Gindi Vincent

The Dish on Career, Fashion, Faith, and Family

Family

Christmas 2019

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Merry Christmas.

I really have meant to write.

Upon checking, I’ve written two times in the past two months. A record low over the past 9 years. There were years I’d write four times a week.

Life happens. The holidays are crazy even though I had every intention of slowing down and injecting more meaning and less chaos. We have three ten year olds, two full time jobs, volunteer work, school activities, friends and family. It’s just busy.

It’s also been bittersweet. We’ve had uncertainty and family members struggling and people moving and then, this week, my best friend lost her oldest son.

There has been such joy. Gingerbread houses and school parties and dinners with dear friends and helping others. But then there’s just also been this cloud. Sun and rain.

Our church has a director of liturgy who has given us space this season for lament. Reminded us what ADVENT has stood for through the ages. Asked us hard questions and made us confront the commercial “merry little Christmas” gloss we Christians have put on a season with so much more meaning.

So I will write. I miss it. I miss you.

But not tonight. Tonight I pack to fly to Minnesota to attend the funeral of a sweet son and brother taken too soon. I pack the littles to go hunting with dad later. And then we’ll all be back together to celebrate the New Year.

We’ll pop fireworks and laugh and clink our champagne flutes together but we’ll also pray for healing and peace. In our hearts and in our country and in our world.

Until then, Merry Christmas dear friends. Where ever this finds you, I pray you can see God. Love to you all.

Which is Easier

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In fourth grade, my kids have the opportunity to learn how to debate.  They’re in the debate segment of the curriculum right now.  This makes me happy. 

As you might guess, our kids are already pretty familiar with the concept of debate.  First of all, Bray and I support different political parties and any election season elicits a fair amount of debate in our house.  Second of all, I’m a lawyer and therefore fairly prone to debating on any manner of topics.  And finally, the kids are triplets and are regularly debating their position in order to get what they want or get out of trouble. 

I love that they’re learning how to support their position with supporting concepts during these classroom debates. 

The topics have varied from class to class.  The boys class debated the merits of dog ownership versus cat ownership.  Little bit’s class debated the value of getting paid for chores versus not getting paid. 

But on Wednesday, little bit’s teacher, Mrs. B, threw out an interesting debate topic:  Is it easier to follow Jesus or not to follow Jesus. 

We attend a small private Christian school, so I can imagine the topic idea caught the kids a little off guard.  Since they get to choose their side for the debate, no one raised their hand to advocate that it’s easier not to follow Jesus. 

Except little bit. 

I’d gone to chapel that morning and afterwards Mrs. B approached me.  She said how proud she was of our girl for taking a position different from the rest of the class and how her ideas were really strong and her point of view unique.  Little bit approached me when she heard, nervously, and said, are you mad?  Of course not, I responded, it’s absolutely easier to do your own thing and not have to worry about following what Jesus says. 

She came home last night excited to write out her debate ideas on her 3X5 cards.  She told Mrs. B this morning she would be happy to debate the entire class herself if no one wanted to advocate with her.  Today, one other boy decided to debate on little bit’s “team.” 

As she talked through her points tonight in advance of tomorrow’s debate, she tried to find additional support for her position.  She had to go two rounds.  One with supporting ideas for why it’s hard to follow Jesus.  One with support for the same idea but focused on it being hard to follow Jesus’ plan. 

When it came to why it’s hard to follow Jesus, she had lots of solid reasons: I mean you have to forgive everyone, how hard is that; and you have to love, everyone!  Then she started laying out why it’s so hard to follow His plan.  For one thing, she said, it’s really hard to wait on Jesus plan instead of following your own plan immediately.  And what if you don’t know what His plan is? 

Truth. The forgiving. Waiting. Not knowing. HARD.

But then she said, His plan is always better.

Just because it’s harder, didn’t mean she didn’t want to try.  It’s just she knew it would be harder.

Luke 9:23 – If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily

John 16:33 – In the world you will have tribulation

James 1:2 – Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds

Romans 5:3 – We rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance

She wasn’t quoting scripture, she may not even know them, but she was laying out a pretty deep theological argument: Don’t follow Jesus because you think it’s easier.  You won’t get very far.  It’s better.  It’s not easier. 

I don’t know what made me prouder. 

Her having a sense that the price of Christianity doesn’t come cheap at the ripe old age of 10, or her bravery.  She boldly took a position for which no one else wanted to advocate.  Then she offered to debate the entire class alone.  My little introvert for whom school can be a challenge chose the brave option.  And she was excited about it too.  She came home bubbling and working on Wednesday and Thursday nights. 

She teaches me so much about life and myself. And this week, she reminded me, better may be harder. Do better.

