Well, he made it to eight. (miraculously)



Most of the family sacrificed their Sunday to drive to Safford for Tate's baptism. It was wonderful to see them all and great for Tate to see nearly his entire extended family there to show their love for him.



We got to hear two wonderful talks from his grandmothers including (my favorite part) a visual aid used by Grandma Laurie. She had a little figure on each shoulder, a devil and a dove, telling Tate that having the Gift of the Holy Ghost would be a lot like in the cartoons when one voice tells you to do something bad and one tells you to do right.

We also got to hear all the kids (cousins and Hacketts) sing "When I am Baptised". The kids finally understood why I've been singing it with them non-stop for the last 4 weeks. They all sounded great. The actual baptism went off without a hitch, and as soon as Tate came up from the water, Miles said very loudly, "Okay Daddy, It's my turn now!"

It was really amazing to watch Tate. This usually goofy, obnoxious, loud little eight-year-old boy was turned into something entirely different for this one day. (yes, he's back to his goofy, obnoxious, loud ways now) He took it all very seriously.

At the end, Tate got to hear his Grandpa bear testimony to him of the importance and truthfullness of the Gospel. He told him to always remember this day and told Tate how much he loved him. It made me wish we lived closer so my kids could learn from their Grandparents more often.

Disneyland. . . the rest of the story.

Despite the exciting trip to the E.R., the rest of the day was better than we could have imagined.

Here's Tate on one of the infamous benches that Lucy fell from. Seriously, his sister just fell off one of these and he's doing the SAME THING! What's with 8 year old boys?

Not always the happiest place on earth. . .

So, this much-anticipated day didn't go down exactly as I'd planned.

The flight to California was great, Calvin was a dream, the kids entertained themselves on the plane, we didn't lose anyone, nobody barfed, and all was looking good until. . .


(Lucy and Claire right before "the incident")

we were standing in line to buy our tickets to the park and Lucy took a nosedive from a bench onto the concrete.

Broken nose.

Lots of Blood.

Screaming.

Horrified onlookers.

Panicking father.

After getting directions to the closest pediatric hospital, my dad and I whisked her off in the car, while Jake and my mom ushered everyone else into the park. Lucy's brothers were very worried about her, but managed to enjoy themselves after a ride or two.

At the hospital, they ruled out head trauma and told her she could still ride the rides if she was careful. She was given a blessing and we returned to the park (where we skipped to the front of the line thanks to Lucy's giant purple nose), where she had a fabulous time and rode every roller coaster she was tall enough for.

We have to wait until the swelling goes down before we know if she needs a nose job or not. Seriously.

My five year old may be getting a nose job next week. Maybe we do belong in Greenwich after all. . .