Daddy

Earlier this week I chatted with my students about an upcoming awards ceremony at school.  They were excited, talking eagerly about what they’d wear and what food would be served afterward.  I agreed with them that I too was excited and looking forward to it.  One of my girls said, “I’m excited because my dad is coming, Ms. Dulion, are you excited because your dad is coming too?”  I smiled and explained that no, my daddy wouldn’t be there but that I looked forward to meeting hers.  What I didn’t tell her was this . . . If I needed him to be there, if I called and asked him to come, and probably, truth be told, if I casually mentioned that it was something important to me, he absolutely would be there – every single time, without question.

A girl never forgets the first man who makes her feel beautiful and loved and cherished and adored.  That’s my Daddy – my very first love and my forever hero.  He set a ridiculously high bar for anyone who dared follow him.  His birthday is today.  My eyes, they’re his – I see him there when I look in the mirror.  My Cooper, I see so much of Daddy in him – from the way he folds his hands together to how big he feels things.  And our eyes?  Coop has them too.  

I hope that we share more than just his eyes – Daddy is steadfast and loyal and kind and giving.  He’s fiercely protective and cannot stand injustice.  He’s often quiet, introspective, and he prefers time with “his people” to that spent in the bustle of a crowd.  He’s happiest at home, the home that he built.  He loves you well and delights in giving gifts (I don’t know that I’ve ever received a flower that made me happier than the “big girl” corsages my daddy used to get me on Easter Sunday).  And there is just nothing better than seeing him get tickled about something and literally laughing until he can’t breathe.  Watching him be a “Papa” to my children makes my heart sing – when I watch him, watching them so proud and absolutely full of love, it’s easy to imagine him watching me exactly that way so many years ago.  And my Mama, gosh! does he love that woman. 

I can distinctly remember being a teenager at Wiregrass Commons Mall and DYING in mortification when Daddy wanted me to hold his hand walking IN THE MALL.  The horror!  What if someone saw me?!  How embarrassing.  How completely uncool. . .   I wish I could talk to that silly girl now.  I’d tell her to hold onto that hand just as often and for as long as she possibly could.  To soak in every bit of that love.  To memorize how those stubby fingers felt holding mine – safe and strong and sure.  I’d make sure she knew that she just had no idea what a gift she was given in that daddy of hers. Today is his birthday.  He deserves to be celebrated today and every. single. day.  I won’t make it home to see him today, but if I did, we’d walk around the mall, holding hands.  Happy, happy birthday, Daddy; I’m so glad you’re mine. 

I'm Right Here, Baby Boy

I couldn’t tell you the content of the story that he was telling, only that he was animated in its delivery.  I was too captivated by the storyteller to be bothered by the specifics of his telling.  Watching him from the corner of my eye it is almost impossible to reconcile the young man next to me with the baby boy who sat strapped in a carseat behind me not so very long ago.   When did his chin grow pointy, chiseled?  Those big hands he’s gesturing with?  They used to fit so snugly in mine.  And his voice!  Somehow it comes from down deeper now, rumbly and rich.  But I can still hear my baby coming across his monitor, using it like a walkie-talkie.  Summoning me with a sweet, simple “Mommy?”.  Turning the corner into his room and seeing that sweet, smiling face waiting for me to rescue him from the confines of his crib – it took my breath away every. single. time. . . “I’m right here, baby boy.”  And just like then, sitting beside him now, in absolute awe of the gift that he is, he still takes my breath away. 

By the time we’re in the car bound for school each morning, his sleepy mind is waking, and he’s reviewing his day.  Making plans, remembering, wondering, maybe a little scheming.  He tells me things on these journeys we share.  I get brief, precious glimpses into his heart.  He feels things so big.  He wonders and worries – he always has.  And he is, at his very core, so very kind and pure and everything that is good and right in this world.  He has my undivided attention, and he revels in it.  He asks what I think, and actually listens when I answer him.   I work hard to make him laugh, just so I can hear him.  His eyes twinkle and roll heavenward when he tells me I’m “weird”, and I love it. 

These morning school rides together, just he and me, are precious gifts.  And I am all too aware that they are fleeting.  Soon he’ll feel more comfortable running these things by his buddies, and then eventually, he’ll talk with “her” instead.  And that is exactly as it should be.  But for now, I’m going to soak him in. Maybe drive a little slower, miss that green light on purpose every now and again.   For now, for always, “I’m right here, baby boy”. 

