Christmas Pictures

Well, they aren't exactly the Christmas pictures you'd expect to see a couple of days after Christmas.

On Thanksgiving, my mom gave all her children, grandchildren, and my dad a 5X7 canvas, paints, brushes, and instructions to return them to her on Christmas painted. No excuses. That's all she wanted for Christmas.

So that's what she got! The Spicer children, for the most part, took her instructions to heart and had a great time painting a canvas. The Spicer mom and dad also took it seriously. At the same time, we all had fun creating our very different paintings.

Anna painted a bridge to a path to a home on a hill.

Alex made golden trees.

I think Dean's started out as two orange houses but turned into a purple polka dotted tree.

Song created an ostrich on the savannah.

Emma's is just like her--sweet.

Ella is holding her lovely abstract work upside down.

Better!

I'm not sure if Vera's abstract work is upside down or not. Pretty sure she doesn't care.

Luke was not going for the paint. He used pencils to create a cool house.

He insisted this is his mug shot.

All good mug shots deserve a side view. Sigh.

It's hard to tell, exactly, but those are clay flowers attached to the canvas.

The clear winner, in terms of artistic beauty and merit, was unanimously awarded to John. He took a picture of part of our landscaping and then painted it (taking many liberties as to the actual beauty of said landscape in its current winter incarnation). He also took shards of rock from our yard and affixed them to the painting in certain spots. It looks really cool. John has not painted anything since junior high school. I think he was as surprised as the rest of us that it turned out so beautifully.

It's hard to see again the background of his shirt, but it was really pretty.

I guess next year we'll have to actually buy NiNi a gift...

The Heroism of Joseph

I have posted this essay by Elizabeth Foss in its entirety on my blog before, but I still love it and thought perhaps some of my adoptive moms might like to see it and share it with their sweet husbands! I post these words again today that so perfectly echo what I've seen in my own husband . John Dee, you are the hero of our amazing family!

I thank my God every time I remember you.

(originally printed: By Elizabeth Foss, Herald Columnist, From the issue of 12/22/05)

My son Christian was searching the bookshelves yesterday, apparently frustrated by the dearth he saw there. Since we have well over 1,000 titles at his disposal, I wondered what was missing.


"There's hardly anything on Joseph here! I understand why we need so many Mary books, but nobody says much about Joseph, you know? And he was a hero … " he trailed off.


A hero indeed. Though I hadn't spoken it, I had been meditating lately about the heroic good of St. Joseph and the Nativity. Commonly, we look at the story of Christmas as a birth story: We have a round-bellied Madonna riding on a donkey until she gets to a cave where animals joyfully welcome a lovely baby. As a mother who has been nine months pregnant during Advent and a mother with a newborn on Christmas Day, it is easy for me to identify with the birth story.


But the Nativity story is also a story of adoption. A strong man heard the call of a God to take into his heart and home a baby that was not his biological child. Against the raised eyebrows of those around him, but because he dearly loved his wife and the God they served, he traveled a great distance. He wasn't sure what he'd find there; to say that the accommodations were less than what he was used to is to understate the case. And then, almost immediately, it was his job to rescue the baby, to save him from grave danger.


Once they were safely at home, he raised the child as his own. He shared the faith of his fathers; he taught him the family trade. Certainly, there were challenges in this family that related to the adoption. This child, at 12, left his foster father for three days to return to the home of his real Father. How many children of adoption have experienced that same restlessness and caused the parents who have rescued them the grief that Mary and Joseph felt while they searched for their child?


St. Joseph was faithful. Perhaps he recognized that we are all children of adoption. We are all broken, disenfranchised, wounded and in grave danger. Our Savior makes us brothers and sisters, heirs to His throne. We become one family of faith, like that little family in Nazareth so many years ago.


For some reason, the Lord has surrounded me by the miracle of adoption. I have seven children. Five of them have godparents who are adoptive parents. Most recently, Christian's godmother welcomed a little boy from Liberia, just in time for Thanksgiving.


