There's something about the south.  Sweet tea and barbeque, firefly filled summer nights...and Cotillion...yes, Cotillion.
​    Being raised in Ohio, I'd never heard of Cotillion until my dear Carolina friend introduced us to it last year.  Our two older boys, Christian and Ethan have taken classes on how not to act like they've grown up in a barn, learning everything from formal table manners, classic dancing and basically everything that goes against burping the entire alphabet in one single try.
​     They had a Winter Ball last year as well, but this time...there was something different. 
​     It all started the same way, I suppose.  Little eye contact occurred between the boys and girls with a constant mile standing between each of them...

    ....but then, things changed a bit.  A new game was introduced this time to encourage the kids to break the ice - and break it - they did.  Looks of terror mixed with disbelief began as each couple was given a ball to place between their foreheads in a competition of sorts, seeing who could last the longest without "dropping the ball".   

    What once was nerves turned into bouts of laughter as the competition gained for the grand prize. 

   Dessert was served, but soon it became time to leave.

    It was an experience to remember I'll keep close to my heart, especially on the days the boys are past the halfway point of the alphabet on one single burp. 
​    It constantly hits me when glimpses of the boys they are now, turn into the men they'll soon become. 
​    Thank you again, Beautiful Cristen for introducing us to such a wonderful experience.  Your Stunning Princess, Lily Kate was truly the Belle of the Ball.  Im so glad our boys will have you  to thank for their southern manners and for that, I'll Love You, Always.     

   I'm not the biggest crier.  Even my best friends could tell you they haven't seen me cry more than 10 times in our lives.  I've been yelled at by coaches, broken bones, given birth...you name it...for whatever reason, I keep it in. 
​   It may be because my Mom's side of the family is very English and very Dutch.  I vividly remember my Grandmother raising me with her words, "Keep your emotions inside and put on a brave face", you know, the whole, 'stiff upper lip' idea.  The only problem with that, is my Dad's side is very Scottish and Irish.  Whether there's any truth to the whole genetics attribute and what your background may be, I have a fire that runs through me that could take the hair off a bear.
​   In any case, for whatever reason, be it genetics or age, the emotional side seems to be getting the better of me. 
​    Take for instance our son.  His top lip has been getting increasingly 'dirtier'.  Not enough to see actual hair or significant growth, just a strange fuzz of dirt.  A grungy, we need to get rid of that, layer of yuck.
     It was time.
​     At first it seemed like fun.  A science experiment of sorts, getting his first razor, shaving cream and towel all ready.  We gathered like spectators to see how he'd do.  It was exciting to see what the before and after would be and our younger kids were freaking out on whether or not he'd nick himself and bleed all over the house. 
​    Then, something shifted.  I wasn't expecting it and have no idea where it came from, but when my husband began the process of explaining what to do, my throat closed and my heart pounded.  He was showing our son, our baby boy how to shave.  The little bundle of sweet smelling, softest skin yumminess we took home from the hospital a minute ago, was standing in front of a mirror with his father, getting ready to cross to another phase in life.       

    I tried to fight it.  Tried to keep it in as the tears began to swell, thinking of his first steps, first day of kindergarten, his first crush...and now...this.
​   "Are you crying?"  My husband looked over as our son awkwardly held his razor ensuring that he would in fact, bleed all over the house.
​   "No, I'm fine.  Just keep going."
​   I wasn't ready.  I didn't prepare myself for how I would feel.  Sure you visualize your kids learning how to drive or graduate from school, but I never imagined the first time our sons would shave. 
   My Dad taught me how to shoot a gun, change the oil, fix a flat, but he never taught me this. 
​    So, I cried.  I wept actually.  When they were done, I went to our room where I crawled into bed in sobs and my husband found me. 
    Confused, he pulled me in his arms and I felt his smile on the top of my head, "So you literally don't shed a tear on our wedding day, but for this?"
​     The bitter sweetness of watching your children grow never ceases to amaze.  Now I'll have one more image, one more picture taken with my heart that will remain...until forever.