Growing

This morning I measured the children’s heights on their last days of 3^rd and 6^th grades.  I backed Grace up to the same growth chart for the same ritual that we’ve followed since she was old enough to stand against the wall unsupported.  This time, however, was different.  This time I caught my breath and fought against a lump in my throat.  This time there was more Grace than there was chart.  In that moment we both stared at each other in absolute shock and confusion, identical looks of “what in the world do we do now” on our faces.  And then, in an instant, it wasn’t my beautiful 12-year-old with the mature face and legs that go on for days staring back at me, but rather the little girl with the white-blond ringlets, freckled checks, and smocked bishop dresses standing there against the wall.  Without even thinking about it I leveled my pen on the top of her head and drew her “last day of 6^th grade” line right. there. on. the. wall.  After all, who really needs a chart.  She’ll always be little to me, and I’ll always, always want to watch her grow.  And I’m going to keep right on marking, even if I have to use a stepladder to get up there!  (and if we ever move, I’m taking that wall with me)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In other news, Cooper backed himself up to the chart and measured exactly the same height that Grace measured on her first day of 5^th grade.  Oh. My. Lord.  He was so proud and got on the bus dreaming of the day he’ll be able to look down on her.  We’re currently accepting donations in order to purchase cattle as this is the only way that we can think of to be able to feed him!  He has thoroughly enjoyed his 3^rd grade year, is enamored with his cute, blond teacher, and is one of the most kind, loving people I know.  I really think that his body has to grow so quickly just to accommodate the size of his big, beautiful heart.  No doubt he’ll surpass the chart one day soon too.  On that day my heart will skip another beat for a split second just before I draw his line right. there. on. the. wall.  (did I mention that if we ever move I’m taking that wall with me?)

 

Grow my babies, grow.  Grow healthy and strong.  Grow wise and wonderful.  Grow compassionate, curious, and confident.  Grow honest and fair.  Grow loyal and loving.  Grow knowing that you are adored, loved more than you can ever imagine.  Grow knowing that you have been Crazy Blessed with so much.  And grow knowing that we are cheering you on every. inch. of. the. way.  (and, not sure if I mentioned it, but, if we ever move I'm taking that wall with me)

If I let myself think about it long enough it’s bittersweet.  We love summertime, but each “last day of school” is one step closer to the “LAST day of school”.  Congratulations to our graduating friends, but for now keep those caps and gowns away from my little people – we’re too busy throwing water balloons at the bus stop, eating ice cream, and opening the pool for the summer to worry about such as that just yet. 

Congratulations teacher friends of mine – dance and wave as those buses roll away. 

Happy Summer all!

 

Here’s to those lazy days . . .

amy

The View from the Top

There are those days that we will always remember.  Those moments that are tattooed onto our brains so vividly that time cannot fade their details.  No doubt you’ve heard someone say, “I remember exactly what I was doing when Kennedy was shot.”  I, for example, remember what I was wearing sitting at my desk at work when we heard news that a plane had crashed into the first tower on September 11, and Michael knows where he stood to watch the breaking news of the Oklahoma City bombing.  We use such events to "mark time", often referencing them as jumping off points to order other events on the timeline of our lives.  What were you doing a year ago today . . . January 4, 2013?  You probably don't remember.  That date may not prove vital to your timeline, but for our family it is one of those tattooed dates that will forever shape our lives. 

 

A year ago today I stood calmly on the front steps of my new home watching the seemingly endless parade of numbered boxes march past me.  Dutifully checking each corresponding number off on my clipboard and gracefully landing boxes in their appropriate destination like a seasoned air traffic controller.  Well, almost.  That’s how it will play out in my made-for-TV movie anyway.  In reality I was teetering on the edge of sanity, NOT using my inside voice, and struggling to keep up as four moving men barked numbers at me as they not so gently escorted our belongings into the various rooms of our home, and I begged them to “PLEASE BE CAREFUL” with the countless boxes I had so carefully marked as “FRAGILE!”. 

