Category: 2023

On Sanity

Boys,

Websters defines the word “insanity” as “your two year old constantly screams at you the phrase ‘Koen (or “I”) do it’ while your oldest son constantly screams that he ‘can’t do it,” often times when referencing putting on clothes, riding a bike, or staying in his room for more than six second once he’s put down because he either has to pee (despite the fact that he peed literally less than five minutes ago) or because he heard a noise outside and needs to ask you what the noise was, even though it’s often times as obvious as a car driving by our house.”

It’s a weird definition but totally 100% true — look it up. So, if the word “insanity” means all those things, the word “sanity” would therefore be defined as “when two parents finally get both kids down to sleep and can daydream about a trip where they can sleep in, talk to other adults about things other than carwashes and trains, and after a day where those two things are accomplished, look at each other and admit they miss their kids a little bit.”

Believe it or not, there are some days where your mom and I are hanging on by a mental thread. You boys can be the sweetest, kindest, best eaters in front of others-kinda kids. But you can also be, well, insane. Somehow, I fell like every parent goes through this phase (some phases can last 18+ years, or so I’m told). I feel like every parent looks back at raising kids (once those kids are slightly older and slightly stable), and admire how difficult the journey was and how much they appreciate where those kids are now.

One time when I was a freshman in college, three friends and I drove my car down to Ft. Lauderdale for spring break. The year was 2005, and we weren’t able to get Waze to load on our Chocolate, slide-to-text cell phones. So we used paper maps to find the best route to and from FLA.

Two things happened while driving to and from that trip. One the way down, my car broke down, needed a new engine put in, and we had to take a greyhound bus from Melbourne, FLA to Ft. Lauderdale. On said greyhound bus, we literally overheard someone tell someone else they were just picked up from getting out of prison. Maybe this was a way to scare four kids probably wearing Hollister polos and cargo shorts, but it worked — we were a little out of place. Oh, and one of my friends was holding an 18-inch box TV because my Avalon hada power outlet in the back and we were taking turns playing PS2 from the back seat of my sedan.

PS – a greyhound is a public bus people had to use before Uber or whatever kind of teleportation you have now that you’re reading this.

On the way back, after greyhounding back to Melbourne to pick up my car (and now down two because their parents bought them plane tickets to fly home), on the way home while in WV, and again, using a paper map, we got lost and took what looked like a shortcut up and down Appalachian mountains trying to reconnect to the main road.

The point is, whatever happened on that trip is mostly lost. For one reason or another, I don’t remember much about what we did or where we went on that trip — although I’ve never been able to stomach Barcadi O since — but the two things that stick out most to me are what happened during the journey to where we were going.

Still with me? Picking up what I’m putting down? I think that is probably parenting in a nutshell. Things are insane when you focus on each of the moments, but as I write this and think about the journey to get to where we are, sometimes…., well, I kinda think I really like being with you boys and watching you grow up.

There are also certain moments, like the one now where Reagan is crawled up on your mom and Koen, you’re leaning against my leg watching a real-life carwash on Youtube just on repeat, that make me really, really happy. I’m sure in a moment we’ll tell you it’s time to go up and take a bath, and a chaos-bomb will go off and send everything into crazytown, but I also want to acknowledge that even though you two are absolutely, without a doubt, certifiably insane sometimes, I kinda like you both and hope that you look back on this time when you’re both older, and think that it was a pretty good ride.

Love you boys.

Dad

On Reagan’s Only Child Trip

Boys,

This one will be mostly about Reagan because this past week, we dressed you up like an only child and took you to FLA to see your grandparents. Koen, we had every intention of bringing you too, but you caught a little bug a few days before we left, and we decided to leave you home-home with Deb-Deb and Tutu. We decided very quickly as we checked in to the flight out and watched Reagan BFF anyone near a window with a view of any airplane that leaving you home was the right choice. Your mom was even feeling cocky enough to get a pre-flight drink while we waiting on the plane.

I also just need to include the fact that this trip has been planned and rescheduled 3-4x over the course of the past two years. The first time we had to cancel, we got Covid and pushed it back a few months. Then your grandma (Memaw) got it and we had to reschedule. Then another sickness or random hurricane kept pushing things back, so when Koen began to get sick earlier in the week, we almost decided that the universe was working against us and we’d never get to go to FLA. But since the rest of us felt OK, we decided to forge ahead as a family of three.

The flight down was pretty low-key. I sat with you, Reagan, and we mostly played on your Switch, drew on some design app on my phone, and talked until we began to descend into FLA. We saw the same woman you befriended by the window on the way out, and you were curious if she was going to join us at your grandparents. After we decided to go our own separate ways, we had Memaw pick us up and we drove back to their house.

