60 years

To anyone who knows my dad, please don't share this with him. I will share it with him at his party next weekend.

 

Dear Dad,

As part of the festivities in celebration of your 60th, we were supposed to think about memories. And, as your oldest daughter, I have too many to count.

But as I was reminiscing today, I kept being drawn to the same idea. I have always known that I was Daddy's little girl, but I never once thought I was daddy's little princess.

Don't get me wrong. I was spoiled. Before the cabbage patch doll even made it to America, I had one. Every Christmas, the tree was overwhelmed by a stack of gifts for each of us. I have been to Italy, France, Switzerland, Czech Republic, cruises, Disney, and so much more.

And I always knew I was loved by my daddy-boy. I knew he was the man that would take care of me and be by my side for each new stage of my life.

But thank God, I never considered that I would be daddy's princess. Princesses are waited on hand and foot and never learn to care for themselves. You taught me hard work and risks. You taught me about how to correctly handle money. You taught me how to stand up for myself in a work environment that you probably could have fixed for me. Because of you, I have never been in debt to anyone except you. Though, as a younger girl this may not have been true, I have never felt entitled to anything. You helped me navigate my way through buying my first home, always keeping me focused on what I could afford, not what I wanted to afford. I am a strong, confident woman. And without the love and guidance of my daddy, that would not have been possible.

At every major milestone, you were there, proud of me. The day you dropped me off at college, I will never forget the tears in your eyes as you kissed me goodbye.

And the big one, my wedding day. You made all my dreams come true. And on that day, I knew I could relax and enjoy because you would handle everything. You honored the people who were important to me, you made everyone feel welcome, and most importantly, you made me feel beautiful. I remember standing with you outside those church doors. Anxious as the music played. I took your arm as you led me toward my husband. I didn't dare look too closely at you.

The sweetest moment of all came when you picked out our dance music. Butterfly kisses. You made me feel so special by keeping it a surprise. I tear up now just thinking about it.

Daddy's little girl. And now, Papa's princesses. Annabelle and Nora will always know they are Papa's princesses. And as it should be. Spoil them. Overdue everything. Let loose and dance. Watching you with my daughters is a gift. They adore you and I know the feeling is mutual.

Of course there are the funny stories that we tell over and over again. Our flight to Prague. The first time you met Joel. The music-guessing game I always failed. How about the time I replaced the cord on my dryer and had to hang up on you?! I'm pretty sure you thought I was dead.

You have navigated some tough times recently, and I have had the chance to see your heart. You are loyal and true. You work hard to ensure that everyone has a voice in our family. Thank you.

But one of the most important lessons I have learned from you, and from mom, is commitment. Your marriage may not always be perfect, but I have never doubted your commitment. As the years have turned into decades, you are still there, navigating life together. Thank you isn't enough for the example you have been to me. In a culture that doesn't honor commitment, I have a solid foundation to build my marriage on. I can't express how much worth this has to me.

The best part? The journey continues. More celebrations are to come. Christmases and birthdays. Vacations and trips to the zoo. Swinging. Eating ice cream and pancakes.

My Dad.

My girls' Papa.

Happy 60th birthday! I love you more than words can express.

Forever Daddy's little brown-eyed girl, Your Kate-Lynn

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Sitting

For the first time in a week, I sat down. I truly sat down.

I leaned my head back, grasped my lukewarm coffee cup in both hands and listened. The sound of pages flipping, the hum of the monitor, and Pandora. I gave myself a short rest. No thoughts of discipline, runny noses, laundry, poopy diapers, or prepping for our next adventure.

I closed my eyes. My daughter, my beloved 2 year old, was quiet. She was mumbling the words to her favorite books, but she was quiet.  No "help me, Mom". No "No, Mama". No tears. No direct defiance. She was doing the activity that had sustained us since the baby was born, but the activity she had neglected in recent weeks.

With her brown bucket to her right, the pile of books on her left kept growing as she paged through each one.

I knew there was snot running down her face, and I knew that pile of books was a battle of wills about to happen, but I sat in the quietness for as long as I could.

Moments later, she emerged, face as I assumed it would be, smelling a little rank, carrying a fly swatter. But I did my best to focus on her eyes. They are beautiful. She is beautiful.

As a friend of mine reminded me recently, "This is all developmentally appropriate. We are helping them to become secure, independent little people."

And on days that I have hard time remembering that, God's grace is sufficient. Even for me.