Celebrate September

September might as well be called Celebratember in our family (except that would be a mouthful). It is filled with birthdays and all of the fun that comes with them. It kicks off with our oldest nephew's birthday, followed by our oldest niece. Another nephew, me, and my husband follow.

The month of celebration is especially nice after a summer during which two close family members left us to go to heaven. Lots of balloons and party hats and candles and smiling children can't help but bring a little joy.

The only slight wrinkle in the September bliss was my birthday. The celebration itself (over the weekend since I had a Sunday birthday) was lovely—a family trip to the zoo, eating out (for free!) at several favorite restaurants, dessert fondue with great girlfriends, cheesecake with family members, opening presents and cards—but it struck me as that birthday when I had to be grown up for good. Yep, I'm now 30.

I mentioned this to my husband. His response? I am pretty much already grown up if I am married and have a child. No turning back on this grown-up thing now, I guess. Still, it seems my 20s were still sort of "young." And it is when so many big, exciting things happened in my life—college graduation, the launching of my career, engagement, marriage, my son's birth, new friends. It feels to me as if that particular "young" chapter in my life is closed (which it is) and I am officially old (please don't snicker, people who are much older than me :-).

A few days after I turned 30, life seemed a whole lot less grim. I didn't feel really that old (although I do have plenty of gray hair). I felt like life was fresh with possibilities.

Exciting new things continue to happen in my life, regardless of my big birthday. My family is healthy and happy and wonderful. God is good and gracious and faithful, no matter how old I am. And that fills me with all the joy a 30-year-old heart can hold.

One small step...

About a month ago, Jack made his big move. We had been waiting for it for some time. We expected it to happen around 12 months, because he was on time with crawling, and early with teeth and some other developmental markers. So we figured walking would be right on "schedule" (wherever the schedule comes from).

He had a little walker wagon that he loved. We encouraged him a great deal to take a step. But he was too busy climbing—on everything—to care very much. At the same time, he was getting heavy to carry everywhere that we didn't want him crawling. (We have a big boy. He is consistently at or above the 95th percentile for his height and weight. This means some people probably thought it odd that our "2-year-old" wasn't walking yet. [Yes, people have actually told me they think he's two.])

On the eve of his turning 14 months, I moved a toy, not thinking much of it. But he wanted that toy. He took a couple steps toward it. Well, it was more like a shuffle because he was in a sleep sack at that point, headed to bed, but it counted of course.

For a couple weeks after that, it was just a few steps here and there. He's a fast crawler and wasn't interested in making the switch to being shakily upright. But now that we've passed the 15-month mark, walking has moved up on his priority list. He walks at least 50 percent of the time, if not more—and a little more every day. His steps are still slightly wobbly but he's much more confident and walking greater distances than he was just a few days ago.

So now I think I can officially say that I have a walker. And a toddler. Welcome to the world of walking, little Jack!

Doing a bit of walking today

A downtown adventure

July and August are always great times to celebrate the love that my husband and I share. It was five years ago that we met and went on our first date, and four years ago that we were married.

This year, we had the luxury of an overnight stay downtown while Grandpa and Grandma kindly spent some quality time with Jack (and apparently, he didn't scream the whole time—screaming just for the joy of hearing the noise is an interesting habit he's adopted of late). To make it more of an adventure, we turned down the offer of my parent's car (let me interject that I really wanted to accept the offer, but it was more adventurous to ride public transportation I suppose).

We got kicked out of our first hotel (So sorry, a group came in last night and we overbooked) and stuck in another one a few blocks away. This is fine, because the first hotel footed the bill for the difference, which was about $140 (since we had originally booked on Priceline). Then we wandered around Granville Island, and ate dinner at a very fabulous steak place. The next day, we ate doughnuts for breakfast, had a pre-lunch at a Chipotle-type place called Steamroller (we split a burrito), strolled through Gastown and got a couple souvenir shirts for Jack, and then made our way through some very sordid streets to Chinatown in hopes of finding dim sum.

Although it was broad daylight (well, cloudy and raining and my husband got soaked because he was very chivalrous—and didn't want to get poked in the head—and let me have the umbrella all to myself) it was a little creepy and very sad to observe the lives of people who have nothing but destructive addictions. We walked right next to a rescue mission where, in an alcove on the other side of the street, a few people were huddled with big umbrellas doing drugs and shaking. Another woman on the corner was obviously very troubled and talked randomly to herself. Heartbreaking.

Arriving at Chinatown was no better, except for a soggy stroll through Dr. Sun Yat-Sen Garden. Standing on the not-so-desirable streets, we suddenly felt uncertain about which restaurant to choose for our lunch, part II. Then we stumbled upon some graffiti with these kind words: "Kill Whitey." Um, no lunch for us. We found the Sky Train, made our way back to my hometown, and visited a local mall in search of dim sum. We found Triple O's instead. Yum. By that time, we were all out of adventure and a good, old fashioned BC burger tasted just about perfect.

This may be the most adventurous date we've had. We laughed, we ate, we got wet, we ate some more, we walked miles, and we were so happy we married each other. And that's what really matters.

Me and the Gastown steam clock

One of our favorite wedding-day photos. I love my husband!

A wonderful Grandpa

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I lay down to sleep last night
All cozy in my bed
And as my mobile danced
I snuggled down my head.

Across town Grandpa sat down
To close his eyes a while
But instead of waking up like me
He woke up to Jesus’ smile.

To our wonderful father, father-in-law, and grandpa: We love you and we will miss you terribly.

Tall shoulders

We had fun celebrating Dad yesterday. Since Jack can't talk yet, I made a sign for him to give Daddy when he woke up: "Happy Father's Day, Daddy!" Then it was off to the grocery store to pick up Dad's favorite breakfast: doughnuts. Before we left for church, he and Jack opened his gifts and cards.

We had a couple family dinners to go to yesterday, so we were pretty busy, but even then my husband found time to demonstrate his good dad skills, changing some diapers (even though I told him he didn't have to on Father's Day). We also sneaked in a lovely all-family nap.

Thank you for being a wonderful Daddy and giving us your big heart and strong, tall shoulders! We love you!

And a big hug to our dads, who took such a great deal of time and energy and love to shape us into the people we are today—and still give much. We're grateful for and love you!