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.

    It's already the end of January with 11 months to go.  It seems the older I get, the faster time flies. 
​     I didn't make a resolution this year, but I saw one idea I loved from a friend back home in Ohio.  Her name is Amy and she's wicked smart.  She runs races, travels the world, lives life to the fullest, all while enjoying a visit to our ridiculously amazing ice cream shop, Graeter's. 
​     Amy posted this picture, giving nod to her friend, Abby who gave her the idea...  

   You may have heard of the concept before, but how great is this?  To take experiences and write them down, putting them in one place, creating a year of memories to review and reminisce. 
​   It doesn't have to be fancy.  Notebook paper in a cup would do, or in my case...sticky notes in my pocket book...the point is, to write good times down with the date, allowing you to smile as you think back on them at the end of your year.
​   Thank you for posting this idea, Amy.  I pray you always have a full jar.  I look forward to remembering the good in this crazy thing called life...and I hope one day, one of my sticky notes will be lucky enough to read how I was able to share a bowl of Graeter's ice cream with you! XO 

    Today was the third day  of having no school.  I smiled when somebody said, "Snowdays  are God's little way of telling teachers, He Loves them".
​    We ended up getting more ice than snow, but the kids didn't seem to  mind. 
​    They were able to spend time outside with their friends, allowing for a much needed break from the  hustle and bustle of life.
​    It's been nice to have to slow down for awhile...even if it will  only  last for just a minute or so... 

      There's something about being a northerner living in the south when it comes to the chance of snow.  If you're new to this area, let me fill you in on a few tips.
      First off, even before the first flake falls, your eyes will widen when you drive on any road as the crazed look of people pass you by down white streaks paved in brine.
    Grocery store parking lots will buzz with the energy of  ten thousand bees while cars hurriedly push and shove for one hint of an empty spot.
   Shopping carts (or as they're called down here, 'buggys') become more precious than jewels while consumers search frantically in spite of themselves.
    And the shopping...Lord help us...the shopping.  You will literally see the whites of peoples knuckles as they take corners on no more than two wheels for that coveted gallon of  dairy gold. 
      I started a new job this year.  I literally didn't think I could love it anymore than I did before today, but believe it or not, it actually got better.
    As a speech therapist, I've worked in the medical field for years now.  Snow, hurricanes, holidays...these things didn't matter  when it came to seeing patients.  They were there waiting for you, so you needed to make sure they were taken care of.
    This year though?  I took a job in the school system. I've not only had days off for holidays, today I had to stop myself from crying just a little bit when they announced  there'd be an early release today due to inclement weather.  
    Inclement weather.
    Coming from Ohio, I remember standing at the bus stop in the fourth grade for 30 minutes in snow up to my hips with our inclement weather - and we're getting out of school early for a chance of snow?  Did I mention it was in the 40's and hadn't even flurried yet?
        You're going to love this place.
         So, here we are and if you're like us, it's nighttime, we're in our pajamas which are inside out and backwards and we're doing snow dances in hopes of getting the white stuff.
     It started raining a little, but there's still no sign of anything else.  As crazy as people in the south might think it is, I miss the winter.  I miss snow covered trees and sledding down hills -  sparkly snowmen and solidly built forts - and I hope our kids will get to enjoy a piece of that magic, if only for one day.
     I hope you can agree, as wild as it is to be a northerner in the south during that rarity of a snowfall, it certainly is something to behold. 
     And one last thing...as long as you stay off the roads and out of Harris Teeter no matter what happens, you're going to be just fine.  I promise.

    When Christmas Eve comes around, we travel to my parent's church where there's a beautiful service each year. 
     During that time, kids are welcome to join in the Nativity scene which never fails to disappoint...and always pulls at your heart. 
     This year was no exception.
    We watched as the little smiles and robes shone from under that special star and remembered years past with fondness, while marveling at how quickly time seems to be passing.
    It was only a minute ago when our youngest tried to pick up and hold the 'baby' during the service while I sat mortified without being able to stop her.  She pulled straws of hay from the manger, one by one while handing them to Shepherds,  Wise Men, Mary and Joseph as I sank deeper into my seat.

     As a parent, even though you wish you could stop it, you also know it would be too distracting to be worth the try. 
    This year was different though.  The kids were older, they all took their places and now it was adorable to see the younger ones join in the group.