When I look at the fathers in these families, I am struck by their courage. Adoptive moms assure me that adoption is rarely ever a man's idea. And it is almost always an idea born of a woman's pain. The sorrowful heart of a mother meets the sorrowful heart of a child and together they begin a new life. But how do they get to "together?" They become a family through the courageous actions of a man who sees the pain of his wife and listens to her as she tells him about the pain of the child. Rarely, do these women beg and plead. Rather, like Mary, they trust God.
They pour out their hearts in prayer and God convicts their husbands. The program director for a Catholic adoption agency assures me that this is not the case of weak, badgered men who cave to whining women. Rather, they are tender, brave men who recognize a mutual need and hear a distinct call.


The father who adopts is strong and faithful. He travels to places like Kazakhstan, Russia, China, Guatemala and even hostile Africa. He saves the baby — often from abject poverty, illness or death. He is the St. Joseph of our times.


There are literally millions of children in this world who need rescuing. We are called in James 1:27 to care for the widows and the orphans. What does that mean exactly? Do we toss a few coins in the poor box or wrap an extra gift at Christmastime or do we take a risk? Are there brave men out there after the heart of St. Joseph who will travel great distances to difficult places to rescue a baby and give it a home all because it's the will of God? It is the will of God.


These are the weakest of us, the poorest, the most defenseless. In this country, we cannot fathom children who scurry along the murky puddles in Haiti scavenging for a few slender fish, only to come up without anything. These children are so malnourished that their hair turns orange and falls out in clumps. There are "dying rooms" in China where children who have cerebral palsy or missing hands or missing ears are left in the dark to starve to death.


And what will become of the children who grow up orphans if we do not have men like St. Joseph in our midst? According to Shaohannah's Hope, a foundation begun by Christian music legend Steven Curtis Chapman, who has adopted three daughters, "Statistics regarding the future prospects for children who emancipate from orphanages, the foster care system, or who grow up as street children are profoundly bleak … . Theft, prostitution, homelessness, substance abuse, incarceration and suicide affect the lives of the vast majority of those children who grow up as orphans and never find permanent, loving homes. In short, orphans by definition are children who for whatever reason have found themselves in need of permanent, safe, and loving families. And for such children, being taken in by a family through the "spirit of adoption" is their greatest need"(http://www.howtoadopt.org/).


They were going to stone the Mother of God. Joseph knew the baby was not conceived by him. He didn't understand it. How could this baby be his to raise? How could he be asked to overcome the opinions of his community, the misgivings of his own mind, and listen to the call upon his soul? Where would he find the courage? How could he possibly provide for the childhood of the child of God Himself? Why couldn't this be simple? Why couldn't he marry Mary and just conceive a baby of his own? Instead, he must set off on a two-year odyssey to distant and hostile lands to bring home a baby that didn't even look like him. And what of the future? This was an extraordinary way to build a family; how could he know what the future held, particularly with a beginning like this?


A hero? He was a hero. He was a strong, courageous, man of faith. And there are men like him today. They are Paul, and Joe, and Mark, and Chuck, and Scott, and Kevin, and Ed. They are ordinary men who are called to extraordinary measures for a humble, helpless child and the love of the woman who becomes the child's mother. They are the men of the Christmas story. God bless them.

Dean is 6!!

My youngest is now 6 years old! Wow! I remember when I never thought my oldest would be 6.

Our second birthday with Dean. His was the only adoption where we missed two birthdays during the process. Thankfully his was our fifth adoption or I might have gone nuts!

Isn't he the cutest little boy?!

Nothing like the Spicer birthday picture, is there? This is one of our better pictures, actually.

Next on the agenda...teach Ella to stop making her 'picture smile.'

I think I should get extra points for sharing a picture of me...first thing in the morning...no makeup...no hair fixing...just enjoying my little boy's JOY in his birthday morning.

For my pacifist British friends, please note that Dean has just opened a NERF gun. I will have to retract a statement about the NERF gun that I made on facebook, however. I said that it shoots foam bullets and therefore couldn't hurt a fly. However, if your big sister Vera shoots your new NERF gun from point-blank range at your eye then you might cry for a few seconds, although I'm still unclear whether the crying was from being shot in the eye or because Vera had stolen his NERF gun.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HUDSON DEAN!!!!

WE LOVE YOU!!!!

We tried!

We tried to cheer our baseball team to victory but alas, it was ultimately in vain.

Vera did the antlers

Anna and Ella did the antlers separately

and together

Even Emma did the antlers, despite never watching an inning

Daddy's antlers were a bit higher than normal

but Dean showed him the proper method

I'm afraid even Dean couldn't help Vera, nor could Emma hide her disdain

It was a good run, a good team, and a good time.

