parenthood – 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 the Trenches: Part 1

And it was a grey morning and they all wondered how they would fare…

My dearest love,

I would usually use this space to talk to our boys, but I fear I might not make it.

It’s day three, twenty-oh-seven and we’re bunkered down. The General Reagan of the opposition has agreed to a ceasefire for the evening, and his understudy Koen is off duty in the barracks upstairs. Both sides are exhausted and you can see it in the infantrymen — swollen under-eye bags and marker-stained feet and hands tell a tale the history books will soon forget. The end is in sight, but certain casualties are still ahead.

The first shot was fired on a Thursday. Treaty talks had been ongoing leading up to that day, with Admiral Kelly set to leave town for important state matters on the coast. She was to gallivant with our allies and discuss important matters of high security clearance. We received word she had arrived safely and that important work was surely being done, but by then, the enemy saw their opportunity, and the gears of war were set in motion.

Our troops were caught off early with a hunger blockade. Captain Koen flanked us and refused to eat anything but goldfish for the whole evening. This blockade held our troops’ attention, all the while General Reagan used the cover of Koen chaos to inflict a tornado-storm of toys and little puzzle peaces all over the floor in the playroom. Possible chemical warfare tactics were employed on their own troops, as temperatures rose (physically and literally), as the opposition retreated back for the evening under the thin vail of Benadryl and Motrin.

Our other allies at Target and Amazon have kept us well-supplied with trendy clothes, humidifiers (both plug-in and free-standing configurations), and other essentials.

Friday saw reinforcements come in, and we welcomed cavalry from the nation of Juggle. They sent their most qualified and equipped girl Allison, who did her best to distract the enemy for a few hours, but even her best efforts couldn’t prevent further chaos and casualties.

BREAKING NEWS: 20:28 in the familyroom – ceasefire has been broken as General Reagan stood up and open coughed aggressively straight into my face. Treaty of Versailles be damned, there are no rules in war!

Troops were still showing signs of fever and fatigue Friday night, and the rest of the night saw medics tending to the wounded. Saturday brought signs of promise, as potential peace talks began during a shared breakfast of coffee, water, waffles and,” more waffle. No egg. No! Waffle. WAFFFLLLEEE!!!!” I took Admiral Reagan and Captain Koen to neutral grounds by the train tracks, with the promise of “maybe seeing a train” enough to lay the war to rest and begin times of peace. With spirits high, we attended a joint celebration of the birthday variety. This is where Captain Koen, ever the wildcard, unleashed the most vicious attack to this point of the war.

Of course, it started with a door. He was to man that post while his General had cake and went about his business very disinterested in the captain. As guest came and went, the ease at which the captain could man the door freely and as he chose became too much to bear. In an attempt to keep the peace and infrastructure intact, I attempted a maneuver to move the captain to a lesser traveled part of the house.

This was not the move he saw coming. Nor the move he would let slide.

Wild screams resonated throughout the house, and it was apparent that to prevent further casualties, we must take the battle back to familiar grounds. General Reagan sauntered about with the urgency of a runny nose to gather his water bottle and hat. As he trudged behind me and the captain, who was being held in a horizontal cross-grip because all tradition and pleasantries were out the window… as the admiral trudged behind, he slow dumped his water bottle down his shirt because he left the cap on the table.

Action has been slow since the enemy woke up from their mid-day naps. We were able to put the angry captain to bed without much fuss, but the night ahead includes a time change, which does give the enemy ammo for early morning aggression.

More to follow…

On The Butterfly Experiment

Boys,

A few weeks ago, your mom ordered caterpillars online that would become butterflies. They arrived and your mom quickly removed herself from any responsibility and further interaction with the caterpillars and left it up to us to ensure that life would ensue. She would, however, maintain a seat on the board so far as to question and criticize decisions and the general happenings of our new pets.

So the caterpillars came in a cup that had some food in the bottom they would eat for about a week or two. Reagan, you took the lead and made sure they got lots of sunlight and got to see lots of places around our house. Eventually, they grew, and we wondered if they were going to get too big for their little cup. The directions said they’d form their cocoons after 7-10 days, at which time we were supposed to move them to a bigger cage where they would become butterflies.

Simple enough, right? Well, life doesn’t happen in a straight line. Of the six caterpillars that started, three or four crawled up and made their cocoon (chrysalis?). The other two didn’t seem interested, and I wasn’t sure if I should wait until everyone cocooned up, or if I would hurt those guys who were already formed and they’d hatch too soon in the sealed cup.

