on a plane again.

Alex and I took a vacation. We flew to Arizona and spent a week with our grandparents in the sweltering heat. We swam, ate, slept and read. All-in-all a wonderfully spent vaca.

Some photos? I think so.

Grandma and Grandpa Lance.

Barb and Grandpa Young.

Church in the rock. 

And then we played at Slide Rock.

Built-in water slides.  50 foots cliffs. 

It's just something we like to do for fun.

Itinerary Spectaculus.

:birthday in the sky.

I love surprises.
I am not one of those uptight, control freaks who needs to know exactly what is happening in order to maintain a healthy heart rate. i.love.surprises.

It was a wonderful birthday.
One huge surprise that lasted just about the whole month, lots of chocolate, and twice as many kisses.

I was showered with flowers, coffee, chocolate, movies, breakfast, and - a hot air balloon ride. Spectacular.

Apparently hot air ballooning requires the exact weather format, otherwise you may end up getting blown into a cloud-filled oblivion, ending the day in Canada - or something like that. So, the first few times Alex tried to make it happen it didn't work out. He'd wake up at 4:30 a.m., make a secret call and come back to bed apologetically saying, "It's not going to work out for today, but I have some fantastic back-up birthday plans all ready planned." (And they were always pretty darn fantastic).

Then, when the day finally arrived - sun shining and cloudless - Alex took me into the car, handed me a large "scroll" (made out of construction paper and sharpie) that read: Itinerary Spectaculus, and finally gave away my big surprise. I was ecstatic.

And so we went. Up into the air. For my birthday. And everyone looked their part. The captain looked like he could hold no other job other than hot air balloon captain and the others who floated with us were wonderful companions (a 1st year anniversary couple, a 25th year anniversary couple, and 3 ladies who work together at Home Depot).

Here goes:

While suspended at 3,000 feet, I asked the captain where we were going to land, knowing we had no steering capabilities. "Well," he said, "my son - who owns this company - is a farmer, and so he knows other farmers in the area who allow us to land on their property. We also know that there are some places where we are definitely not supposed to land. And sometimes we make new friends."
I am pleased to announce we made a new friend on this particular night, landing in a tree farm on the side of the road. How we managed to not crush multiple trees in the process still beats me.

After our wonderful evening in the sky, we came back to the hot air ballooning office, where we were given a fantastic meal inside the most charming lit-up gazebo you've ever seen.

All in all, a most spectacular birthday surprise.

Popi.

There is an old 1952 classic film featuring Cary Grant and Betsy Drake called Room for One More. It is a heart-warming tale of a family who decides to foster troubled children. Cary Grant's character (the father) is called Popi.
Perhaps it has to do with my family's history with adoption and fostering, or maybe it is because of our love for movies, but for some reason our family took to calling my father "Popi", too. (Some other time we'll touch on why we call my mother "Marmee").

I am sure that many daughters think their fathers are the "best" fathers in the world, and while they may come close, I've never seen anyone as brave, good, and loving as my father, Popi.
He loves three things with a burning passion - the Lord, my mother, and us kiddos. He'll come to your rescue when your car breaks down, will buy (or make) you a coffee if you are within earshot, and is always willing to stop and just listen.

He's birthday came around (okay, so back in April) and, naturally, we wanted to give back to him. Time spent. That's the way to go with Popi. Oh, and Mexican food. So, we drove to Seattle, took a ferry across to Bainbridge, and feasted.

Here are some pictures of Popi's 50th Birthday Celebration:

Quinceanera.

When I was about 4 or 5 I started praying for a little sister. Like, really really praying for a little sister. My parents had always wanted to adopt and asked us kids to be praying with them about it. I think I officially deserve some sort of award for how hard I prayed for a sister from that point on. My parents, after having really thought it through for a long time, decided to "fast" talking/thinking/praying about it for a whole month - I suppose to test God, to see what He would do. In that time, a man approached my parents and said that he had heard that they were interested in adopting and wanted to know if my parents would pray about adopting his granddaughter.
Can you guess what happened?

So, my sister is Mexican, which is pretty awesome on many levels. She has beautiful, dark skin, we eat a lot of Mexican food (once for Thanksgiving even), and, when she turned fifteen, we got to throw the most amazing party that was all about her. Which I think is entirely appropriate considering God practically wrapped her in the classy Jesus-style swaddling clothing and landed her in our arms.

The Quinceanera is a huge deal in the Mexican culture. Or maybe just to my sister. Or perhaps both. It signifies the girl moving into womanhood and all that sweet, tear-jerking jazz.

Some classic Quinceanera traditions:

The father removes the flat-soled sandal...

and then he replaces that sandal with a high-heeled shoe.


Various family members make speeches of varying lengths and with varying degrees of embarrassment and charm. (All, I might add, while adding something to her person. Earrings. Hair jewels. Etc.)

After the series of formal, all-about-Cassidy remarks, there was the father-daughter dance. Beautiful. Epic. Photo-worthy. Not a dry eye in the house, not a dry eye.

And then we partied. Because Cassidy Nicole Lance is a girl worth partying for.

We ate (Mexican, of course), we danced, we played games, we laughed - all things a truly good party should contain.