The Great Ear Piercing of 2019

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When I turned 12, my mother took me to the doctor’s office to get my ears pierced.  I felt so grown up.  I love earrings.  Especially fine dangling ones.  Alas, while babysitting in college, an infant ripped the hoops out of my right ear and the skin never grew back together.  To this day, I still wear clip earrings.  Which I leave scattered around the country because I take them off since they always hurt after an hour.  I could solve this problem by having my lobe stitched up.  I just haven’t bothered. 

But I digress. 

Little bit wanted to pierce her ears.  I told her, starting around age 8, she could have them pierced when she turned 10.  We’d hoped to get our ears pierced together but I never got it together to fix mine in time. 

As the time approached, I investigated options.  Apparently, very few people go to a doctor.  But I thought we might should avoid an “earring mill” like Clare’s just to ensure against infection.  (Though I know plenty of people happy with Clare’s.)

After some investigating through my lovely social media network, I landed on a tattoo parlor being the best option because they pierce with a single use needle.  Because of several solid referrals, we landed on 713 Tattoo down in the Montrose area of Houston which is FAR from my house.  Nonetheless, we made our appointment for the afternoon before the kids 10th birthday so she could arrive at school the morning of her birthday with ears sparkling. 

I picked her up from school, with all her friends cheering her on (and wanting to come along), and we hiked all the way down to the parlor.  I was told I needed my i.d., her birth certificate, and a photo i.d. for her.  Because she does not have a photo i.d., I was told I could use a yearbook so I swung by home to pick one up.  On our drive, I mentioned that she might see people who have a lot of colorful tattoos and might have more piercings than she is used to seeing. 

Yet, still, she wasn’t quite ready. 

She was already very nervous about getting her ears pierced. 

Upon arrival, we waited behind a high school couple there to get his nose pierced and her septum pierced. Then, a lovely young woman came out from the piercing room with so many piercings all over her face it took both little bit and I aback. Not to mention, the very nice man who did the piercings was completely covered in tattoos and piercings and had very long blue fingernails. Nonetheless, we pressed forward.

I had gone and left the yearbook at home but I had my driver’s license and her birth certificate and Bray had texted me a photo of the yearbook cover and her page. The cost to get her ears pierced, with their mandatory jewelry, was incredibly high, but still we pressed forward.

It wasn’t until the man, apologetically, shared that he was prohibited to pierce her ears without an in person photo identification that we had to throw in the towel. We’d had the appointment on the books for weeks and she’d told all her friends she would arrive at school, on her birthday, with sparkly pierced ears. Pearls, she’d said, all along (which were not available at the tattoo parlor, perhaps not surprisingly).

I was so upset. I’d forgotten the stupid yearbook on the counter! All my fault. So I thought back to my original social media post asking for recommendations for piercing spots. And I remembered a number of moms recommending Merle Norman. MERLE NORMAN?!?! I didn’t even know they were still around. My memory of them from the ’80s was that they sold heavy foundation.

Upon investigation, there was a Merle Norman FIVE MINUTES from our house! Hmmm, surely they wouldn’t be open past 5, I wondered while staring at the clock reading 4:30 while miles and miles from home. Nevertheless, I called, hoping against hope I could rescue my piercing promise.

She answered, could take us at 5:30, as they did not close until 6 pm!!! Great rejoicing was had by us both.

Then little bit turned to me and asked if there would be a lot of tattoos and piercings at Merle Norman. I laughed and said I could guarantee no tattoos at the MN destination. To which she sighed a great sigh of relief, her little face relaxing for the first time since our arrival at 713, and said, “Oh good mommy, I really didn’t want that man piercing my ears. Did you SEE his nails???”

Ha!

Providential intervention!

The lady at Merle Norman was positively delightful. She sat little bit in the high Merle Norman chair for the obligatory before and after shots. And upon looking at their jewelry, they had beautiful little pearl studs EXACTLY as little bit had dreamed.

In talking to our friendly piercer to ease little bit’s fears, she was completely pale and shaking because she is terrified of needles, we heard the best stories. She shared that the oldest woman whose ears she’d ever pierced was 85 years old. The 85 year old, when asked why pierce her ears now, said her husband had always thought pierced ears were for “loose” women and now that her husband had died she was finally able to pierce her ears!

Well that cracked us both up and the first earring went in. Oh, that’s it, that’s not even as bad as a flu shot, she remarked. She visibly relaxed again, stopped shaking, and the second one went in without even a flinch.

Now, of course, we’re three weeks in and she’s totally annoyed at having to treat them every morning and night. But we do it religiously because I know when she’s in her 40s (if she stays away from hoop earrings and babies) she’ll be glad she did it! No infections, thank heavens, and she bounded off to school the next bright birthday morning with her shiny pearl studs!

And now, I promise, back to fashion and parenting and leadership and community posts. Thanks for letting me scrapbook our 10th milestones!

