Dear Pax and Ike,

As I stepped onto the elevator at the hospital on Christmas day, a large poster read the following: “God can heal a broken heart, but you have to give him all of the pieces.”  I get it.

When I think of Papa, two words come to mind: pride and storyteller.

In my 32 years of life, I have never met someone who took more pride in the life they’ve built, the relationships they’ve formed, and the family they call their own.  Papa radiated pride.

There’s something slightly very special about being the only granddaughter.  Even more so when you follow a similar career trajectory (although my coaching career may be over already, and it was a fairly short run). When I was a baby, the story goes that when no one else could get me to settle down, Papa would come over and grab me from Ammy’s arms and sing the “Doodle bug” song.  I would quiet down in his arms. Ammy, PopPop, and Gee still call me Doodle. Pax, watching him with you was simply magical.

For as long as I can remember, and up until about a year ago, when he saw me, he would extend his hand to shake mine.  Always a strange gesture for family, but I knew by the twinkle in his eye what he was doing.  He wasn’t shaking my hand, he was covertly passing me anywhere between 20 and 100 dollars.  With a wink of his eye, it was our little secret.  When I told your uncle Logan about this sometime ago, he was shocked.  I wasn’t.  Papa always had a “money jar” where he would deposit his loose change.  Each grandkid took turns getting that jar.  But I also got the secret stash. Maybe it’s because I was his only granddaughter.  Maybe it was because he knew I was going to work my butt off in the field of education, which isn’t always rewarding to the wallet.  Maybe it’s because he knew that I, too, have a storyteller’s heart that will continue his masterpiece for years to come. Maybe it’s just because it gave him pride to do so.

Papa was known for his teaching, but even more famously for coaching.  He could tell you about athletes- not just their stats, but who they were as individuals.  If you threw out a year, he could tell you who was on his softball team that year, their record, and inevitably a bad call or two from the umpires.  He could tell you how quickly his sprinters ran the 100m dash, or what the weather was like during a particular football game. Coaching is a skill because it requires you to find the best, the potential, in each of your players.  Through that task, Papa brought out the best in himself.  Listening to people talk about your Papa being the must influential factor in their high school years is amazing.

When I was younger, he would always ask me if I would take him to Dairy Queen.  I couldn’t drive, and I certainly couldn’t pay, but he always worded it that way, like I was the one taking him on a special date.  Back home in Illinois, the Dairy Queen was originally on the main stretch.  It boasted an entire wall of windows.  Without fail, one of his softball girls would be there working.  It was a chance for him to show me off, but really, it was a chance for him to take a little more pride in what he had done- I wasn’t the only girl admiring a man in that small little ice cream joint.  As we tried to devour our dilly bars before they melted, I’d listen to the stories.

Papa was a master storyteller.  He had a voice that carried emotion and an accent that was undeniably straight Kentucky.  When he spoke, he inadvertently turned 2 and 3 syllable words into 5 and 6 syllable words.  He spoke with his hands, his eyes, and his heart.  And even when the stories had been told hundreds of times and the details became a little sporadic, he carried them with pride.

Papa served in the Korean War, another chapter in his life filled with pride.  He drove tanks and challenged Generals, earning himself a Bronze Star Medal for his efforts. I will always picture him wearing his hat, pins sticking out all over the place, each a tiny glimpse into his many accomplishments. I had the honor of taking him to our Veteran’s Day breakfast at school last year.  This time, I got to show him off.

For most of my childhood memories, he drove a navy blue Ford Bronco that smelled like fishing gear, camouflage (it does have a smell), and aftershave. Various stickers were half-peeling off the back, and I’m not entirely sure that you even needed a key to turn the engine on. Besides that Bronco, I also remember him driving a huge motorhome that sat right in front of their large white farmhouse out on Route 10.  He was the captain of his own personal ship. We spent many nights out at Weldon Springs camping with Gee and Papa.  In the motorhome, they had secret drawers that housed our toys and games.  We spent countless hours, your uncle Logan and I, playing Dominoes or various card games. We would fly our bikes around that campground, and in the morning, stuff our faces with powdered sugar donuts.  This was the only time we had these, and they always tasted heavenly at a picnic table, the smell of last night’s fire, and with grandparents that meant the world to us.