So aside from spending time with family, I had an obstacle course race lined up for the day after we landed. It was to be my “coming out of retirement” race, but it unfortunately went the same way as the race that sent me into retirement went — ended with an injury. Some might point to me being a little older, a little less Crossfit than I was when I did this seriously, or that my little baby hands couldn’t hold up to an hour-and-a-half of grip and strength obstacles… whatever the reason, at the next to last obstacle, my grip gave way on a hold and I tore open two blisters on my right hand. I couldn’t complete the obstacle, and finished the race a little bummed at how well it had gone to that point and how frustrating it was to lose my place that late in the race.

However, happy I didn’t try to push it and feel like I am on the mend now that it’s been 4-5 days since the race. From there we headed home and decided to hang by the pool for the remainder of the day. We grilled out burgers and worked on setting up a giant umbrella for your grandparents. After a few hours of grinding with a nail file, a trip to the storage unit for some power tools, and the waining sun, we finally had some shade. Your PaPaw did most of the work, but we were there to supervise and make sure everything went to plan.

I have to say, you were feeling like the king of the world as the only grandson there. You had the whole pool to yourself, all the toys to yourself, and both your grandparents’ attention the whole weekend. The next day, we went putt-putt and you and Memaw beat your mom and I. It was close, but you guys were the winners and you couldn’t have been happier. Your golf game might need a little work, but you played all the holes and aside from a pee break that took way too long based on how hard it was to get to a bathroom mid-round, things went well.

We then picked up Papaw and headed over to their golf course where they work. We had lunch and talked to some of their friends there at the course before heading home and taking a nap. After that, more pool time, more attention for Reagan, and we finished the night with some pizza.

The next day it was time to say goodbye to FLA. I was feeling a little exhausted, and now that it’s been a few days, we realize that I ended up being a little sick. After I started to get better, you got sick and that is where we are now. All in all, though, we had a pretty great trip and your mom and I were happy that you got to get all the attention for a few days, that Koen got to get better and also get some Tutu-time.

Now things are settling back down and we’re all ready for Ohio weather to feel more like Florida weather. Reagan, I know you’re bursting at the seams to get outside as much as you can, and hopefully that happens sooner than later.

Until then, I love you boys.

Dad

On Golf Is

Boys,

Golf is a lot of things to our family. Golf is the first thing I heard about your mom when someone who was setting us up told me her family had a golf course they played league night at once a week. Golf is the thing that bonded us, since the test to her was whether or not we could play 18 holes together. Golf is all your mom knew growing up, and golf is at the heart of the best stories and experiences of her younger life.

Golf is not something that I was born into. Golf is not the first sport I fell in love with, and if you ask your grandma what my favorite sport would become when I grew up, golf is not something she’d have put at the top of that list. But golf is something I found that was all mine.

But just as golf is something that grows on you over the years, golf is something that grows inside of you as well. Golf is something that used to be boiled down to a score, a result, or a handicap number we use to compare ourselves to others. When you’re young, golf is a test of your character and a teacher of patience, persistence, and humility. But dig deeper, and golf is magical. Golf is spiritual. Golf is communal.

Golf is a collection of moments and memories that will live with you forever. Golf is a time machine. I’ve forgotten a lot about being young, but I can tell you about the 3-wood I hit into the green of the fifth hole that set up my first eagle at Kyber Run when I was a freshman in high school. I asked your grandpa to marry your mom on a golf course, and before he let me ask the question, all the while knowing what I was going to ask him, he asked me if I brought my clubs and if I wanted to play (I did, but I also had to go pick out a ring since I was playing hookie from work that day to surprise your mom).

Golf is what brought us to our house. Since your mom grew up on a golf course, her dream was to give you boys a life where you would too. Now, I doubt you can steal hot dogs and candy bars from the grill like your mom did growing up, but at least you’ll have access to golf and the driving range whenever you want it. We actually joined Kinsale briefly when Reagan was a newborn. I remember sitting in the grill room, seeing two kids roll up to the bar, order milkshakes on their parent’s account, and take off. I think I saw the dream that day, and I hope you two get to do that with your friends as you grow up.

Golf is connection and a preservation to nature. Golf is travel, a link to the past, and a window into the future. Golf is equal parts maddening, joyous, easy, the hardest thing in the world, meaningful, meaningless, and everything in between. Golf is the excitement of playing you boys in a scramble in ten years and the memory of playing your grandparents in one ten years ago. Golf is the dream of seeing your children grow up and learn the game that means so much to me.

Golf is funny. If you play it long enough, you’ll probably hear some of the funniest things from the most unlikely people. You’ll probably have a near-death experience with a friend who isn’t very good and shanks one off the hosel of his sand wedge right at your head. It will miss buy it’s something you’ll remember every time you see him. Golf is playing with two old guys, both named Jerry, and gut-laughing with your best friend about having played a round with the Jerry-atrics.

