, though, was beautiful. Love amidst deep sorrow. Just as Tere wants.
Since the kiddos were all dressed up, we snapped this family pic.
S LOVED playing with her cousins and aunts and uncles. I think he feelings were mutual.
Of course, Granddaddy also got in on the fun!
We're still working on car rides being fairly pleasant for all. When we nearly hit a breaking point, we obeyed the Texas stop sign and introduced the Vassariños to dipped cones. They approved.
Since O refuses to sleep in the car, we also learned what he's like if he skips his daily nap. Not a monster. As our happy child, he just gets hyper when he's tired--so, it's exhausting, but it could be much worse.
We didn't want this to be the reason to bring the family together. Being together, though, was beautiful. Love amidst deep sorrow. Just as Tere wants.
Wednesday, December 9, 2015
shipwrecked
I found this on the internet sometime ago. Someone who lost a dear person sent out to the world wide web that he didn't know how to go on. And he got a response. A good one. Some old guy wrote this. I think it's beautiful. It has helped me understand a little better what friends are going through when they experience the kind of loss that I haven't yet experienced. One friend wrote me yesterday to thank me for sending the message (over a month ago) because she reads it every night. I received that message the same night that the wife of D's cousin passed away. It gave me hope that Tere's family will receive love. That something will give them some peace or hope and touch them in their grief. And they may not expect where it comes from. It reminded me that I never know how my actions will touch and impact others (good or bad). I post it here to remember it and find it when I want to send it out again. And so that you or someone you know might also be touched by it.
I'm old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not.
I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents...
I wish I could say you get used to people dying. But I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter". I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it.
Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can't see.
As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.
In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.
Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out.
Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too.
If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.
I'm old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not.
I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents...
I wish I could say you get used to people dying. But I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter". I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it.
Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can't see.
As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.
In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.
Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out.
Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too.
If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.
Sunday, December 6, 2015
o come, o come Emmanuel
The season of advent has always been a favorite of mine. Of course, it is even more special with kiddos in the mix. SylRafa now understand time and waiting and the anticipation of something wonderful is very exciting. And contagious.
Here is our adorable advent calendar, lovingly filled by Tía Sonja.
We made most of these goodies at Grandmother's house, which was a blast! SylRafa are now old enough that they worked for 2.5 hours straight. And had a ball. And we were impressed with how quickly and how well everything turned out!
The foodies were played for our resurrected Santa's workshop party. We invited friends and wrapped gifts for 5 families!! Our friends are the best. Sylvia LOVED passing out tape to everyone. And Rafa got in and helped wrap a few gifts, too. It was a wonderful way to be with friends and kick off this time of advent.
Today, on St. Nick's day, we were asked to light the advent candles at the beginning of worship. What an honor and a fun thing to do with the whole family. It also turned into Oscar's first worship service where he stayed the entire time. And since they also served communion, he got to participate in that, too. I loved having all the kids with me for worship. Oscar was very well behaved. The only times he spoke out was when the choir finished singing and he somewhat loudly requested 'otra canción!' (Another song!)
I had wanted to put something in the kids stockings for each Sunday of advent like I received as a kid, but somehow it was already the second Sunday today. Last night, we did make a run. Since today is St. Nick's Day, it was fitting that they got something and our new tradition may be to recognize St. Nick's Day. I love thinking about what aspects of this celebration they may pass on to their families one day... Until then, we are enjoying the anticipation!
Wednesday, December 2, 2015
blog reading
So, it seems that the kids have been reading this blog. Of course, after publicly announcing how terrible our nights are...I slept for 8 HOURS STRAIGHT! That, quite possibly, might be the first time in 5 years.
It's a Christmas miracle. Thanks kids! Is hoping for another night being greedy?...
Tuesday, December 1, 2015
he got out!
He did it. He escaped. We are now entering into a whole other world. O is still sleeping in a crib and I blissfully ignored the fact that one day he would get out. Well, the day has come.
He has generally been a very good sleeper. Tonight (this morning), not so much. It may be because he's congested and woke up unable to breathe well. It may be because we recently got back from visiting grandparents and he's out of his routine. It may just be because we're supposed to learn something from surviving on little sleep. Birth control?... In any case, he awoke in the middle of the night screaming for us. I finally gave in to sing him another lullaby, hoping that would appease him so he wouldn't wake his siblings. It didn't work. I put him back in his crib and he started screaming again. (That's the shortened version, there was in reality much cradling, singing, resting together on the sofa in hopes he would get tired and willingly return to the crib, etc.). I left the room, hoping he might just cry himself to sleep really quickly. One can dream, right? Then we heard a door rattling and a door closing. And silence. We naively thought to ourselves, 'aw, how sweet, one of the twins went in his room to help him sleep.' About two minutes later, blood curdling scream. From downstairs. He padded down and then found himself in darkness. No sign of life. He didn't like that. And I was shocked that he got out of his crib AND opened the door. Here we go...