Grace

I'll admit it. I take my wife for granted. Dutifully she attends to the blog ... the pictures ... joyous placating that is keeping the grandparents (and many others!) updated with the goings-on in our girls' lives. In less than a month, it'll be 10 years of marriage, which all joking aside has absolutely flown by. Currently, we've been trying to teach Josie about grace ... usually as in getting an unexpected treat of ice cream or a popsicle even though you may not have done anything to deserve it. These girls I live with -- all of them -- represent grace for me. I haven't done anything to deserve this life, but I thank God for the blessing every day.

Not that living with a group of chicas isn't a challenge! I'm mindful that as noisy as our house is and as noisy as these women I live with are, Norah is proving to be the noisiest Moore girl yet! I'm not talking about crying -- truly, you hold a content Norah in your arms and she becomes quite conversational. I can't wait to discover what she's saying, so deliberately, through the coos, girgles, and squeals. Josie said her first word right about 9 months (she was talking in short sentences when she began walking, at 16 months). Norah, seemingly inspired by her big sister, has done several "firsts" on a quicker timeline than Josie (such as rolling over at 4 months). At this pace, I figure Norah will be talking in paragraphs by Labor Day.

My father has a friend, who when seeing pictures of his grandchildren strewn about his office, wondered how on earth my father's sons could have a part in making such beautiful granddaughters. (I have a beautiful 2-year-old niece, Annabelle, who is light-years ahead of others her age with potty-training ... and I understand she sings a major scale in perfect pitch!) I don't own a gun, shotgun or otherwise, though I suspect I'm gonna need to remedy that before my girls begin dating. Josie asked me not long ago how old she had to be before she could get married, and since I was afraid to take any chances in light of her devastation that one of her many boyfriends is getting ready to move to Texas and she might try and elope, I told her she couldn't marry until she was 37. And she could begin dating at age 33.

But I'm vastly outnumbered at home. The fact that I'm the only rooster in the hen house isn't lost on me. I look at Josie in her darling two-piece bathing suit (see Molly's hilarious post of July 10) and I proclaim loudly in my best Father-Knows-Best voice that this is the last 2-piece suit of Josie's life. And the women in my house just snicker. Josie tore through the video cabinet looking for a movie to watch as an afternoon treat (not all treats are ice cream or popsicles!) and she asked me to help her select one -- and whatever I chose for her she declined, only to ask me again and again what she should watch.

Indeed, grace abounds. In the last weeks of Molly's pregnancy with each of the girls, we imagined "Grace" as a possible middle name. Josie and Norah were given the middle names Hope and Joy, instead. They're fitting names, not merely as testimony for what abides at the center of our life as a family, but their names testify to the gifts that our girls bring into our lives. But grace is still the centerpiece of all!