Every parent knows the day is coming where ‘the‘ question will be asked. Many sleepless nights are wasted as each parent ponders how they will respond when the life-changing question is asked, “Mom, can I get my face painted?”

Three weekends ago, I encountered the question at a Family fun fest. Initially, I tried to discourage both boys from the 100 kid line. But, something about the allure of messy paint all over their face was too captivating to disregard, so I did what every mom would do. I gave 30 minutes of my life to ensure that both boys would need baths. And so we waited.

• 10 kids ahead of us: The little girl gets painted as an elaborate princess with tacky caked-on, hideous pink eye shadow, swirls, and glitter sprinkles. My kids stare, mouths agape at everyone and everything.
• 9 kids ahead of us: A butterfly.
• 8 kids ahead of us: Spiderman.
• 7 kids ahead of us: Another butterfly. My kids are still staring.
• 6 kids ahead of us: A pirate pilot.  Though, the face painter claims to have many options in her repertoire, I only ever see 6 options. The face painter had a thick foreign accent and my friend and I got excited when she told us her specialty was a ‘pilot.’  Finally, something new!  We made a big deal about how her son was to be a pilot, only to watch the artist draw a beard and eye patch. We quickly realized that the ‘ole pilot was actually a pirate, thanks to our accent misunderstanding. Oops.

• 5 kids ahead of us: Another Spiderman.  At this time in line, we’ve been waiting forever plus 30 minutes, Pierson, a face-paintee newbie, looked at me with a worried face. “Mom, after I get my face painted, will my mouth open?” I reassure him he’ll still be able to talk. But, maybe he’s onto a new invention, though?  Face paint that gives mothers peace and quiet?  How could that be a bad thing?  I jest.
• 4 kids ahead of us: Some poor 18-month old is wrestled into the chair for a lady bug. She has zero interest in being attacked by a paint brush, but clearly her grandmother thinks it’ll be cute. Apparently, the grandma’s not the one that has to give baths.
• 3 kids ahead of us: Spider. Thatcher pulls my shirt, “Mom! Mom! Can I get another pine cone?” I look around for an evergreen tree. “What ?” “A PINE CONE!  May I please have another pine cone?” After using my detective skills, a little bit of sign language, and my superb interpretation skills (which I’m apparently not so good at-see #6), I FINALLY realized Thatcher wants a snow cone.
• 2 kids ahead of us: The boy right in front of us asked to be a tiger. Apparently the makeup artist is great at drawing tigers, but they take too long. Little boy creatively chooses Spiderman. The boy’s face complete, he proudly touts his new look. He examines his reflection in the window, turns around, and does what every good Spiderman would.  He makes Spiderman’s famous hand signs to spin webs. Thatcher turns to me excitedly and informs me, “Mom! He’s doing the I LOVE YOU sign!” Anyone have a recipe to bottle up innocence?
• 1 kid ahead of us: Random princess (see #10) returns to tell me she doesn’t have enough glitter and asks if she could cut back in line to get some more makeup because it wasn’t enough.  I enlist the help of nearby weary-from-waiting parents to convince the stubborn entitled princess that she has plenty and looks very pink and glittery.

It’s finally our turn. My boy gets several reprimands from the face painter because he’s too intent on closing his eyes. But after a quick smattering of color over both faces, both boys have now been transformed into very real super heroes. Not surprisingly, they both choose Spiderman. The incredibly long wait and the hassle of the ole’ face painting line is quickly overshadowed by the huge smile on the face of my sons as they now had been transformed to superhero status.  And my heart is happy that something so simple brightened their little worlds.  Now, I just have to make sure I can identify and take home the right kids in the sea of all the Spidermen!

Last week, we celebrated Sterling’s first birthday. The boys have moved from the former term of endearment ‘Bay Didter‘ to an equally cute name–‘Triscuit’. One day while eating the wafer crackers, they started calling her ‘Triscuit’ and it has stuck.  So we celebrated Triscuit turning one with a trip to Michael’s parent’s farm.

One of my parenting mantras is “Start as you mean to go on.” If you don’t want them to jump on your couch when they’re 4, don’t let them jump your couch when they are 1; If you intend for your child to try a bite of each item on their plate, start now; If you want to be a family who reads more than watches television, it’s easier if you start reading to them now.  So, I suppose the same holds true for how you plan to celebrate birthdays and holidays (even down to the birthday cakes), but I didn’t think of that on Pierson’s first birthday.  He got a Brutus the Buckeye cake that Michael spent hours creating. Thatcher had a lion cake that also took time, but was not nearly as impressive. And well, our little Triscuit, though she knows no different, got a box cake with leftover Fourth of July sprinkles.  She still seemed to enjoy it all the same, so I choose not to beat myself up over the lack of fancy.  She happily jabbered as she ate the cake wanted to tell us all about it.

A few fun thoughts about where she’s at right now.  She will never know life without being adored.

Lucky for her, she’s also got some constant helpers.

She’s currently into standing by herself and then clapping for her job well done.

She’s currently saying ‘uh-oh’ and finding reasons to say it (dropping her cup on the ground over and over).  She’s saying “All Done” at the table.  She’s got four teeth that have arrived since turning 11 months.  She loves attempting to dress herself with any clothes she finds laying around the house.  She’s a master peekaboo player and says “phh bhh” to let you know she’s playing.  She loves talking on the phone and will hold it to her ear and wait for you to answer with “hello?”  But her absolute current favorite thing do to is our afternoon dance parties.  She climbs up on Pierson’s bed, gets to her knees and grooves to a tune from the Go Fish Guys.  She bops right along with the music and holds her own if the boys decide to go in for a wrestle or two.  Then, after tucking the boys in for their naps, most days, she’ll make a beeline right back to the door, push it open once again and jabber at the boys as she makes her way back to their beds.  The boys laugh hysterically and try to get her to repeat her stealth moves.  If I don’t firmly close the door, my little escape artist would repeat this game all afternoon.

Sterling, one day if you read this, I never knew how much I wanted a girl until God gave me you.  Each moment, you light up my life, and I’m so thankful He entrusted you to your Dad and me!  Happy Birthday, Triscuit.  I love you ‘BIG MUCH.’

Momma