      No one tried to pull baby Jesus from the manger and everyone played their parts well.
    It made me realize, not only should I have not been embarrassed when our little one so happily took part in years past, I should've cherished it. 
     She took joy in getting to be an angel, joy in getting to love the little baby...and yes...even joy in handing out straws of hay.
       There's something to be said about that, especially during this time of year.  It isn't about what we get this Christmas, but instead what we receive when we give our hearts and genuine love...especially to that little Baby in a manger.
     Merry Christmas to You and Yours!  May your New Year be filled with loads of hay, Joy and Love. XO

    My dad loves history.  I don't mean like, an average love of history, I mean the kind of love that takes his family to every historical site this side of the Mississippi. 
     He not only taught history in our high school for years, he spent his summers carting us around to battle sites and monuments, each one more painfully boring than the last.
​    My big brother and I endured vacations on end, dyyyyying in the back of the car with no electronics or (wait for it) cell phones.
​     I'll never forget how when we'd finally arrive, dad would jump out as though we'd found a pot of gold, then marvel at vast fields of varying shades of green, beholding their glory with visions of the North and South, combusting at that very spot.
     "Ummmm, Dad?"
     "Yes, Hon.  Can you see it?  Can you see what happened here?  The Confederates came in from this side, while the Union came from over there..."
​      "Yeah, um, Dad?  It's grass.  It's still a lot of grass, like the last place.  You think maybe we could go to Disney World next summer like our normal friends?"
      He'd have none of that.  I spent my years growing up at pretty much every historical sight from the Liberty Bell to Gettysburg. 
    You can imagine then, when I met my husband. I learned he had gone to the Air Force Academy but didn't associate that with a preference towards miserable summers.   He was the cutest and smartest thing I'd ever seen...but then...he dropped the bomb.
    "I was a history major."
   "I'm sorry, what?"
     I had to stop myself from screaming for the hills.  How could this dream come true come equipped with a potential nightmare?
   Amidst my fears, we were married and didn't see one single historical site on our honeymoon. 
         It was a good sign.
     Years and four kids later,  we decided to take  a trip to Williamsburg, Virginia at Christmastime.  It's unbelievably gorgeous this time of year despite the fact that  it was one of my stomping grounds  growing up -  no kidding, we legitimately had a family Thanksgiving gathering there, feasting with our cousins not on turkey and mashed potatoes, but picking at unfamiliar foods from hundreds of years ago.  
      Neverminding that, Adam and I walked through the streets, pointing out features of the days of old.  Adam sprinkled in history lessons of our forefathers while I marveled at period dresses and clothes.

      I found myself educating the kids on how hard it was to live back then.  Everything was a chore from sun up to nightfall and how the kids couldn't imagine the difficulties people endured.
    Covering my mouth, I gasped as Adam let out a chuckle at how much I sounded like my dad.  It was as though he was right there, walking just beside us.

     History lessons aside, the kids screamed when they saw Santa and the outdoor ice skating rink, making my heart glad they seemed to be enjoying their time.

        Then, late in the day and needing to find a restroom, we ventured into the old William and Mary bookstore.  This is when my cute, history major husband inwardly screamed louder than the kids just had for Kris Kringle. 
    Sitting with his Beautiful wife, was none other than Newt Gingrich.  Adam stopped cold and grabbed my arm.  "Are you seeing this?  Newt Gingrich is sitting right there.  He's right there!" 
       He and his wife were there for a book signing, but I think in my husband's eyes, they were only there to  exist with the unicorns  and rainbows dancing above their heads.
     I think his words exactly were, "If Brad Pitt were five feet in front of you, would you not be freaking out right now?"
       When he put it that way, I understood.
    Remembering we had four kids squirming to go to the bathroom, we walked by only to find the line to meet Newt Gingrich was closing.
    "Go. Buy his book and get in line.  You'll kick yourself if you don't."
   "Mom, I gotta go!"  The pull of my coat stopped the discussion short as Adam questioned whether to wait at the end of in the eternal line or get in and out of the store with four relieved kids.
   "GO.  I have them, just go!  They might not even let you  in by now."
    They did.  Adam stood in line like a kid in a candy store and finally had his turn.  We joined him and I was pleasantly surprised at how tremendously gracious and fantastic Newt Gingrich and his fabulous wife  both were.  As wonderful as they could've been and very conversational, they also allowed us to snap a few shots before we left.