Maybe next year...

Of Baseball and Down syndrome

Vera loves to play baseball. Really, truly, deeply loves to play the game. She's pretty good at it, too. She can hit and throw very well. Her big brother Luke, in fact, made a video of their game of catch last week. The camera was smudged so you'll just have to use your imagination in some parts. The part where she's hitting may make you seasick, as the photographer was on the outside of a hurricane fence and kept moving over the fence parts. Other than that, though, it's perfect!



As I might have mentioned once or twice or a thousand times, we are lucky to have a thriving Angel League baseball team here. Every spring we have a couple of months of games that are so fun to watch. These types of leagues are actually pretty common all over the country, I think. Baseball is a great sport as far as accommodating many different skill levels.

Professional baseball also has a couple of interesting ties to the world of Down syndrome. The unbelievably talented Albert Pujols has an adopted daughter who has Down syndrome. His wife had her daughter prior to meeting Albert and he took both of them as his own. Sports Illustrated had a beautiful story about him last year in their magazine. I think it's worth the time to read the entire article because the story really builds to a magnificent ending that brings me to tears every time I read it.

Another link, much less well-known, between professional baseball and Down syndrome exists with another professional team, last night's winner of the ALCS and soon-to-be first time World Series participants. Their chaplain has three children with Down syndrome: one biological, one adopted from Russia, one adopted from Colombia. I'm not naming any names, but...

Go Team!!

15 years ago

I became a parent for the first time when our much longed-for son, John Lucas Spicer, was born. I couldn't have been happier! I have enjoyed, thoroughly enjoyed, each stage of life with Luke. I can remember when he was young and I thought it just couldn't get any better than a little blond-haired, blue-eyed boy who was calm, interested, happy, smart, affectionate and MINE. Somehow, though, each day gets better than the last because we are getting to make more memories.

In honor of Luke's 15th birthday I thought I would make a list of 15 things I like about Luke (oh, and he also told me he expected a big blog post since I've spent so much time blogging about DS lately!):

1. I like that he's now taller than his parents. John and I are both 5'8" and during this past year Luke has grown to 5'9.5"! I like hugging on that tall son of mine!

2. I like the way he does what he's asked to do. Well, usually. He's very steady and dependable about doing his chores on their appointed days and his schoolwork without being asked.

3. I like his blue eyes.

4.  I like his choice in friends. He gravitates toward friends who are nice, funny, and overall just good to have around. I like that I am not worried about the sort of girl he'll bring home some day to meet his parents.

5. I like the way he always gives his mom and dad a good-night hug. Always.

6. I like the way he makes up games with his siblings. He is exceptionally good at coming up with games that let all my kids have fun, no matter their ability. He is great about encouraging the little ones during these games, too.

7.  I like the way he plays baseball with Vera, both at home and when he helps her during Angel League. What a blessing to Vera to have a big brother who really helps her improve her skills doing something she absolutely loves! The great part is, he loves it just as much as she does.

8. I like the way he always remembers to say 'yes, ma'am' and 'yes, sir' without prompting.

9. I like the way he eats the largest bowl of cereal I have ever seen, every morning.

10. I like the way he makes us laugh. Luke is just like his dad--quick with an off the cuff remark that makes you smile. I love having a kid who is funny.

11. I like the way he makes the most amazing Lego creations. His creativity in these matters always astounds me. He doesn't copy others, make it from directions, or otherwise do anything other than build it from the ground up.



12. I like the way Luke fell in love with baseball. He loves to play the game and is a very smart player. His NiNi always says that he is a student of the game, and that seems to be true. We are all so proud of the hard work he puts into it.

13. I like the way he accepted Alex as his older brother. Granted, his first remark about Alex was, "When is he going back to Russia?" but at least that wasn't his last remark!

14. I like his vocabulary. Weird, I know, but I like fact that he is well-read and that he uses what he's learned in his speech. His father and I are frequently impressed by the depth and breadth of his lexicon (look it up, Luke!).



15. I absolutely love the way he loves his Downsie sisters. I love the way he constantly tries to get hugs and kisses from them. I love the way he loves to interact with them and obviously considers them great fun to have around. I also love the way he treats them just like he does his other siblings if they are being annoying--he realizes they don't need much special treatment. I love the way he carries Ella around, clearly so proud to be her big brother and just happy to be with her.