Baseball Birthday Bash

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Last week, I wrote about the momentous decade mark. But I’d ask your indulgence while I scrapbook some big things that happened to celebrate.

Today I’m going to share a little about their 10th baseball birthday bash we held shortly before their birthday and tomorrow I’ll share about little bit’s 10th milestone.

We hadn’t had a BIG all boys and all girls theme birthday party since the trio turned five. We had their third grade friends out to jump at one of those trampoline places last year, an easy and low key party. But otherwise, we hadn’t been hosting big parties. In my mind, the big ones are 5, 10, 16, and 21. Those deserve a BIG BASH!

Well, we brainstormed for weeks and weeks. We thought about a catered pool party but the neighborhood pool won’t let you have more than 50. I know that sounds like a lot, but we are in a small private school with 30 kids in the entire grade. So you either have a couple friends for a sleep over or you invite everyone. And once you’ve got their parents, well, you’re pushing 100. (That’s without family or neighbors!)

We went back and forth until we were all attending a Sugarland Skeeters Game. Just south of Houston, there is a minor league baseball team in Sugarland called the Skeeters, and their home field is this really amazing Constellation Field. It’s never crowded, has easy parking, and in addition to the ballgame, they have splash pads and a playground and plenty of space to run.

That was the ticket! Quite literally. And all three kids were excited about the idea. (You can imagine finding a spot three very different kids agree on is tricky.)

Constellation Field has a fun area called Picnic Plaza where you can watch the game, move around, have a full buffet lunch and non-alcoholic drinks, and it’s adjacent to the areas the kids play. The only hiccup was the cost. How to keep costs down?

We’d wanted to invite whole families but we’d quickly get well over any sort of budget that was an option. So my lovely friend, who’s an etiquette master, helped me come up with the language for the invitation:

In the description below, it said: No all-star travels without their agent, so tickets are provided for each child and a parent. You can add tickets to our “dugout” for other parents and siblings. If you’d like additional tickets for your team, the Vincent box office is open via PayPal for $X a ticket.

This enabled me to stay *somewhat* in a party budget while also letting whole families come if they wanted. I was just talking to a girlfriend of mine who was struggling with what to do when parents asked to bring siblings. Children’s parties are often space-constrained or too expensive to allow additional children at a birthday party, so be honest in your response explaining your limitations.

Bray loves baseball and we all enjoy the Skeeters game because they’re so much more accessible, and affordable, than going to an Astros game downtown. (As much as we love our Astros! Go ‘stros!) All the kids played and this gave us space to spread out and enjoy our friends.

We tried a wonderful new bakery in town, World Catering Bakery, who came recommended for being able to make a cake out of cupcakes. We needed eight dozen. What I didn’t count on was: (1) the boxes were SO huge they would not fit in my refrigerator the night before the party, and (2) it was A THOUSAND degrees in Houston on September 22nd (well, 95, but same), so we had to eat the cupcakes early so they didn’t all melt immediately.

Decorating was fairly easy. We got packs of Big League Chew and put a thank you baseball sticker on the back for take home gifts. We also had baseball hacky sacks and key chains and bubblegum dispensers scattered around on the tables where we were sitting for kids to take back with them, but primarily to mark the tables for our party.

The biggest obstacle was the heat and the prep. We had to sneak in before gates opened at 1 pm (for the 2 pm game), grab the area where we were going to set up, show our photographer around, and be ready when everyone arrived. It was SO hot! We had an hour before the game for the kids to play on the field, to eat lunch, and to serve cupcakes. Then the trio needed to get down to the pitcher’s mound to throw out the first pitch(es) (definitely a highlight of the day).

But of course, shortly after the game started, it began to RAIN! Houston – ugh! So we had a rain delay. And the kids got wet. Most of the adults stayed moderately dry under the canopy.

What happens though once the kids are slightly wet? They say to themselves, why not get MORE wet! There was a small pool inside picnic plaza. I had not brought suits or towels or told any other parents to bring suits and towels because we were there for a BASEBALL GAME!

Well, the kids had other ideas. Eventually, nearly all of them were jumping in. And laughing hysterically. So the parents just threw up their hands and laughed along with them, because if you can’t beat ’em…

The game started back when the rain passed and two of the three agreed to follow the event planner to the dugout so the stadium could sing happy birthday to them. It was so funny because there was another boy celebrating, so on the big screen were Baby A, Baby C and a random kid. Our group was all looking around for little bit – who was still in the pool. I don’t know why I plan!

In the end, we left before the game ended because a second rain hit(!), resulting in a significant one hour rain delay. However, a few hardy souls lasted until that round when we all ran for it in the deluge (along with gifts and party supplies – we trashed the cupcakes).