Golf is an escape. No matter what you have going on outside of golf, be it school, work, a fight with a girlfriend or spouse, when you stand over a shot, that is all there is. That shot into that green is the only thing that matters. Golf is not going to make your problems go away, but golf is going to remind you that it’s OK to exhale and take time away for yourself every so often.

Getting to play Streamsong with your mom, grandpa, and uncle Jeff

Golf is that one shot, when everything comes together and your hands release at just the right time, then watching the ball rocket away from you just like you imagined. Once you feel that feeling for the first time, you will never be able to get it out of your head.

Golf is not something that everyone loves, and if you two decide you have other interests or passions, your mom and I will support and encourage you to do whatever it is that you love. But as you grow, golf is going to be something you’ll be around a lot, hear your mom and I talk about a lot, so you might as well just buy in and accept the fact that golf is just going to be a big part of who you are as well, for better or for worse.

Love you both.

Dad

On Rogue

Rogue – aka Rog the Frog-Dog – aka Cat-dog – aka big black pup

Boys,

I realize that as you get older, you might not remember a lot about this time in your lives. So, I think it makes sense to highlight some of the people and, in this case, animals, that are shaping this time in your life. Of course, I think it only makes sense to start with your dog, Rogue.

I had one dog growing up, and as far as I can remember, we probably only had her for a few months. Her name was Cinders and she had a tendency of jumping the fence and running away. Then, I think she jumped through the screen door and the next day she was “living on the farm.” Never found out where that farm was…

Your mom had dogs her whole life. Most of them had the same name as previous dogs, but there was always a dog there at the golf course and it was something she’s determined to give to you boys.

Enter Rogue…

NSFW

We got Rogue from the Franklin County Dog Shelter two days after Christmas in 2012. We went the day after Christmas and looked at a few dogs, but the one we were going to get was a little hyper and peed in his cage, and although I’m sure he was a good dog, I had enough concern for our first dog. So we went home and were going to think on Petey. So when we came back the next day, we walked the row of dogs, and this big black dog we didn’t see the day before hopped his front paws up on the cage and barked at us like he knew something.

Your mom was in love. There was another puppy I wanted to meet, but we saw that black dog first and when we met him, he went right up to your mom and sat down in front of her like he was having a conversation with her. We took him for a little walk around the parking lot and the rest is history.

Your mom named him Rogue after “Rogue Dead Guy Ale.” Who knows if that will mean anything to you by the time you’re reading this, but it was her favorite beer when she was in college and he just looked like a Rogue. Anyway, he moved in with us in our first apartment in New Albany, and has been with us through the condo in Dublin, our first house in Powell, and our current house in Powell.

I remember we tried to take him to obedience training at a few places not too long after we got him. He was such a showboat in class, acting like he was the blue ribbon winner at whatever little assignment he was given, then would go home and totally not do a single thing that he was soooo good at in class. Such a Rogue move.

Believe it or not, Rogue used to be a runner and helped me train for my races. He could go 3, 4, sometimes even up to 5 miles with me. Now, he can barely get around the block without pretending to smell some people’s grass, but really, he’s just trying to take-o un break-o because he’s just old and slow. One time, when we just got him, your mom made some chocolate chip cookies and left them on the counter. Rogue hopping his little self up and ate the entire batch. Well I was going to run him to make him think about his decisions, and I still remember the biggest poo I’ve ever seen — right on the corner near an intersection at that. It was so big it is probably still there today. I call it the great cookie poo of 2012.

Eventually, he stopped running with me. But eventually, Reagan, you came along. From the day you got home, Rogue was nothing but sweet and loving to you and he knew you were part of the family right away. He would sometime avoid you because you were a little unpredictable, but he never did anything to make us nervous and would just need a little love while you were asleep.

Once Koen came into the picture, Rogue was as chill as he’s ever been and you both can roughhouse with him and he totally gets it. One thing you love him to do, Reagan, is to get him all wound up to the point that he does his zoomies. I assume most dog people know what that is without explanation, but basically, he just dashes from one side of the room to the other like a maniac. In his old age, your mom doesn’t want him to tear another ACL, so by the time he zooms upstairs for the first time and scatter-paws himself on the bare floor, it’s usually time to quit.

Like most of us, he’s not all perfect. He has a tendency to be a beggar-dog when it comes to certain food, and while some people might suggest that it is on the dog owner to regularly brush a dog, I think he purposely leaves tumbleweeds of black hair around the house. I believe there will be Rogue hair in our house for the next 20 years, no matter how many times we clean it.

All in all, he’s probably the best dog there is and I really hope you both have some memory of him. He loves you both very much and will not handle it well when we get a new dog, which we plan to do in the next few months. But until then, and until THAT post comes out, cheers to your big, black, crazy pup, Rogue.

Dad