Roll Tide, baby girl.

I used to write a lot about Anna Beth. She is my first child, so by virtue of inexperience, the newness of even the most mundane happenings would inspire me to sit down and peck out story after story. I wrote about how she “cooed” and rolled over; how she slept with her arms above her head, like the models from the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition (circa 1991); how she snorted like a pig once after I made her laugh when she was just a few months old.

I even wrote about her poop when she was a baby. I wasn’t trying to be funny. I was just kinda proud that she had a poop the size of one of mine.

I wrote about her handprints and the amazing noodle art she created in Sunday school. I wrote about her first this, her first that and even her second, third and fourth thisses and thats.

She was this brand new part of me that I helped create, and she was the cutest little angel on God’s big earth. But I didn’t just write about her. I talked about her incessantly. I can only imagine my friends’ dread as I approached with another Anna-ism. They would smile while no doubt thinking to themselves, “What’d she do this time, memorize the Magna Carta?”

But there was a lot I didn't write about. Memories that were mine and hers to share, like singing "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine..." every night before bed; telling stories about a talking housefly with a penchant for orange sherbert; reenacting Beauty and the Beast in her bedroom; going on bear hunts in the bonus room  – with flashlights and coat hangers – you know, for protection; finding dragon food (that happens to look a lot like moss) while walking in the woods; listening to her pray, "God is grape, God is good, Let us thank him, For our food." So many memories.

She was the smartest, most beautiful, talented, and remarkable child to grace the planet earth, and a few years later, she helped welcome her siblings into the family. I’ll never forget the sweet tears that formed in her eyes the day her Mama and I told her she was going to be a big sister. She would finally have a real, live baby doll to show off to friends and family and strangers at the mall. She was equally excited when she found out about her baby sister and then another baby brother. And Anna became the family’s biggest cheerleader as we prayed about adopting baby number five.

That’s just the way she is. It’s the way she’s always been.

I stopped writing about every inhale, exhale, and funny word that came out of her mouth a lot of years ago. There just wasn’t enough time, what with all the other kids and the miracles they were uncovering at every turn. Sometimes I would share a story here and there, but focus most often turned to her siblings. They were smaller and cuter and learning to do life for the first time. She was a "big girl" now.

That was a long time ago. That was the blink of an eye. 

My baby girl. From the very first moment I held that breath from heaven in my arms, I knew that I was changed. Forever. I was her daddy, and she was my world. At some point along the way, though, I seemed to forget the awe I felt knowing that God had blessed me beyond anything I could have ever imagined or hoped for. At some point, the miracle became a little girl and the little girl became more of an obligation, a responsibility, than a blinding glimpse of God’s radical love and favor.

She's not a baby anymore. None of my babies are. Today, Anna Beth and her siblings often serve as reminders of things that must be dealt with as opposed to divine creations that their mother and I have been gifted for a short time.

Such a short time.

Divine grace allows me to forgive myself for not acknowledging the gift of my kids every moment of every day, but my heart still breaks today because Anna Beth does not — she cannot — fully understand the love and pride that her Daddy feels each time she enters a room or flashes that crooked smile. She cannot possibly understand the aching in my throat right now in this moment as I try to somehow connect the words that might somehow do justice to the immeasurable pride I feel because I am hers and she is mine.

Over the years, she has grown into a beautiful, graceful, faithful, and determined young woman, and my God, I fear I’ve missed most of it! I’ve taken for granted how much she has brought and continues to bring to this family. I’ve focused on the fact that she cannot keep her room clean, or she holds her fork weird, or she talks too loud, or she dresses like a slob, or she sleeps too late, or she watches too much Netflix, or she doesn’t floss her teeth enough... As opposed to the fact that she is a masterpiece; a treasure; and a perfectly, wonderfully made-in-the-image-of-our-Creator-child of God and of Billy and Bethany Ivey. 

Tomorrow, we are taking her to college, and oh, dear, sweet, merciful Lord, I pray that I can once again approach each of her days — each new miraculous and mundane milestone — with the awe, the wonder, and the gratitude of a Daddy experiencing the magic of firsts, seconds, thirds, and fourths, forever, and ever.

Amen. And Roll Tide, baby girl.

Math is dumb and I am getting rid of XBOX.

