life lessons – From Ryan to Reagan and Koen

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 The #RauchdyRecap

Boys,

Yesterday, your mom and I finished The Match. I’d like to think you’ll read these as I’ve written them, just one per day, so you can follow along at the same pace things came together for this. It started as just a conversation, turned into an argument (albeit, a playful one), and led to a mini-event in the neighborhood.

I’m sure you want to know who won, so I want to provide you with a recap of how the actual match played out.

But first, let me take you into my mindset. The day started with normal pleasantries. My champion mindset knew that by keeping it low key, I could get into the mind of my opponent — chess not checkers. I knew the round didn’t begin at 5:10 as our tee time might have suggested, no… that was just when the golf started.

As I settled into my day, I kept stringing her along with texts like, “how’s your day going? Check this thing out or can you believe what so-and-so said/did/wore earlier?” Just straight mental games NONSTOP.

By the time we actually got to the course, I was living rent free in her head and she had no idea what was happening. Up was down and left was right. But you probably are curious how that translated to the results of the match.

…which is important. But it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, at least according to my master plan. First of all, I wore the blue and black striped shirt she HATES to work that day. I was going to keep that on for the match, but made a last-minute decision to wear something fresh.

Strike one.

We then get to the course, and “ANDY” tells me we have to “ride in the same cart” because there was an “event there earlier” and carts were “a little scarce. Sorry.” Guh. Like, the nerve, you know? So your mom and I had to share a cart, which WAS NOT in my masterplan. This totally changed the dynamics, totally worked to her advantage since she loves me so much and I couldn’t isolate her both mentally and physically on the course.

Strike two.

Then, the tee opens up a few minutes early and we get to tee off at 5:05 instead of 5:10. Could the universe be any more against me? I mean, come on!

Strike three. You’re out.

But that didn’t stop me from watching your mom hit a decent-shot-I-guess-if-fairways-are-good-kinda-shot, then blowing it by her to the right rough, exactly where I wanted to be. A green, two-putt, and par saw me take the lead by one going into the second hole.

I followed that up with another monster, this time 51 yards or so past your mom down the second fairway. Your mom was so shook, she topped her approach and left it 30 yards or so from the green. I felt like Tyson who could have put her away with a first round KO, but I wanted to cat-and-mouse her for a bit, so I put mine in the water. Despite the (obvious to everyone) gift, I still came out one shot ahead of her on the 2nd hole. Two up through two holes.

So who won? I think we all won. The community at large got to see something they thought was, dare I say, impossible? The notoriety Kinsale probably got from the windfall of this whole event probably earned them millions in future earnings. I’m sure they’ll comp our membership this next year as a “thank you” for that. And I think you both won for having the kind of ~~dad~~ parents that are so awesome at golf.

But, I guess if you “counted strokes,” you would find that your mom hit a few less than I did. I guess her 200-yard tee shot on #4 over a bunker and to about 20 feet was fine. And that the four shots she hit on #6 to make par were kind of pure. Maybe being up one going into the last hole and grinding out a par could be considered ultra-clutch, especially when a few shots didn’t come out the way she wanted.

They say history books are written by winners. So until you show me her blog about who the real winner of The Match was, you tell me who won The Match? The one who hit fewer shots, or the one who captured the hearts, minds, and imaginations of a community, brought people together both digitally and in person, and sent shockwaves through the golfing world from just a tiny corner of Powell.

Until next year… Love,

Dad

On Golf, Marriage, and the Biggest Game of All Time

Boys,

As you probably know by now, your mom and I both love golf. We love to compete. We love to play together and to compete against each other, too. And, we usually do so with love, respect, and mostly positive banter during a round. In fact, we even played yesterday, both played well, and had a great time playing together.

Then, something happened that changed the foundation of our marriage…. forever. I don’t know how it came out, but the question was “who would win a round of golf (stroke play) if we both played from the blue/men’s tees?”

There are a lot of things your mom and I are happy to brush off our shoulders. Who is the better driver? You think you? That’s fine, respectfully agree to disagree and let’s talk about what’s for dinner. No follow up needed. But when it comes to golf, very few things can be mentioned and not follow up on, discussed, dissected, argued, presented in opposing hypotheticals, and used as jab-fodder the following day/week/forever.

Style and Power

If your mom and I both played 9 holes from the same blue tee box, who would win? Here’s a sneak peak at how this conversation went last night.