I remember that even my eyelashes were tired that night when the truck was finally empty and on its merry way.  I also remember crying myself to sleep that night in the new house that made noises that I wasn’t used to hearing, in the new neighborhood where I didn’t know anyone to borrow a cup of sugar from (not that I needed one, but you never know), in the new city where I had no idea where the post office was, in the new state that had never been “home”.  At that moment I was convinced that this new world of ours would never be Pensacola.  I knew it just as sure as I knew there was broken crystal waiting to be unpacked from the box marked “Kitchen – FRAGILE” that had made it up the stairs into Cooper’s room.

And, I was correct.  Roswell will never be Pensacola.  Tonight when I close my eyes I’ll know it just as sure as I knew it a year ago (and yes, there WAS broken crystal in that box).  Tonight, however, that knowing won’t be full of the same seemingly hopeless sadness that it was a year ago.  Instead it will be a knowing full of a matured appreciation for what was, an immeasurable gratitude for what is, and excited anticipation for what is yet to be.  We bought our first home in Pensacola; our babies were born in Pensacola; we loved our church in Pensacola; we had family in Pensacola; we had friends that we loved in Pensacola.  And you know what?  Moving didn’t change any of that.  We’ll always drive by 1306 East Hernandez Street when we’re in Pensacola; we’ll always point out Sacred Heart Hospital to Grace and Cooper as we tell them the stories of their birthdays; the Cathedral and its school will always hold a special place in our hearts; and our forever friends will be our forever friends no matter our zip code or theirs. 

Roswell will never be Pensacola.  And now, from this side, we’re learning that Pensacola will never be Roswell.  We love our new home.  It FEELS like home.  We’re busy, energized here – exploring, adventuring, learning.  We can feel our little tap roots growing and stretching and reaching deeper and stronger into this red Georgia clay.  We look back and see, without question, our God’s faithful hand in each and every step that brought us to today.  Grace started middle school in Roswell; Cooper had his First Communion in Roswell; we love our church; we’ve made some wonderful new friends; and now I can walk across the street to borrow sugar from Connie if I need to.  They’ll learn to drive in Roswell and graduate high school here.   We’ll apply to colleges and plan weddings and grow this family of ours in Roswell.  We’re a year into making memories here.  No, we’re not “from” here just yet, but just you wait, we will be!

 

I’d be remiss in my reflecting if I went without specifically mentioning the two incredible little people that we’ve been entrusted with. 

I sit in awe of them.  No doubt children move to new places every. single. day.  Children adjust.  Children overcome obstacles.  But let me just tell you this, these children of mine, MY children, well, they did it like ROCKSTARS.  How are Grace and Cooper, you ask?  

Grace is long and lean and fast and determined.  She hates Spanish and loves soccer, is beautiful and bright, makes friends effortlessly, and blushes at the slightest attention.  She’s finding her way through that lovely, confusing, confounding space between child and young lady, and we’re so proud of her. 

 

 

Cooper is kind and loyal and curious and smart.  He loves school and his big sister.  He tends to worry, has a heart so big and wisdom beyond his years.  He’s coming into his own and we’ve so enjoyed watching him fall in love with basketball. 

 

 

They are happy and healthy and amazing.

On New Year’s Eve we climbed a waterfall.  Four hundred and twenty-five steps to the top. 

It was hard.  When I took that first step I had no confidence that I would make it (my thighs had even LESS confidence).  But then the further I got the more determined I became to finish the task I’d started.  Step after step we cheered each other on, the four of us, together.  Some steps were harder than others and several times I just wanted to quit.  But I didn’t.  None of us did.  We made it. . . all the way.  And, WOW!   The view from the top made the climb so worthwhile.  As I struggled to suck in enough oxygen to encourage my vital organs not to give up hope just yet, all I could think was what a fitting end to our first year.  We made it!  Some steps were harder than others, but man let me tell you what, we’re loving the view and thankful for every crazy blessed step that it took to get here.

 Happy Anniversary to Us!

Happy New Year Sweet Friends!

amy