So, one night, me and alcohol decided that it was time to make the move. I left the cup in the bigger cage and the two guys who weren’t quite ready to cocoon would have their food supply, and could make the transition whenever they wanted in a bigger house. Or so I thought.

Now, I’d like to break from the linear flow of this post to note that your mom ordered these things in October. What we learned after the fact was that butterflies would not survive in sub-60 degree temps, and that fall wasn’t the best time to bring that kind of life into the world. At least not in Ohio. But nevermind that, she removed herself from responsibility and it was up to us to figure it out.

Fortunately for me, Deb took over a lot of the heavy lifting. Whereas I tried to use packing tape to fasten the paper sheet to the top of the cage, Deb swooped in and used clothespins to secure them. She also brought in some paper towels and lined the bottom of the cage, as some of the cocoons fell from their perch. She assured all of us that they would be fine, despite your mom being convinced every other day that we (I, really) surely killed them and that chances of survival were less than zero.

Eventually, they began to hatch, one by one. One of the last to cocoon never quite formed a full chrysalis, and it seemed like he might grow up to be a half-butterfly, half-caterpillar when he grew up (a halferpillar?). As they continued to hatch, we had to replenish a bowl with sugar water in it every so often, and Deb furnished the cage with flowers and chopsticks so that they could meander into their sugar water and exit safely.

These were truly magical times in the kingdom and all was well. You boys loved checking on the butterflies in the morning and Reagan, despite my best efforts to divert you, love reaching in and letting the butterflies land on your hand. We even tried to name them. One is Camille because she was feisty and had a red butt. The rest kind of look alike, so we named the rest of them Dan. Camille and the Dans. Another fun fact is that like most animals, butterflies poop and butterfly poop has this redish-brown hue to it. I think your mom still believes the poop is really blood and the cage is some sort of living crime scene where some butterflies were savagely murdered and everyone is just going about their day, but the truth is, they just cling to the side netting and poop down the mesh walls.

But like any good book or movie, the good times didn’t last forever. Dan-4, aka Halferpillar, didn’t quite blossom like his brothers and sister. Your mom and I each tried to “do the humane thing,” (if you’re reading this and not old enough to know what that means, I’ll tell you later) but Deb squashed that and held out hope for a full recovery. At last, Dan-4 half hatched and had these tiny little wings that couldn’t quite do what he needed them to. Sadly, Dan-4 did not make it.

Dan-4 is survived by his four brothers and one sister. Those who knew Dan-4 want him to be remembered for his charisma and can-do attitude. Unfortunately, his being grounded and down-to-earth did not serve him well since he was a butterfly.
Me

Today, we held a small service in the backyard for Dan-4. Reagan, you picked a spot in the corner of the yard and we wrapped him in tissue with some of his favorite flower pedals. I found a funeral song on Spotify and we said some kind words — I asked you to say something nice about him and you said you loved him. You then tried to dig him back up and I had to remind you that I wasn’t going to live in a house with dead butterflies. Also, not trying to have a Pet Cemetery thing going on so we just left him there.

So I think we all learned something from this butterfly experiment. Your mom learned that before she brings new life into the house and just because the box says you can set them free after a few days, that more research should be done so that we aren’t trapped with five-and-a-half butterflies who can’t live outside in colder weather and just splatter-poop crime scenes on the reg. I learned that one wife, one dog, and two kids is all the life I can preserve, and that I need Deb’s help if we’re ever going to bring another pet into this house. Reags, I think you learned that all good things come to an end (REP Dan-4), and Koen learned that he can continue to be a tyrant and still get whatever he wants because he’s scary when he’s mad.

Oh, and I think your mom wants to get you a drum set, Reagan. Looking forward to writing that one in a few months…

Love,

Dad

On The #RauchdyMatch Part 2 of 3

Boys,

This will be the second of three posts on this. You might be saying to yourselves, “Dad, you’ve never written three posts on anything in our lives. At best, you might have written two blogs on milestone moments or important life lessons.” To that I’d say, “yeah, well. It is what it is, isn’t it?”

Officially “not” presented by Capital One

There have been some developments since posting this yesterday… We have set a date for what I’m calling “The Match” or “#RauchdyMatch” for the socials. I’ve asked that Kinsale update the tee sheet to reflect this and also requested a GGID so the world can follow along. Just got confirmation that those two things are happening so now things got a little spicier.