Happy 13^th birthday, my Cooper.  Question what you’re not absolutely certain about.  Wonder if things should be different/could be better, and then go to work to make it so.  Be a voice for someone who is just too weary to speak for himself.  Go ahead, give them the shirt off of your back, we’ll get you a new one.  Dream big - not getting there is ok; not trying is not.  Treat her like a lady – ALL hers.   Don’t be afraid to be still and quiet.  Keep moving forward.  Look for things that make you feel “in awe”.  When in doubt, don’t post it, snap it, say it, or tweet it.  Be kind.  There are far too many words in the English language to waste time using the foul ones.    Have faith – you can’t see the oxygen you’re breathing, but it is most certainly there.  And when it, whatever “it” is, gets hard, when it’s just too much . . . I’m right here, baby boy.

More than you’ll ever know,

Mommy

Be kind. Be you. Love Jesus.

Grace,

Last night we sat around the kitchen table and celebrated you.  No big hoorah, no bells and whistles, just us – Dulion, party of 4.   It was one of those memories that I will hold close, pulling it out and savoring it over and over during those times, not too far down the road now, when our party of 4 finds itself spread a bit further than the closeness of our kitchen table.  How in the world are you 14?  We must have asked that 100 times as we sat and talked and laughed and remembered.  Those memories are my treasures.  I love the fact that you enjoy looking at our photo albums – one day you’ll know what it feels like to look back at treasured memories, at your beautiful babies, at sweet, sweet time passing quickly by and have your heart squeeze tight and your eyes sting as you wish so hard that life came with a rewind button.

In awe of you then.  In awe of you still.

You, my Grace, are exquisite.  You are strong-willed and stubborn and kind and loyal and beautiful and funny and passionate and fierce and spirited and determined and just absolutely . . . magical.  You have this SPARK, Grace.  There’s just no other way to describe it.  I see it best in those moments when you are truly happy – oh, that shared-too-rarely genuine smile that shows your dimples (the only evidence that you are my child that actually found its way onto your face) and makes your eyes twinkle.  I see it when you love your brother so big, when you dance with the same abandon as your Granddaddy, when you introduce yourself and talk to new acquaintances like they’re long-lost friends, when you interact with little children, when you finally figure something out or think you know a secret, when you take off and run as fast as you can, when you find something really funny, when you stride confidently onto a basketball court, when you wrestle with Daddy, when you work hard and reach a goal.  You, Grace, you SPARKLE. 

I just finished a really good book – the author’s name is Jen Hatmaker, and I’m pretty sure that if I met her, she’d sparkle a lot like you.  In her book she gives this advice to her children:

“Be kind.

  Be you.

  Love Jesus.”

That’s it.  The holy grail.  While I’d love to impart my own life-changing parental wisdom to my first-born on her 14^th birthday, well, sometimes someone has already said it better than you ever could.  I just don’t think I can do much better than that.  So, my precious girl, my undeserved gift, my Grace . . .

Be Kind – more than you have to; even when you don’t have to; especially when you don’t want to; abundantly to those who others forget to

Be You – you are enough; you sparkle; you are an answer to my prayers, my Amazing Grace; you are WONDERFULLY made; you are Anna Grace Dulion - daughter of Amy and Michael, Cooper’s big sister, my heart’s joy and my precious gift

Love Jesus – when everything else gets confusing (and it will); when you question and doubt (and you will); when it is hard to be kind and even harder to be you

Happy 14th birthday my Grace!  I can't wait to see what's next . . .

More than you’ll ever know,

Mommy

It Feels Like Christmas

Blogging tonight is approximately number 452 on my current “To Do” list, and yet here I sit all because of a simple phone call from my boy that has stopped me in my “hustle and bustle” tracks. . .

On my way home this afternoon I called Cooper to let him know that I was stopping by the grocery store. As always I asked if he needed (wanted) anything while I was there anticipating a Gatorade or KitKat craving.  “Cheez-Its”, he said quickly.  Odd.  “Cheez-Its, that’s all?”  Yep, that was all. 

This evening I walked through the kitchen and noticed the unopened box still sitting on the counter.  I mentioned to Cooper that he’d forgotten to eat his snack.  “Well, about that . . . “  And there is was.  It all tumbled out of that big heart of his and laid there in a beautiful heap at my feet:  “Mommy, I’m sorry that I didn’t say so, but those aren’t for me.  I know I should have told you, and I know we’ve already spent the money and gotten things for my Secret Snowman, but you see, there’s this guy in my class, he’s so nice – a really good guy – I don’t know why, but his Secret Snowman hasn’t gotten him anything.  He’s the only one in the class.  I know he likes Cheez-Its, and I thought since you were going to the store anyway . . . “

Just like that, it feels like Christmas.

Let every heart prepare Him room. 

Slow down, my sweet friends.  Be careful to notice those dear ones who the Secret Snowman forgot.  Take a minute to love them; love them SO BIG.  It doesn’t need to be showy or glamorous or time-consuming or expensive; sometimes pure, sweet, beautiful love looks just like a box of Cheez-Its. 

