Our grapes this year went bananas.

   I didn't even let the children eat many this summer because I wanted to be sure we had enough to make grape juice.  50+ quarts later, I stopped counting and started kicking myself for not letting them eat to their heart's content.  That is TOO. Much. Grape juice folks.  

   My kitchen was a disaster, everything was sticky, I had a kink in my neck and I was perpetually grumpy.  Which just provides me material for chapter #26 for my bestseller entitled, Why Canning Isn't Worth It.  

   I know we'll be grateful for that sweet taste of summer in the middle of winter with a bowl of popcorn while watching something with Debbie Reynolds in it, but man.  It nearly killed me.  At least it's over.  And much to my surprise, the green grapes make just as nice a juice as purple.  I mixed in a few purple and so it made the sweetest pink color, like grapefruit juice, and will be so fun for parties.  

   

   William continues to charm our socks off.  For some reason my girls never developed many nicknames, but with this guy, we can't seem to get enough of them.  Jocelyn was mainly Joce, Jocie, or occasionally, Jocer Arafat.  Charlotte had Charlie, Charli-babes, and her most recent (courtesy of her daddy) Charles Nelson.   William, on the other hand, has had none of the ones I assumed we would use, like Will or Liam.  So far it has been Bud, Buddy, Bubs, Bubsie Wubsie, Sweet Bubbers, and a whole lot of other nonsensical ones that just seem to fit him perfectly.  I hope they don't turn into a "thing" though, you know, like the 40-yr-old man you meet at the park named "Bubba"?  Anyway.  It's what comes most naturally for now, so I guess we'll roll with it.  

  The girls have their own set of terms of endearment.  If they add "Boom" to your title?  You know you're doing something right.  

"You're just a BOOM daddy." 

"You're just the Boom-est mama."

High honor there, folks.

   We have traded the days of potty training and sippy cups for preschool and learning to ride a bike, and I honestly believe these are some of the best days of our lives.  When they are walking down the aisle all dressed in white, THIS is the age I will see them in my mind.  Not necessarily an infant in little footie jammies, but this age.  Right here, right now.  Ponytails and skinned up knees and residue from popsicles dripping down their chins.  3 and 4 will forever be some of my favorite ages of all time.  It will break my heart to see them go.  

Charlotte especially, has just really been coming into her own lately.  

   She is just brimming with personality and brings so much joy to our lives.   I can already tell, this girl is just going to be one of those that things come easily for.  It makes my heart swell but it also makes me pause and remind myself not to lose her in the shuffle.  

   The shuffle of attention to an older one who deals with social situations differently.  The shuffle of the daily care for baby brother.  The shuffle of passing over her to tend to others because she is already strong, confidant, secure.  The squeaky-wheel-gets-the-oil type of shuffle.  I want to remember to give her the time that she needs.  Her little tank needs to be filled just as much as the others, those needs just may look different.

   After a particularly hard day with my little charges, Randy came home from work with a a vase of fresh flowers and an iced coffee.   

   I think one of the most beautiful things about being married to someone is the fact that someone in your life will really learn to KNOW you.  To know how to speak that secret language of love that only you know.  People will come and go in and out of your life, friendships will bloom and fade, but in a marriage, someone will be there every day.  Will try to understand you, speak love to you, care for you.  

   And of course, it's not perfect.  But I don't think it should be.  If it were perfect, and we never had dirty socks to turn inside out on laundry day, or fingernail clippings left on the end table, then fresh flowers and iced coffees wouldn't be as magical.  The imperfections serve a purpose...they serve as a backdrop for the striking beauty of relationship.  The good and the bad, for better or for worse.  

And trust me, he's seen my faults and flaws and ragged imperfections, and he still loves me. 

And I think that's what it's all about.