School is back, which mostly means that the yelling about Fortnite and not cleaning their rooms will soon turn to yelling about homework and not cleaning their rooms. 

That’s pretty much the only difference, really. I don’t understand Fortnite, and I definitely don’t understand their homework, so basically my entire life is yelling at children about things I can’t comprehend.

And while we’re at it (but please don’t tell my wife I said this because she will leave me and I need her around to make casseroles and manage finances), I don’t really understand why they have to clean their rooms, either. I mean, what do I care if there are dirty socks on the floor and their shoes or Legos haven’t been put away? 

Actually, those things are pretty important.

Have you ever been late for something, and you’re running around like a crazy person trying to get ready so you can get Kid A to practice before you have to pick Kid B up from church and then drop Kid C at her friend's house so they can study until Kid E needs to be picked up from the Youth thing that is running over, meanwhile Kid D is just sitting there, staring at the TV in bare feet because he can’t find clean socks, and he doesn’t know where he put his shoes, and you — in a full-out-cartoon-like-rage-sprint (whilst guiding him by the scruff of his neck) — run into his bedroom to show him that his shoes are, in fact, “RIGHT-FREAKING-THERE-WHERE-YOU-FREAKING-LEFT-THEM” and then you step on a mother-bleeping Lego and fall to the floor screaming like a girl on fire?

Anyway, math is dumb, and I’m getting rid of XBOX.

Y'all clean your rooms.

How much is too much?

This isn’t a blog about money, I promise. It’s not about spending or saving or living within your means or minimizing or maximizing or being frugal, frivolous, or financially fickle. It’s not about “the best things in life are free,” or “money can’t buy you love,” either, because I wholeheartedly disagree with those statements, and also because as I have already mentioned: this is not a blog about money. 

It’s about kids and being prepared to love, feed, clothe, house, and provide appropriate extracurricular activities for them as they grow into the people God created them to be.

Now, at times, my writing can venture across the line that separates genuineness and just trying to be funny — and my sarcasm can land smack dab in the middle of “Oh, my gosh, did he really just say that?” So, before I go any further, I need for you to know that I truly, genuinely, 100-percent love kids. 

Not all kids, mind you. Just mine. I’m not like a lot of crazy people who say they see the divine beauty and preciousness and hope for tomorrow in the eyes of all children. I’m only referring to my kids and the deep, deep love I have for them. All five of them.

Five kids is a lot, though. There’s no denying it. Some might even say it’s too many, and depending on the day of the week, I might agree. Especially when it comes to extra-curriculars. My wife and I have been at this parenting-thing for more than 18-years, and we're still trying to figure out how to juggle it all.

We spend most nights from around 10:00 PM til Midnight sitting outside, contemplating these things while kicking back with a beer or a glass of wine in one hand and an iPhone in the other. We usually don’t talk a whole lot during this time, because this is when we try to relax by comparing ourselves to others on Facebook and Instagram.

But when we do engage in conversation, it almost always revolves around doing stuff for the kids. Running from here-to-there-and-back-here-again-so-we-can-get-back-over-there-and-then-the-other-place-before-it-closes-and-oh-don't-forget-about-this-and-that-and... the other thing. 

Evidently, this is our collective spiritual gift and the only thing(s) we are actually qualified to do.  

Last night, after the battery on my phone died from watching videos of friends on beaches with parasailing and scuba-diving and surf-lessons and beachside fruity drinks with whole pineapples and mangoes and other things that look almost too delicious to eat, Bethany and I started talking about some of the stuff we do for our beloveds every month. It verges on the insane. 

As mentioned above, we have five kids: two girls, and three boys. Their ages escape me at the moment, but rest assured, they are old enough to do stuff. Lots of stuff. Too much, really. Things like baseball, football, lacrosse, dance, church camp, overnight camps, bowling lessons (yes, bowling lessons, bless his heart) and, oh, by the way, the oldest is headed to college in the fall, sans scholarship(s). 

The estimated cost of these activities is — you're gonna want to write this down — roughly, nine and a half trillion dollars, give or take. It's worth it, though. It really is. 

But that's not even the point, because this isn't a blog about money. The point is this: if you want to be happy — and I mean really, really happy like your friends on Facebook — don't have a bunch of kids unless you are a trillionaire. That is all I have for you today. 

You're welcome.