Her: I am 100% certain that I would beat you if we both played the blue tees.
Me:
Her: What? What? Why do you have that stupid look on your face?
Me:
Her: There is no way you’d beat me. Ryan Rauch. I’m a better golfer than you are.
Me: I agree. You are a better golfer than me. I JUST THINK that the yardage difference between the red and blue tees is greater than the difference in skill between us. I agree you’re the better golfer.
Her: Ryan Rauch. No. You’re so stupid. I am ONE-HUN-DUH-RED percent sure I would win and it’s not even close.
Me:
Her: Oh it’s happening. This has to happen. What do we have going on tomorrow? This is happening.

You can see from that direct quote how aggressively I handled that. By the time you’re reading this, you might have parents living in different houses. Your honor, there were simply irreconcilable differences — one simply couldn’t live with the other after those 9 holes!

Not saying it’s the best swing, but it works well enough!

Let’s lay out the stats:

Who:	Ryan	Kelly
Handicap	12.9 (plays from blues)	7.0 (plays from reds)
Most recent score	40 (blue tees)	37 (red tees)
Driver Distance	Bombs	Bombs minus 50 yards

Now let me be clear. (At this time) I would never say that I am the superior golfer. Your mom is much more consistent than I am. She hits more fairways and greens. I think I have a better short game than her and I don’t think either of us are great putters (I’m probably better on long putts but she’s more consistent on short putts).

So where do we go from here? Well, a match must be played. And, I feel this should be an annual match to account for improvement and the current status of the power hierarchy in our marriage. Naturally, whoever wins controls that dynamic of the relationship (should there continue to be a relationship once a winner is declared). I think this match should be played toward the end of each season as the “final major” of our golf seasons.

Lastly, just know that your mom and I love you both very much. If you grow up never remembering the two of us ever talking to each other, now you know why. My hope is that we play the match, we both play well, and that your mom realizes that there are more important things in life than beating her husband in golf.

Love, Dad

On “Leaving in 30”

Boys,

Your mom and I keep in pretty good communication – we more or less know where each other is at all times. Not only do we know each other’s schedule (so long as it’s on the CALENDAR!!), but we talk throughout the workday and keep each other posted on when we get places and when we leave places.

However, we each have this fun way of projecting this “best case scenario” type of a situation when we’re almost done with work, almost done with Bad Mom’s Club night(s), almost ready to finish doing the thing that the other knew we were doing and where we were doing it… and we say, “leaving in 30.”

This phrase is kind of the kiss of death for actually leaving in 30 minutes — it’s never happened. I’m notorious for doing it at work. I’ll be there, wrapping up my work after having seen the last of my patients for the day. I’m stacking my charts and all signs point to being done before long and I just have to do that one last thing that shouldn’t take too long, and I’ll be out the door and on my way to the car in 30 minutes.

And then it happens. There was one person in the back that needs talked to before I go. Or I have to stop next door for one quick thing that gets me pulled into a conversation with so-and-so and there I go into the time suck.

Now here are the rules – once the other one realizes that you weren’t able to leave at the predetermined 30 minutes from when you told them you’d be “leaving in 30,” you MUST send a text message that says, “still there?” Before you send this text, you have to check the “Find My” app to confirm that they are, in fact, still at the place they said they were leaving (now at this point, more than 30 minutes ago).

So when you’re called out, you have to deflect. Say anything. “I was going to, but…” “See, what happened was…” “I was literally out the door, when a giant alligator grabbed me by the foot and drug me back into the bar.” It doesn’t matter if it’s legit or not, you just have to state any reason that the 30 minute self-imposed time limit lapsed. Of course, it doesn’t matter to the other person, and any reason, valid or otherwise, is met with some kind of “mmmhmmm” or “GIF” of an eye roll from Luke from Gilmore Girls — that one usually hits pretty solidly.

Sometimes posts have a lot of meaning and I hope that you take away something impactful that you can use to be a better man or boy or person someday. Other times, posts are just meant to entertain and make you laugh and put a smile on your face. This is the first one – one of the really important ones. So, when you grow up and get married, just tell your partner when you’re leaving and it’ll all be fine. They really won’t care.

Love you, boys.

Dad

On Facial Hair

Boys,

Who am I to speak to trends decades from now, when other males your age may or may not find that growing facial hair is something worthy of pursuit? What I can speak to is that in today’s world, men of just about any age can coif a scruffy moustache or tightly kempt beard and look flier than a feather in zero gravity.

Before I continue, I should apologize. There are many things I will pass on to you both — rugged good looks, unparalleled athleticism, witty word-talk n’ stuff, and I’ll show you both how much one man can love his boys. But what I need to apologize for is that which I cannot give you — facial hair.

You see, I started getting facial hair the same time as most other boys my age growing up — 22 or 23 years old. However, my facial hair has always been thin and, frankly, embarrassing. After a few days without shaving, your mom would whisper sweetly to me that I look like someone who, if I were to do the things that she suggested I look like, would carry a minimum sentence of 25+ years.