Happy 15th Birthday, Luke!

Why your church doesn't have special needs children

(10/08/12--I am including some updates, as two years have passed since I originally wrote the post.)

About 90% of families with special needs children are thought to be unchurched. (10/08/12--I have tried to track down the source of this oft-cited statistic and have never found it. Nonetheless, I strongly believe that the percentage of families who attend church with their special needs children is much lower than the percentage of families who attend church and have no special needs children.)

Of the 10% who do go to church, I have to wonder how many are getting their needs, and their children's needs, met. Unfortunately, I ask this out of my personal experience.

Our first unpleasant experience in church came shortly after adopting Vera. I had chosen to put her in a Sunday school class with Anna, who is 10 months younger. I was a helper in the class already, Vera obviously didn't know English, and a preschool class with mom seemed like a better idea than a kindergarten class alone. The situation was ideal and Vera enjoyed her time in church.

A couple of weeks prior to promotion Sunday, however, I received a letter in the mail from the long-time kindergarten Sunday school teacher, outlining the rules for her class. I am not exaggerating when I say that she expected total and complete quiet and obedience from her kindergarteners and those who could not comply would not be welcome. Further, acts of disobedience would result in the entire class being penalized by virtue of beans being removed from the class jar, the filling of which (due to good behavior) would result in a class party.

I was gutted. How on earth could Vera live up to those standards? I knew good and well that if she needed to go to the bathroom, ask a question, make a comment, she would do it exactly when it crossed her mind. Thank God! A child in an orphanage often doesn't do those things because their initiative has been taken away from them. Over the months she had been home she had found her voice. We were still training her to use it appropriately, however, and we certainly weren't there yet. Still aren't, sometimes!

I tried to talk to the teacher and was completely rebuffed. Eventually, the children's minister got wind of what was happening and was outraged on our behalf, not to mention on the behalf of all the other kids in the class! Shortly after this happened we left that church (not really because of that, although it didn't help).

The next church we visited was even worse, if possible. It was very small and the impression we received from day 1 was that children were to be extremely well-behaved because those are the only type of children welcome in a true Christian family. On one of our first visits, we were sitting on the next to back row (the only place we felt safe, frankly) and the person on the back row told John to get Vera under control because she was distracting his perfect children. Vera, for reference, was sitting next to John and stroking his hair. Not speaking, not turning around, just playing with his hair.

Vera's teachers, a childless couple, also did not want her in their class. They tried to act like they did, but these people (and the whole church) were quite serious about the children learning every possible fact before they turned 12 and Vera was not doing that and sometimes even required extra help that took away from the smart kids. I'm not kidding. Learning was everything in this church. Putting into practice what they were learning was not even an afterthought. I've never seen anything like it. Not once did anyone (one sweet family was a wonderful exception) think that they were supposed to minister to the least of these. I can't begin to say how many church services I spent walking Vera and Emma around the outside of the church because they were showing signs of restlessness after an hour-long sermon which would have made a wonderful seminary class because the only application ever offered was to study more.

We've had mixed results at our current church. There are actually many children with special needs that attend the church, and the church has both a severely handicapped class and a Special Friends ministry that finds helpers for those children who need them. Nonetheless, within the last year I took Ella to her class where she promptly sat on the floor and refused to color with the other children. Her teachers looked at me and said, "What are we supposed to do with her?" Not even kidding. Gee, I don't know, how about bend down to her level, speak kindly to her and see what happens. (10/08/12--other than that, Ella has been beautifully accepted by the teachers and children, two of whom have personally shouldered the responsibility for Ella's inclusion in the Sunday school. The sweetness of those two girls humbles me greatly.)

I've gone to pick up Emma from her class and watched her say goodbye to every girl in her all-girls class and watched every girl completely ignore her. Not one said goodbye. Not one teacher acted like they should have said goodbye. I guess rude is completely okay if the object of your rudeness is a sweet girl with Down syndrome. (10/08/12--Song and Anna tell me that the situation has completely reversed in middle school. Emma greets and is greeted by everyone. I should have known that her fetching and friendly personality would win out.)