When I think of their house, I don’t think about the one in Florida (but we certainly had some amazing memories there), or even the one here that they moved into a little over a year ago. I think of that big white one in Clinton.  I think about the spare key hidden in the baby blue coat hanging in the porch/mud room.  I think about that huge kitchen and the pastel artwork I did of Pike’s Peak hanging on their refrigerator. I think of the little eating nook that was covered in pictures and plaques, and had a door down to the basement (I never went in there). I think of the laundry room, where all of Papa’s hunting outfits were strategically hung.  I think of the dining room with the china cabinet filled with salt and pepper shakers that would now go for hundreds of dollars, a spoon collection up on the wall, and a picture of your Ammy in high school with long brown hair and a beautiful smile that hid how ornery she was. This picture hung immediately to the right of Papa’s recliner, a certain foreshadowing of events that would take place in his 90th year of life as she delicately watched over his final days. I think of that little tiny living room with an old radio playing classical music, a jar full of peppermints, a piano that I never saw anyone play, and a TV with tin foil attached to the antenna.  I think of the spare room that held Gee’s sewing machine and the downstair’s bathroom with Gee’s shower robe hanging on the back of the door.  I think of the blue bedroom upstairs that had two beds and a closet that went straight through to the “horse room” (Ammy’s old room).  I think of the other bedroom that had bunk beds and was always freezing cold.  I think of Gee and Papa’s room, a huge fish pillow, a little bathroom with a nightlight in it, and a lot of memories.

Papa loved music.  Not the country music that you both belt in the car, but the good ole Country Western and Bluegrass music.  He loved to dance with a high step and an off-beat clap.  He often hummed throughout his daily tasks, and I’ll never forget listening to him sing and hum from the shower of their Florida house, which had paper thin walls. He loved to play the harmonica and watch you both run in circles until one of you fell to the ground in a dizzy stupor of giggles and snorts.

Papa loved Gee in a way you don’t always see.  On December 21st, they had just celebrated their 64th anniversary- another great story of a double wedding, a lot of hard work, and a beautiful life. He always talked about how beautiful Gee was, rightfully so.

It’s a mean joke for a storyteller to develop dementia and for parts of his mind to escape through the words.  I’m pretty sure that’s why he went the way he did.  Although the Alzheimer’s was creeping into his daily life, it never fully took over before the rest of his 90 year old body started to rebel.

In the past month, Papa went from calling my phone once a week, to calling daily, to eventually calling several times a day.  He often didn’t remember that he had already called, but it didn’t matter to me.  How amazing that at 90 years old, we were on his mind so much that he wanted to call.

On Christmas day, I walked into the hospital and I held his swollen hands.  Right away, he asked me how my broken leg was doing.  Unreal.  We talked about the trucks that Ike got for Christmas, and he said, “I bet he’s in hog heaven.”  I told him that we missed him that morning, and that he wasn’t supposed to spend Christmas in the hospital.  He replied, “Nah, I like it better on this side of the house anyway.” I’m pretty positive he wasn’t talking about the hospital, or even a house, but the earthly side of things and the glimpse into Heaven he must’ve seen.

Watching the life slip out of someone you love doesn’t get any easier as you get older.

Explaining all of this to your 3 and 4 year-old selves is not something I’m qualified for.

Papa went to the hospital on December 23rd.  The day before we had just visited with him, and his laugh will forever be ingrained in my being as he watched you both try to play bowling on their wii.  He loved watching the two of you.  You would play your own version of hide and go seek, with Ike always cheating and Papa always chasing you with his cane.  He took so much pride in watching both of you, so full of life, as his started to slip away.

Papa came home on December 27th with Hospice care.  As he was wheeled out to the ambulance, he had both fists up and kept saying, “Fight ’till the end!” (I’m sure a similar mantra came out during his years as a coach). The nurses came in to bathe him and check the supplies, and they walked through that door and said, “Hey Coach!”  I love that.  Although he was pretty unresponsive by that time, I know I saw his chest puff with pride.  More importantly, they reminded us that hearing was the last sense to go, and to make sure we were still talking to him.  How difficult it must’ve been for him to just listen for awhile.  We storytellers, sometimes we find listening a slight struggle.

I debated for a long time on how this would look, how I would tell his story, and how I could help you remember.  Through fear embodied tears, Gee mentioned that while you, Pax, will remember Papa, Ike probably won’t.  To which I immediately replied, I’ll make sure that he does.