This is actually a picture of me on my 21st birthday.

The point is, I can’t grow it and my guess is that you boys probably won’t either. OR — life will play a cruel joke on your dad and give you both glorious facial hair. And you’ll both probably wear it over when you come to visit your mom and I, braided down the chin like Aquaman or something — like I said, I don’t know what kind of facial-fashion 2040 has in store. And the nuts of it is that your uncle Jordan, Papa Rauch and all his brothers, even everyone on your Grandma’s side of the family…can all grow facial hair. Why can’t I?!?

You know, I made this blog as a way to kind of talk to you both as I am now to who you’ll be some day when you’re old enough to pick up on some of my humor and tone. I hope that as you age, you’ll appreciate these posts in different ways and I hope they are something you can come back to and find a piece of who I am, who you both were, and what our lives were like outside of the pictures and videos of us from this time.

But it’s also therapy for me to vent and acknowledge my shortcomings in a way that makes other people smile and allows me to laugh at myself.

So whatever you take from this, just enjoy the ride and I hope that you can find moments of brevity when you can step back and appreciate life’s silly moments. And if I can end on a poker analogy, a 2-7 off cracks aces 12% of the time, so make the most of whatever squirrely chin hair you end up with (or do the smart thing and just keep a clean shave).

Love you, boys.

Dad

On Confidence

My idea of confidence is constantly evolving. The more you’re willing to fall, and the more you’re willing to learn, the more confident you’ll be.

Boys,

Websters dictionary (dot) com defines…. just kidding. Truth is, I may have written to you, Reagan, about this before. I might not have. Either way, I think its important to recognize that even as a 35 year old man, I don’t always have everything figured out.

Its funny because I know that everyone reading this in the time I’m writing it (Feb. 22, 2021 @ 7:10 pm), would look at that and say, “yeah, duh. We’re all just making it up as we go.” But I have to imagine you boys stumbling across this when you’re eight, 10, 15 at the latest (or else I really let this blog go…). But I would like to think that at those ages, I would appear as though I have things pretty figured out. I know my parents were constantly in flux at that age, each in their own way, but I still believed they had their shit together.

I do believe every year I get things a little more together. But I can also admit that when I evaluate my own ideas and thoughts, they aren’t always the same as they have been even a short time ago. And that’s OK! No one expects anyone else to have it all figured out. I guess this is just all a long-winded way of saying that my idea of confidence — confidence in my role as a husband, dad, even confidence in myself in who I am as a person — it’s all changed so much in the past year or two.

I used to think that confidence meant projecting I had all the answers. I used to think that to be a confident husband, I had to be firm in every decision I made with your mom — that I had to have the answer as soon as she asked the question and would have to be able to lay it out in a way that was quick to the point, but also profound and with deep meaning.

I used to think that I would have to prepare 10,000 stories for any given situation you boys might find yourself in someday… so that I could sit you down as soon as you did something wrong and illustrate the difference between right and wrong, good and evil, love and hate… all in a way that would keep with you for the rest of your lives. I wanted to be able to tell you stories that you would use on your own boys when you were teaching them how to be men.

I used to think that confidence was something I had to project, when the truth is I was afraid to ask for what I wanted in life.

But confidence is something else entirely. Confidence is being comfortable with knowing that you don’t know a lot of times. Confidence is being able to confidently say to your wife that I know where we want to go in our marriage, and that I need her help in figuring out how best to get there. Confidence is watching you boys make mistakes, then sit you down and tell you that I don’t know the right thing to do, but that I’m planted solidly in your corner and I will do whatever I can to help you find the best path forward.

When I look back at who I’ve been the past 35 years, I don’t think of myself as having been a confident person. There were always situations I was more sure of myself than others, but I think I would look at more situations than most with an “afraid to fail” attitude, when I wish I would have looked at failures as an opportunity to learn.

Your mom has made me a more confident person, but I think that you have to find confidence on your own terms, too. Growth is something that is both exciting and terrifying, but critical when it comes to finding confidence. I’m sure you both will struggle at some point in your lives with confidence, and that is OK — it’s normal even! But you have the best mom and a pretty good (if I do say so) dad to help you along the way and make sure that you both will grow into confident men.

Love you both so much!