In addition, I’ve asked one of the pros at Kinsale to officiate the match. If there was more time, I’d rope off the course so that the gallery is contained and try to find a cart kid to follow behind us with one of those big PGA signs that shows what the score is at all times. Would probably sign a ball for him once ~~the match~~ The Match is over.

I also posted a poll on my Instagram asking the golfing world who would win between us given the parameters previously laid out. Now, I don’t have a huge following, but I want to say the results were about 80/20 that your mom would beat me. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Now, there were a good amount of “non-golfers” who voted for your mom, so I want to throw those out due to blind allegiance, but there would still be a majority of people who know both our games that think I’m going to lose. Maybe I’m delusional, but we’ll find out by tomorrow.

So the final post in this series will be a recap. Good, bad, or divorce, we are going to figure this out once and for all — or at least until we do this again next year. Not sure what I think the best case scenario would be for us — would a tie settle anything? If we’re being honest, I think one of us would handle defeat better than the other, so maybe that would be best case scenario. But I also think that we both have nothing and everything to lose no matter the outcome. If I win, it’s like “of course you did, there is a reason even the best women play from the up tees.” If she wins, it’s like “of course she did, she’s the club champion.” I think to the outside world, that is how it will be viewed. But to our family, there might be more to the story than what meets the eye.

I’ll finish this post by saying one more thing. No matter the outcome, this is your mom’s fault. I may have run with it once the genie was taken out of the bottle, but I would have been fine leaving sleeping dogs lying and let each of our imaginations comfort one another with what our version of how things would go would be. But your mom is competitive and I love that about her. I just hope that if things don’t fall her way, well, we’ll leave it at that.

Love,

Dad

On Velcro-baby, Hey-Dad, and Trains

Boys,

It’s been a little while so I figured it’s time to check in. It’s summer and your mom and I are currently in French Lick, Indiana. We don’t get a lot of chances to go away without you boys, and while we do appreciate being able to sleep in (I haven’t been able to, BTW), we do miss you both a lot. Luckily, you’re in good hands with Deb Deb.

Koen, you’re going through what your mom and I call “velcro baby” phase. Basically, and I don’t think your mom would argue this, but I’m kind of your security blanket. If you get upset, you usually just look for me and run up and just grab my legs, stare at me with big tears, and hold on for dear life. Deb says I need to be strong and not pick you up, but you put the velcro grip on and I can’t get away.

Reagan, if Koen is in his velcro baby phase, you’re in “Hey Dad” (or Hey Mom) camp. Pretty much every conversation starts with “Hey Dad.”

Reagan: Hey Dad.
Me: Yes, Son?
Reagan: Um. I gotta tell you somethin’
Me: OK
Reagan: Um. I love you, Dad
Me: Love you too, buddy

You’re both very smart and it will probably frustrate you as you get older because you’re setting a pretty high standard that your mom and I will expect a lot out of you. Koen, you are 20-ish months and can say all your letters and pick out every letter if I ask you where a certain letter is. Reagan, you can pretty much read at 4 years old and you always surprise me with how much you know. The other morning, I was telling you about a trip to Japan I went on a few years ago and I was telling you how it was an island. I asked you if you knew what an island was (maybe a dumb question, IDK?), but you just gave me this “yeah duh, dad” kind of response. I guess that doesn’t necessarily show you how smart you were, but it made me think not to question you. Point taken, son.

Reagan, you also LOOOVVVVVEEEEE trains right now. I was just running this morning, and there was this old, rusted out train near our hotel. And without hesitation, I had to stop my run and take a video of it because I know how excited you’ll be to watch it 1000x in the next few days once I get home. You also are in a phase where, nearly every morning when your sound machine turns green, you come down to our room, go pee in our bathroom, then jump up in our bed (whether we are in it or in the shower), and turn on Youtube train videos. Just one train after another, on loop, for as long as we let you. Eventually, we make you get dressed, and the train-dream gets put on hold until the next day.

You’re both at a fun age. You’re both also at a tough age because Koen, you’re just a few months away from really being able to communicate and, maybe more importantly, being able to be communicated to — not sure if that makes sense but I reread it and it makes sense to me. AP Style be damned! Reagan, you’re just headstrong and like to push the limits of your mom and my patience.

Either way, wrapping up and I love you boys so much. Until next time…

Love,

Dad

On 30A and Our First Family Vacation

Boys,

Sometimes it’s easy to get into a rut when you journal/blog/write to your kids, where you think that if you don’t have something profound to say, then you just don’t say anything at all. But I need to remember that I can just talk to you and not have to have it be about anything at all.