Can you imagine why 90% of families with special needs children are unchurched? Can you imagine the bravery it takes to even show up some weeks? Honestly, when we have a sick child on Sundays we often have our Downsie girls stay home, too, just to reduce the stress of the parent who is taking the well children to church. The stress isn't from taking them to church; they are usually well-behaved. The problem is just not knowing if they will be accepted or even treated kindly.

My hope, my big, pie-in-the-sky hope, is that Christians would remember that we all have eternal souls. We all need a Savior. Our Savior did not just come for those who can beautifully explain the doctrines of grace, who can eloquently express their hope in a risen Savior, who can expound on the doctrine of the Trinity. He came for Vera, Emma and Ella.

I Corinthians 1:26:31~~Brothers, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him. It is because of him that you are in Christ Jesus, who has become for us wisdom from God—that is, our righteousness, holiness and redemption. Therefore, as it is written: "Let him who boasts boast in the Lord."

Luke 14:12-24~~Then Jesus said to his host, "When you give a luncheon or dinner, do not invite your friends, your brothers or relatives, or your rich neighbors; if you do, they may invite you back and so you will be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed. Although they cannot repay you, you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous."

Anita--a movie review

Recently, John and I were fortunate to attend one of the movies shown during the 14th annual Jewish Film Festival of Dallas. The film, Anita, has won several awards at film festivals. Unfortunately, the film is in Spanish and in my very abbreviated google search I couldn't find a list in English so I could share what those awards are! It was filmed and is set in Buenos Aires, Argentina, and used subtitles because naturally the actors were speaking Spanish.

The star and main character of Anita is the actress Alejandra Manzo who has Down syndrome. Alejandra did an amazing job. She was in almost every scene and I could scarcely look away from her captivating eyes.  The other main characters are Anita's mother and grown brother, as well as the odd assortment of people who look after her--an alcoholic, a Vietnamese family, a bitter nurse and her brother.

I'm getting ahead of myself. An accomplished movie reviewer I am not, but I did love this movie.

It begins with Anita in bed and shows her beautiful mother gently waking her for the day. The love they have for one another is sweetly depicted in that scene and later that night, when after entertaining Anita's brother and his wife, mother and daughter lie down on their twin beds, holding hands across the space as they sing.

The following day, as Anita's mother walks over to the Jewish Center (they are also Jewish) Anita is left to sort items in their stationery store. She turns to put some items on a shelf and, in a startling scene, a bomb detonates in the nearby Jewish Center and also blows their shop to bits. Anita regains consciousness as the scene is still chaotic and she stumbles out on the street where she is quickly put on a bus and taken to a hospital. At the hospital, Anita is treated and, unnoticed, she wanders out, alone.

The remainder of the movie shows Anita trying to get home, trying to communicate, trying to eat, trying to get help. Anita's brother is also shown waiting for news of his mother and sister; he is eventually under the impression that Anita has died.

As the first few minutes unfolded after the bombing, I wasn't sure I would be able to continue watching the film. Anita is dazed, clearly injured and lost; I was inwardly frantic for her, urging someone to help her. (My earliest blog readers may remember this post which explains why.) Fortunately, for most of the rest of the film she is helped by a succession of scarred and hurting people. In them, we find the heart of the movie. Some are selfish, some are angry, some are alternately helpful and resentful but all are moved by Anita. All of them, at certain points, are willing to put their selfishness aside in order to care for her and, eventually, to take steps to give her back to her brother. They were each healed to some degree by their time with Anita.

Shortly after I gave birth to Emma I was given the memoir Expecting Adam, by Martha Beck, which relates the amazing story of her pregnancy with Adam, who has Down syndrome. She writes in the book that she always felt that acts of decency have clustered around her son, Adam. She can't explain why that is, but it always happens: people are happier just for having known him. Anita drives that point home again; she made people do the right thing in spite of themselves by approaching them without guile, without fear, without the judgment they had come to expect in their lives.

I love that. I have felt, from the very start of our journey with Emma, that she brought out a better part of me, sometimes a fiercer part, sometimes a sadder part, but overriding it all, a joyful part. She, and now her sisters, approach me with love, without guile or condemnation, without fear but with absolute trust that I am going to do right by them.

Because of that, nothing on earth would make me want to break their trust. Like no movie I've seen before, Anita captured that love.