Dad

On 10 Things That Scare Me

Son,

In an effort to get to know your dad better…

Injury or illness to you or your mother
Losing my memory
- I’ve said for a long time that I think I will live well into my 90s and maybe even older. I say it jokingly most of the time, but I really believe that. And the truth is, I want to live that long, so long as my memory stays in tact. Not knowing who you are or your mother is or anyone else I love would crush me and I hope that never happens.
Not having an honest relationship with you
Spelunking
- Rando. It’s not that I have a fear of small spaces, but the thought of crawling through a cave that is getting smaller and smaller to the point I can no longer move just creeps me out.
Not being able to give you the kind of life you want
Losing my ability to be active
- Aside from being a dad and husband, the thing that I most identify with is being an athlete. This sounds silly as I type it out, but being a “runner” or being able to race, play sports, exercise — these things are very important to me. Not being able to be active is something that absolutely scares me.
Someone taking advantage of you — mentally, physically, or emotionally
- A lot of how I feel isn’t meant for this medium, because a lot of how I feel is as much anger as it is fear. But the thought of someone else taking advantage of you in any way I think is any parent’s fear, and I am no exception.
Snakes
- It’s not like I have nightmares of snakes, but I’m not going to get in line to hold one, touch one, etc. There are Facebook pictures people post about seeing these big snakes on trail runs, and I’d be trail running the other way if I cross anything like that.
Being alone for a long period of time
- Since I started writing this (and it’s been a few days now since I’ve started) I think a lot about what it would be like to have been my dad when he and my mom split. He moved his life to Florida briefly to follow Jordan and I, and I think about how lonely he must have been in a new place with no friends when he wasn’t seeing us. I like being along for small amounts of time, but long-term loneliness is something that scares me.
Life moving too fast

On Mother’s Day

Son,

This will be your second Mother’s Day. For your first, we were down in Florida visiting Mima and Papa, and you were just a 3 month old baby — it was actually your very first vacation! Your dad didn’t do a very good job at making your mom feel special, and I am determined to make up for it this year.

There are so many reasons that Mother’s Day is one of the most important holidays and why you and I need to go out of our way, this year and, really, all the years, to make your mom feel loved. I’ve come to know that being a mom can be a thankless job a lot of times. Nobody tells her that she does a great job on days when it’s just the two of you and she isn’t able to get any work done. Most days, nobody says “thank you” for making sure our refrigerator is full, that there isn’t dog hair taking over the house.

Now that I am thinking about it, here are just a few of the many things you and I are thankful for your mom (and should make a point to tell her that we love her more often):

We’re thankful that she cares about you so much, that she stays up at night figuring out the best ways to make sure your butt rashes stay in check, your belly doesn’t hurt, and you are in the best health you can be (she even set an alarm @ 1:30am the other night to check to make sure your rash wasn’t getting any worse)
- side note: that is parent speak for something else, but no need to subject anyone outside of the inner-circle for why your rash might get worse at 1:30am… just saying, your momma loves you a LOT
We’re thankful that she plans ahead and makes sure that you experience new things, like zoo trips, COSI trips, swimming lessons before vacation, and ways for you to experience more than what the world of Peppa Pig might allow
We’re thankful that she wants the best things for our family, and works so hard to make sure we give ourselves every opportunity to have the life we have and the life we see for ourselves in our future
We’re thankful that she has us looking our best (and in clothes that fit) — God knows if it were up to me, you might still be rocking a tank top made for 6 mo. olds, belly-showing and looking like a baby Zeke Elliott.
We’re thankful that she puts up with us, because between your drunk-baby tornado of terror and my inability to remember what we’re doing, where we’re going, or even how to get there, we are probably a little harder on her than we should be
We’re thankful because your mom has no less than five jobs, with each one requiring her to juggling so many things, and she still finds time to be the best mom and wife
We’re thankful because she supports the things I want to do, and will absolutely support anything you decide you want to do as you grow up
We’re thankful because she makes a point to Facetime your Mima and Papa, Uncle Jeff, Aunt Katie, and all your cousins. Just because they live far away doesn’t mean we shouldn’t get to see them, talk to them, and make sure they know how great you are
We’re thankful because she balances us out so completely. Lets face it — you and I can be a little messy/all over the place/scatter-brained/not always making sense/don’t tell her we love her as much as we should, and she still finds a way to keep us looking good
We’re thankful because she is the best in every way

Truth be told, I don’t know which one of us put your mom through more to this point. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. Despite the fact that she has 1000 balls up in the air at any time, still finds time to look as good as she does, and makes sure that our worlds keep on turning day after day, she still finds time to love us, make us her top priority, and give everything she has so we can be in a better place tomorrow than we were yesterday.

So even though you can’t say it yet, I will just say it for you, son…

HAPPY MOTHERS DAY, KELLY/MAMA/B! WE LOVE YOU SO VERY VERY VERY VERY MUCH!