The kids pronounced it the best birthday ever, and I smiled gleefully all the way home because I don’t have to plan another big birthday party for SIX YEARS! Hoorah!

A Decade of Triplets

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I’m a little late in writing this post.  Maybe because it felt so momentous and I didn’t feel I had momentous words. 

How can I sum up in one little post the past decade and the years leading up to this miraculous decade?

How could I capture the full decade of my yearning to be married with kids but staying stubbornly single despite my searching? 

How do I write about the years of dating between meeting Bray (nearly 16 years ago) and the time we looked at each other on that church alter saying I do?    

How is it possible to share the deepest soul agony we both had in hearing we couldn’t have kids and those years of trying with only failure to show? 

Then. 

The moment that sparked this decade’s long adventure. 

The moment there were two lines.  And I took another test, two more lines.  Then another test, PREGNANT.  (I wouldn’t know the irony of three tests at the time.)

Then Bray walking into our bedroom, where I’d stayed in bed for a week in hope of improving our chances, and him opening a little package.  Inside, a tiny onesie that said My other car seat is on daddy’s tractor.  I can still see his face.  This disbelieving hope of a final yes. 

A nearly 33 week pregnancy, the last six weeks spent in bed, the last two in the hospital.  The decision to take them early to preserve my health when the preeclampsia took hold.  The month in the NICU with three little people and several big scares all while I tried to heal from the emergency C-section.  Taking each one home individually, first the eldest, then the baby, while my heart broke at leaving little bit behind an extra week to recover from an infection.  All came home on monitors and we had the chaos of weeks that followed, another emergency NICU stay, the holidays, my return to work right after the night nanny left.  It’s all a blur.  I don’t know who rolled over first.  Or who sat up first.  I know the eldest climbed out of his bed the first but that wasn’t for another year plus. 

The first year, Bray and I clinging to each other as we worked and parented and did absolutely nothing else because there was no space for anything except for these little people.  They took over.  They grew.  They improved.  They smiled.  The gurgled.  They sat up in little Bumbo seats and had triplet pow-wows. 

The second year, Bray and I tried to figure out how to do “us” in the middle of the hard and exhausting work.  We fought and fell apart and fell back together.  That happened at least three separate times in this decade.  Where we didn’t know how we’d get back to each other and we always did.  God always worked a way for us to get back to each other. 

And these people.  Oh we loved them so much then and we love them so much more now. 

They are so very beautiful.  Their hands that will still hold ours.  Their foreheads we get to kiss after ‘bednight’ prayers.  Their hair that smells like chlorine or sweat or shampoo depending on when we hug them close.  Their eyes that stare into ours – welling with tears when hurt descends and sparkling with laughter when we dance or cook or exchange jokes. 

That first beautiful boy who came out.  Our Baby A.  With his big hands and feet and head, like a Labrador puppy.  Oh he is so persistent.  He works at anything he wants.  He wants to be the very best.  He can suffer crushing disappointment or sadness or self-chastising when he isn’t, but he just keeps working.  That eldest – confident, except when he’s not; bold, except when he’s worried; tenacious and athletic and competitive and loving and utterly kissable and challenging and fascinating and outgoing and passionate and smart and the first one to completely capture my heart. 

Then the lone baby girl.  Baby B.  She was squished right in the middle of the boys but held her own, kicking them in the head on our ultrasound to make herself known, and still doing it today.  She is the most introverted, needing time and self-reflection.  She struggles knowing what a bright and gifted young woman she is becoming, but she remains fierce and loyal and committed and active and kind and generous and adventurous and observant and thrill-seeking and thinking and lovely inside and out.  In her early years, I said she was my cat and the boys were my dogs because she just needed someone to feed her and change her and then she was just fine, thank you very much.  But her independence and desire for peace, while still strong, has abated enough so she loves and cuddles and develops deep friendships. 

Ah, and last, but most certainly not least, came Baby C.  He was the smallest all throughout the pregnancy.  Our doctor even asked us to consider “reducing” our crew when we found out we were pregnant with three.  What a loss the world would have without this bright Baby C.  His lungs were a little underdeveloped at birth which has caused him to struggle some with asthma but you would never know by the way he plays and works.  He will have his heart broken because he will give it away. He is bright and hard-working and diligent and empathetic and curious and loving and observant and also athletic and committed and sensitive. 

We did not make them who they are.  God did.  We get the honor of getting to know them better than everyone else, what an extraordinary gift to know them best, and of raising them to be generous and curious and grateful and seekers of truth and justice. 

We have failed often in this decade.  We will fail in the decade to come.  But they know we love them more than words can say.  They know we will always show up, no matter what.  And they know the five of us are in this thing together, for better or worse, and we will carry each other through the hard and cheer each other through the joy. 

One decade as a family of five.  It seems more than I can even take in.  I am ever so grateful for every single day.