         Turning to leave, Adam floated on air, smiling in disbelief.  It wasn't until our daughter asked why we took pictures with them and questioned if they were friends of Grammie and Papa's, did he snap back into reality with a laugh.
     The kids were happy.  My history loving husband was beyond happy and dare I say it, a trip that had nothing to do with rides or cotton candy was one of  the best times we'd ever had.  There just might be something to this history thing after all.
       Thanks for all the adventures, Dad.

    Hatchimal, oh Hatchimal, how I loathe thee so.  I despise the countless hours I've spent seeking your face and your bug-eyed, furry stare. 
​    Hatchimal, oh Hatchimal, you incessantly taunt us with your ways.  Every hour we beseech thee to no avail, all while questioning the insanity of your existance and why we partake in thine madness.
​    Hatchimal, oh Hatchimal, I hesitate to recall such seething over your kind.  Not since the days of my youth, when slugfests inccured between shoppers over your ancestor...the Cabbage Patch Kid.
​    Yet here you are, Hatchimal, with your maniacal grin on every ad, nook and cranny reminding children everywhere how you must be had this Christmas morn.
​    Hatchimal, oh Hatchimal, I officially end this relentless quest.  No longer can I waste days or nights in search of you.  Your nonexistance has taken me to my knees and I declare defeat.  My only resolve is in knowing you wouldn't last a day in our house once the intrigue of your hatching is lost on thine youth.
​    And for that, I must bid you adieu, oh Hatchimal, you annoying, pesky, ball of fur.  Fair-the-well until next year, when I pass you by on the shelves as you sit with twenty of your friends at half price while I kick myself for devoting such an irreversible amount of energy into never finding you this Christmas. 
​    Yes, parting is such sweet sorrow, Hatchimal, however you and I were simply not meant to be, but in our saddened farewell, might I implore of you one final request? Please, give my kindest regards to your long lost cousin, the Nintendo.      

   Our daughter wasn't supposed to be here.  She was our fourth and final pregnancy within five years and the doctors began to worry it was too much on my heart.  They called it "Pregnancy Related Cardiomyopathy," and told me several times I had to terminate the pregnancy before it was too late.
   They weren't  exceptionally  thrilled when I refused. 
   The journey became one of specialists and cardiologists, until the day she was born, perfectly healthy for both of us.
   When the nurse placed our only bundle of pink in our arms however, I'd envisioned things very differently.  Painted fingernails and hair bows, figure skating and ballet...were altered once her three older brothers took over.  Growing up in a house of footballs and cleats, left little room for tea parties and baby dolls. 
  Don't get me wrong, I'm happy our seven year old daughter has a mean curve ball, thrilled even...but it wasn't until my  best friend from home called me out, reminding me how it wasn't fair Lauren Elizabeth had been to more football practices, baseball, basketball, etc. for her brothers -  while having nothing individually for herself.
  Then, the unicorn came along. 
   A friend from North Carolina with four boys messaged me with the information regarding a unicorn photo shoot.  At first I thought she was kidding, until she said if she had a girl, she'd do it in a heartbeat.
     A unicorn?  Yes.  A "real" live unicorn with a tea party and the whole nine yards.
   I didn't know how Lauren would take it, and was surprised at her blood curdling scream throughout the house. 
    "YES!!!  A UNICORN?!  YEEEEEES!!!"
    She didn't realize it was a photo shoot - she wouldn't have cared - and we didn't realize the grandness of it either.
     Hair, make-up, wardrobe...it was a day of pampering, even though she wouldn't wear so much as a stitch of lip gloss on her face.
    When the time arrived for us to meet, "Teapot" the unicorn, you'd have thought we ventured beyond the North Pole.  Her eyes widened and her mouth gaped, only to release a tiny squeal of excitement. 
    My husband's brows rose and even our boys' heads tilted to the side, wondering how they made it look so real. 
    "Unicorns aren't real, are they, mom?" One of them whispered, and I smiled back, "I don't know, Buddy.  That looks pretty real to me."
     Our daughter, the one who shoots basketball with her brothers in the driveway and jumps on top of every WWF wrestling pile in the living room, floated to a magical dream of fairies while we watched  the rest of  the world disappear. 
    The pictures didn't matter at that point.  As phenomenal as the photographer and staff were, we had more fun watching her  filled  with wonder and joy.  She loved petting the soft nose and talking to 'Teapot' as though she'd waited her whole life just to meet him.
     For days she went on and on about her time with a unicorn and I genuinely began to wonder when the phone call from school would come regarding her perseveration of delusional  unicorn tea parties.
   It's been weeks since that day, and the photographer let us know she had her shots ready.  
    Sitting in my office at work, a slight smile crossed my face with the memory of the day, but when I opened the pictures it quickly turned into something else.  
    I cried, no, I wept as I flipped through the photos.  I couldn't believe what the photographer had done or how she turned such a magical experience, into a literal keepsake.  She captured the wonder  of our daughter and somehow  relayed it into reality.   Her work  was the result of exactly how it felt during the encounter and I marveled at her expression.