With that, it’s been a few weeks since we got back from a trip to 30A (aka – Rosemary Beach). Your mom and I talked about finding a place like this to get a vacation home in a place like this, so who knows, if we end up somewhere on 30A, then this post might have a little more meaning to you.

As it stands, we don’t yet have that house and it’s more likely than not that neither of you will remember anything about this particular trip. With that, I figured it would be worthwhile to recap some of the things we did and some of the ups and downs of that trip from how I saw it.

First, the flights were unique. Reagan, you did pretty good the whole time. You were excited about taking off and landing, and were on your iPad most of in between those two things. Koen, you surprised us with a solid A grade on your travel down. We did stop briefly in Nashville for a layover, and honestly, that was probably the toughest time you had as far as travel goes.

We did a lot on 30A (in 30A? It’s a stretch of road with a lot of little beach towns with names like Watercolor and Seaside). We rented a condo with a golf cart, and Reagan, you would have just taken that to all the places and been perfectly happy. The weather was good-not-great. Mostly sunny and warm, but not warm enough to heat up the community pool or allow us to get in the Gulf (we did let the waves chase us up the beach). We also rented bikes and rode them every morning.

Koen, I think you thrived at a cool little collection of shops, restaurants, and live music stage across the street from our condo called “The Hub.” We stopped by most mornings for coffee where you got to explore the empty stage, and also most nights for some live music. You were fascinated by the live music and even put a few dollars into the tip jar for all the musicians.

We found a cool little town called Alys Beach where all the buildings were white, and we took the golf cart down to get donuts one morning. The other town we liked was called Watercolor, and they had really cool shops, some great food trucks and bar food, and was just a great place to watch all the people buzzing around.

This was our first trip with just the four of us. Rogue was with us in spirit, but told me before we left that he didn’t want to deal with the travel so he decided to sit this trip out. We had a lot of fun, there were a handful of stressful moments, but all in all, I loved being on vacation with you boys and exploring a new place along side you both (and your mom, of course).

I’m sure there will be a lifetime of trips like this, but there is something special about this one that I will remember forever.

Love,

Dad

On To Koen

Koen,

You are an amazing, wonderful, funny, sometimes psychotic, other times love magnetic, absolute honor-to-be-your-dad kind of kid.

There is so much I love about you. Your personality has exploded in the past few months. You love your family, and your dog. You will walk up to Rogue and tuck your head into him, just like you do your favorite characters in “Everything is Mama.” You love your dad. My favorite way to start the day is when your brother is still asleep, you and me get up early, come downstairs, I pour you a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios, and you sit on my lap and we have a snack. It doesn’t matter what’s on — Mickey or sports — you’re happy to be there with me as much as I am with you.

You’re exploring your voice, too. You grunt, yell, change inflection, learn, forget, learn again. You babble. With your Mima, you ramble but with changing sounds and tones and it’s like you’re just chatting with an old friend. Your laugh fills up the room. Your cries also fill up the room, but that’s another post.

You’re playful. You cheers like the world is ending and you dance when you see your mom dance. You fit into our family so perfectly and I can already see a day when you’re your brother’s age now, and you’re going to be so different in so many ways. But there are going to be things that stay constant with you, too. I love your heart, your passion, your presence, your joy, and the way you look; asleep in the monitor.

No matter what our life looks like in the future, I will love you through the bad times, celebrate you through the good times, and awe in the boy you’re becoming.

Love, Dad

On Reagan’s Poop-Phase

This isn’t an easy topic to cover, but sometimes you have to call out your own son on some sh…

Reagan,

This is me taking the power back. As I write this, you’re less than a month out from your 4th birthday. You’re very kind, love trucks and construction equipment, enjoy playing in your room with me, and are just genuinely in a place where having fun is your top priority. However, you’re also going through a “poop-phase.”

Now this “poop-phase” isn’t like the horror-movie, enter the room and cue the shrieking sound effects, “decorate the walls” kind of “poop-phase.” It isn’t a “curiosity with the utility” kind of “poop-phase.” Thankfully, that side of the coin is kept mostly under wraps.

No, your “poop-phase” has to do with the word itself — “poop.”

The face you give **every single time** you say the word, “poop.”

I think being a good parent means that I should engage with you and ask you questions. I think I should challenge you to explain how you feel or why you reacted to something in a specific way. I want to stimulate your brain so that you expand your sphere and think bigger, outside-the-box thoughts that will change your world.

I think I might be a tad ambitious, because as of recently, your little brain just defaults to “poop” whenever I try to ask you questions.