I included a trailer from the film, but it is not subtitled and it also includes the very shocking bomb blast. It isn't gory; it just catches you by surprise. I still enjoyed watching it and seeing again how wonderfully the actress played her part. If you do speak Spanish, be warned that obscenities were used overmuch and were very distracting, in our opinion.

Memorial Box Monday--O Canada! part 6

Last week I relayed some of the feelings and details of Emma's birth while we were in Canada. I left out some of the ways that God was evident in the details surrounding her birth, however. I would hate to leave those precious memories out of my account!

As I mentioned in an earlier post about finding just the right house, we knew God placed us in that house in that part of the city because He knew which church we would serve. That became evident fairly early in our time in Calgary. What was not as evident, however, was why He put us in our particular house on our particular street.

Turns out, God had the perfect neighbors across the street. They had eleven children and he was the president of the Catholic university in Calgary. They were quite a bit older than John and me and by the time we met them they were down to having only three children left at home. Their children were our babysitters from time to time, often doing a kind of tag-team among the three teens. Our kids loved all three of them and never seemed to mind the coming and going of their babysitters.

Shortly before we had Emma, John had been talking with these neighbors out on the street and they had graciously volunteered to stay with our kids when I gave birth. We didn't expect to take them up on their offer, however, as my parents were planning to fly up from DFW.

In fact, my parents had reservations to fly in on the Saturday of my due date. That Thursday, I spent the day at the grocery story and Wal-Mart getting things in order for Emma's imminent birth and my parent's imminent arrival! It was a labor-intensive day that put me into false labor so bad at times that I had to stop and breathe. I cooked dinner...still having those infernal Braxton-Hicks contractions. I got into bed...still having those contractions...

That was weird, because in my previous pregnancies the Braxton-Hicks would stop when I stopped moving around. I mentioned to John that maybe those weren't false labor contractions after all. I think he had already come to that conclusion on his own but was too polite to push his opinion on me (or was afraid of having his head ripped from his body...something like that).

Finally, around 11 p.m. we decided we'd better call our neighbors. They quickly ran over. The husband took one look at me and declared I wouldn't be sent home from the hospital in false labor! I guess after 11 births he knew what he was seeing!!

Isn't that just like God? He knew my parents weren't going to make it in time and He had already prepared our neighbors' hearts to volunteer their help. These were trustworthy, good-hearted, God-fearing people whose children were clearly well-adjusted young people. What a huge blessing to have them so near!!

Our 4 children were already asleep for the night so Mrs. Neighbor just crawled in our bed and went to sleep. John and I, of course, went to the hospital for an emergency c-section at 1 a.m. Around 5 a.m. John thought he'd best head home before the kids awakened to a stranger in their house!

As you would imagine, it was just a little awkward to walk into our room and wake up Mrs. Neighbor and tell her that we'd had a girl and, by the way, she has Down syndrome.

This is where it gets good.

One of her grown sons had a boy with Down syndrome as his best friend all through school years and beyond. Not just his friend, his best friend. The first person John had to deliver the news to had nothing but positive things to say. That is so rare! Mostly, new parents whose child has Down syndrome get reactions that are best described as stunned or confused.

Isn't that beautiful? Doesn't it just make you want to praise the Lord for orchestrating our lives right down to the neighbors He gives us in times of trouble? Could He have given us any clearer indication that He was looking out for us and He loved us beyond what we could ever even ask or imagine!

Next week...hmmm...maybe back to financial issues for a bit. It is always good to remember times when God has shown Himself in lean financial times.

Take me out to the ballgame!

Last night, John was able to get a pass for Anna to come along with him to the ballpark. She was able to go with him down to the field and meet a number of the players. John has become friends with the team photographer, who graciously took some pictures of Anna. I love that he used the Hipstamatic app on his iPhone! Such cool pictures!!

First, though, we have mommy's uncool iPhone pic of Anna and Daddy at the office, preparing to leave. She's just a LITTLE bit excited. Actually, she's being cool in the picture but she couldn't stop smiling.

Anna and Daddy with outfielder D.avid M.urphy

Anna with hitting instructor/coach C.lint H.urdle

Anna standing in front of the batting cage on the field!

Anna, Daddy, and utility infielder A.ndres Blanc0

Are you impressed that I knew he was a utility infielder? Don't be...I had to ask my son Luke!

A fun time was had by all, but especially by sweet Anna! Thank you, Daddy, for making my girl's dreams come true!!