     It was a gentle reminder that even though she wasn't supposed to be, God had different plans and His plans are perfect in every way. 
   I'm grateful for my friends back home in Ohio who often nudge us in the right direction, as well as for the girls in Carolina who introduce us to new adventures. 
    Whether we understand the process or journey we take in this thing called life, it's always nice to be reminded of the ones you love, cherishing both family and friends along the way. 
    And if by chance you sprinkle that life with magical days filled with unicorns every once in awhile, well, you can't ask for much better than that.
  THANK YOU to Valerie at Myrtle Beach Click-It Photography for the Outstanding Pictures!  You're a Real Life Fairy Godmother!  :)
You can contact Valerie and her company at 843.877.3033 and visit her website at: 
http://www.mbclickitphotography.com/unicorn-photoshoots.html
 Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/MyrtleBeachPhotographerPhotographyAddict/

Dear Coach,
​    You don't know our son.  The season's over, our last game done...and the countless hours you've spent with your team have provided a winning season.
    For us though, it's more than that.
​    You see, what you don't know, is just how much he never wanted to play.  I'm sure you saw the signs, even from day one, but the reason why might surprise you.
​    When he was nine, he entered the world of recreational football.  We found what we thought was a great program, but based on weight and size, Christian was placed on an older team.  A team that had been together for a few years and had a coach that wanted one thing...to win. 
​     The foundation of our son's concept of sports - primarily football - was rooted in this man's theories and behavior towards his players and team.  The coach didn't want younger kids and he especially didn't want inexperience, so he targeted the weak, grabbing their face masks, screaming how they would never win a game with them on board.  He would line the older players up against the younger, yelling for them to hit the boys harder in hopes they would eventually quit. 
​     By the end of the first week, Christian was covered in bruises.  His shoulders, arms, thighs.  He began to shut down in the car each night on the way to practice and fight tears on the way home.  It fundamentally shaped the way he felt about the game.
​     Our boys have never played for that team again and between then and now, Christian's had much better experiences with football with some exceptional coaches to help repair the past.
     But then came you.
​     You were our introduction to a sports program at our school and I'll never forget one of the first things we heard you say.  You began with how this was middle school and you were here to teach the fundamentals of the game, as opposed to the fundamental need to win...but win you did. 
​     Game after game, following each victory, the approach you took with your players and your team began to change him.  The worry in our son began to fade and a trust started to form.  My husband and I became wide eyed as he volitionally prepared his uniform the night before his games and packed his practice clothes each week without complaint. 
​     We knew just how different things were around mid-season when we had something which would've prevented him from going to practice, when Christian bargained, stating he could work it out, but didn't want to miss.
​     He enjoyed football for the first time.  The environment you created.  The team you built and the genuine compassion for your players was felt, both by our son and by us.
​     The positive memories you've created will stay with him forever and as a parent, that's one of the greatest gifts on earth.
​     So, as I said...you don't know our son.  You don't know how he stands a little taller, smiles a little bigger and feels so much prouder to be a part of his school, his team, your team, and you'll never know how much that means to us. 
​     Thank you more than words, Coach.  He'll carry this year and you with him throughout his life.