I love you all,

Amy

I Live You

The touch screen keyboard on my phone is my nemesis.  We have a love/hate relationship, and because of that you may at some point receive a text from me that looks something like this:  “How ark you?  Hoope eventhings ark o.j.!”  Fear not!  I am not drunk.  I just, apparently, have abnormally bulbous fingers that no mere touch screen can accommodate. 

My baby boy turned 10 today.  The reality that we are on the downside of these precious first 17 years that are wholly mine has hit me like a ton of bricks.  One of my common texting errors is my habit of telling others that I “live” them – darn these clumsy, sausage fingers.  This week with Coop’s looming “double digits” weighing heavy on my mind, I typed it yet again – I live you – for what was probably the 2000th time.  This time though, for whatever reason, I didn't immediately correct it.  I just stared at it there on the screen, "I live you".  And then it hit me . . .

1.26.15

Cooper,

I live you.  No, that’s no typo.  I’ve figured out what makes this letting you grow up thing so hard, and it’s all because I LIVE you.  Oh, I LOVE a lot of people – family members, friends, the bagger at Kroger who puts all of my cold things in the same bag together . . .   But you and Grace, you two, it goes beyond simply loving you – I live you.  We’re a team, you and I.  You grew IN MY BODY.  My DNA is in your every cell (as is evidenced by your brown eyes and love for bread products and all simple carbohydrates).  You are, sweet boy, a piece of my heart walking around outside of my body, and I live you.  The truth is that I have lived you from the moment you came into being.  The very thought of you filled an empty spot that I didn’t even know was there, and from that moment I dreamed of you and your wonderful, beautiful life.  I swallowed HUGE folic acid pills and vitamins so that your brain would develop perfectly; I didn’t color my hair; I held my breath around second-hand smoke; I DIDN’T DRINK CAFFINE – I lived you. 

And then, when you were finally here, I stood over your crib and obsessively watched your chest rise and fall.  Not even realizing that I was holding my own breath waiting for yours – I lived you.  I smelled your head and cried with the knowledge that it wouldn’t always smell that way and with the fear that I might forget how it smelled (I haven’t) – I lived you.   At each and every milestone I was there, your biggest cheerleader (don’t tell Daddy I said that).  And I have felt physical pain with each and every boo-boo.  And now, when friends are unkind or life disappoints you or you disappoint yourself, my heart hurts with yours.  And when you shine – and boy, Cooper, can you ever shine – sometimes I think my heart will just explode from being so completely proud.  You see, I live you.  We’re a team, you and I.

I still watch you sleep, and in those moments when you are still and beautiful and mine, I touch your face, and I pray just like I always have and just like I always will.  Asking Jesus to guard your precious heart and mind and to reign mightily over every cell of your body keeping you healthy and strong.  Cooper, He lives you too – even more than me.  You were His first. 

When we found out that you were a boy your Mimi repeatedly stressed to me the fact that you “have to raise boys differently than girls”.  She was right, but not in the way that she thought she was.  I won’t ever push you down and then rub dirt in your scraped knee because you are a boy and need to be tough.  I’ll help you up and hold you through the hurt because you are a boy and need to know that it’s o.k. to need comforting sometimes.  I won’t let you be reckless and wild because you are a boy and sometimes you just need to learn the hard way.  I’ll teach you to be cautious and reserved because you are a boy and these things don’t always come naturally.  I won’t tolerate you solely focusing on a girl’s outward appearance because you’re a boy and that’s just what boys do.  I’ll teach you to value women based on the content of their character and to treat their hearts tenderly, because you are a boy and somewhere out there is a little girl who is going to need you to know how to do that.  You won’t always like it, but I’ll make sure that I’m doing all that I can to make you the very best Cooper that you can be because today you’re a boy, you’re MY boy.  We’re a team, you and me, but one day far too soon someone else will capture your heart.  It breaks mine a little just to think about it, and yet I know that it’s exactly as it should be.  And I’ll be sure that you’re ready for her.  That’s my job, because I live you. 

This week we talked about decimals as we waited in car line, and then you kissed me before you got out to start your day.  I watched you as you hurried to the door, anxious to be the first Green Team member signed in so that you could get the best hallway.  But then it happened, despite your hurry.  It took mere seconds.  No one else noticed it, but I did.  You stopped at the door, held it open, and glanced over your shoulder to make sure there was no one behind you before letting the door swing closed.  That heart for others wouldn’t dare let it close on someone, wouldn’t dream of not holding it open for the next person.  “There he is!!”  “That’s my boy!!”  “That’s what I’m talking about!!”  You didn’t hear it, but your cheering section went WILD.  It just took a glance over your shoulder to make my heart swell.  Why?  Because I live you.  And when you shine, I feel it with every fiber of my being.

Happy, Happy Birthday, Sweet Boy!  How lucky I am to live you – every single precious moment of you.

More than you’ll ever know,

Mommy

                                                                          

                                                                          

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