Me: Reagan, what’d you dream about last night?
You: Poop
Me: You dreamed about poop? Do you have to go to the bathroom?
You: Poop!
Me: Uh-huh. Did you dream about anything else?
You: Pee
Me: Good talk, son. Go brush your teeth — excited to pick up on this conversation when you get downstairs.

Oh, and guess what song you want to listen to non-stoppity-stop on the reggie — The Poop Song by The Toilet Bowl Cleaners. I hope that you read this when you’re an adult and click on the link and it still works somehow and you listen to it and say to yourself, “why was I such a strange kid?” Guess how many unique words there are in this song — not 2…not 3….not 4…

Now I want to build a relationship with you and your brother where you can tell me anything — good, bad, embarrassing — whatever it is, I want to know about it. With that being said, too much of anything can tiptoe toward too much, and I think that is where your “poop-phase” has taken us.

Your grandma told me that your uncle Tyler had a “poop-phase” too, and that it was super annoying at the time, but funny looking back at it. I’m sure that is how I’ll feel one day, but I also wouldn’t be mad if we moved on from the “poop-phase” in the near future.

I digress. In truth, I know this is just you exploring your silly side and I love seeing you find your sense of humor. Everyday you and Koen become a little more unique, say and do new things that I’ve never seen or heard, and it becomes more and more fun to be your dad. Would I enjoy being your dad just as much without us going through this “poop-phase?” Maybe. Probab…yes. Yes I would.

Love you boys.

Dad

On The VIP Project and This Blog 2.0

Boys,

So this will be a post less about what I want to talk to you about, and more to do with two very big things that I hope take this blog — this idea of me talking to you throughout your lives — to the next level.

The first is what I’m calling “The VIP Project.” As I write this, all six of your grandparents are alive, and you have four living great-grandparents. Your great-grandpa Slee (Don) hasn’t been in my life since I was born, so I don’t think he’ll ever be someone we’ll talk about as you grow up. All I know about him is that he left your Tutu’s life when she was a little girl, and moved to Georgia and has had a new family since them. He had a son, which would technically be your grandma’s half-brother, but I’ve never met him. I think I’ve met your great-grandpa Don maybe twice in my life.

Then, both your great-grandma Rosi and great-grandpa Pat Whitt are alive. They are two very special people that welcomed your uncle Jordan and me into their family with the openest of arms when we were kids — probably 10 (me) and 8 (Jordan). I think it takes a special person to become a step-parent to two older kids the way your Grampy did — that is a conversation for another post — but it takes just as special kind of people to accept two new people into their family and love them the way they do their other grandkids.

Your other great-grandma Rauch, your Papa Rauch’s mom, is still alive. She was a much bigger part of my life, but I fear that you won’t remember who she was by the time you get older. I have a picture that I took in 2018 or 2019 of me, Reagan, Papa Rauch, and his dad (my Grandpa) out on The Farm in Newark. As soon as I had you, Reagan, I wanted that picture. Sadly, my grandpa died in August 2020, about a month before you were born, Koen. I would have loved to get another picture of him with the two of you, but never got that chance. I have so many memories of him throughout my childhood that I would have loved to hear from his side of things – to learn more about him and his time in the Army, or raising six boys, his love of flying (and sometimes crashing) airplanes, or where he got his sense of humor from because that is what always stood out to me most about him (and is probably where I get my playful side from).

This is why I want to capture a conversation with my grandma where we talk about her life, who she is and who she was, and what stands out in her life so that you can learn a little more about where you came from. This is the basis of The VIP Project. I want to talk to the people who will be the biggest impact on your lives and listen to who they are, what they might want you to know about them, and let them ask me questions that you might find interesting as you grow up.

So I am putting it out to the world to hold myself accountable, and hopefully it turns into something special that I can put pieces of on here, but also save that audio for you to revisit in its entirety when you’re older.

So, The VIP Project will segway this blog into version 2.0, which I see as including more audio and video content. I see the two of you becoming a part of this so that, again, as you get older, you can revisit conversations we have and listen to who you were and what ideas you had about the world when you were younger. I don’t think I want this to turn completely into a podcast-type of thing, but to record us (and your mom if she’s up for it) periodically so that we capture little moments with us.

So there it is. Some goals established and plans laid out. I’m excited to see how The VIP Project goes and I hope that I capture some valuable things for the both of you, but also for myself. I don’t know for sure where things will turn out once we get through everything, but I’m excited to see where this new direction takes us.

Until then, I love you both!

Dad