Here’s the thing.  When I saw your uncle Logan on Christmas, I cried even harder.  I was quickly ushered into the bathroom to avoid having to explain anything to you. When I went home to get the green bean casserole and deviled eggs, I went into the basement and found the Christmas Story that Papa and Gee had recorded for us.  Every other page, they take turns reading the words.  I wept as that familiar accent spoke of Jesus being born. I wept because I knew that he was getting ready to go live that great story.  Later that day, I held it together until I was by myself in the car, and I lost it.

I realized that I typically fall apart in isolation (with the exception of a very few people that get to experience my ugly cry/wheeze).  I put on a front and pretend to be the strong one, holding everyone else together at times.  But when I break, it’s a full-on, messy catastrophe.  This hit hard through everything with Papa.  I don’t know why the world thinks we need to have it together.  I don’t know why people apologize for crying.  I don’t know why little boys are told to be tough.  There is a reason that someone once stated that their feelings hurt.  They do, and that’s real pain.  I want you both to grow up knowing that the pain you feel in your heart is validated, and will be acknowledged just like a broken bone.  Only that pain in your heart sometimes takes even longer to heal.

So, I changed.  I allowed myself to fall apart in front of you both, unapologetically.  And although it hurt you to see me so hurt, it showed you that it’s okay to feel like that.  It’s okay to hurt when someone we love is hurting.  It’s okay to feel sad.  It’s human.  Please don’t grow up thinking you need to bottle that inside, because it’s not healthy to fall apart only in isolation.

I took you to see Papa on the 28th.  We were heading up to Denver for Ike’s second surgery (another prime example of me absolutely losing all composure in front of a bunch of strangers).  I told you both that he wouldn’t look like you remembered, but he would soon have a brand new body in Heaven.  Pax, you’ve always been super interested in the medical field, and you asked a lot of questions about the machines, the hospital bed, and why he couldn’t talk to you.  We explained that even if he couldn’t talk, he could listen, silently recording his final stories.  How beautiful that you both get to be in that last chapter.  In one of the most painful and precious moments of my entire life, you both sang You are my Sunshine over his weak and failing body, the same song you sang to him after his triple bypass surgery last year.

Most people would tell you that I made the wrong decision in letting you see him like that.  But I’ve never agreed with what most people think anyway.  When we went to bed that night, Pax, you crawled out of your little mermaid snuggie tail and looked out the window.  When I asked what you were doing, you said you were looking for the first star.  I quickly realized why you had been waiting up.  You wanted to make a wish on that first star of the night. You wished that Papa would get better, and we talked about that for a long time.  We talked about what it means for Papa to “get better.”  You then asked if you could change your wish.  You crawled back over to that window, gazed up at the sky, and said you wished Papa would have the best life ever up in Heaven, and that he would wait for you there.  I’m proud of you.  Your maturity, your curiosity, your faith, and the fact that I had a small part in all of that.

I wrote earlier about that picture of your Ammy hanging over Papa’s recliner at their house in Clinton.  Ammy sells herself short on her capacity to take care of individuals who are sick or need medical attention.  She says that her limit is applying chapstick.  She hates puke, but I’ve watched her scrub it out of your hair when I was too pregnant to do much.  I’ve watched her change the sheets on Papa’s bed when he has thrown up the very little he had left in his system.  Your Ammy pulls through, every time.  She is resilient in her efforts to care for her family. Watching the way she took care of her own parents was unforgettable.  She is a beautiful balance of strength, emotion, and reason.  She’ll say she wasn’t qualified for the job, but in all reality, no one else could have done it the way that she did. When you get the chance, ask Ammy to tell you the story of Papa.  From different points of view, you can begin to piece together the masterpiece that he truly was.

Papa came home from the hospital on the 27th, but he went to his forever home with Jesus late last night.  Gee ended up in the ER yesterday, and went home against medical advice.  She was able to spend that final day with him, and he waited until she went to bed before he took his last breath.  Your Ammy was there, steadfast, just as she had been for the past week to let him know that he had fought the good fight and it was time to go home. He lived a beautiful 90 years.

The next time you hug Papa, or play chase with him, watch out.  He will no longer have that cane slowing him down.  He’ll still have that twinkle in his eye. He’ll sit you both down and tell you what kind of ruckus he’s been causing up in Heaven. A chance to live forever as a storyteller. I have no doubt that it was time for your Papa.  God needed a Coach up there to order people around.  He got the best one there is. I’ll make sure you remember.

Rest in Peace Coach

December 29, 2017

I love you,

Your mom.

Dear Pax and Ike,

I have people fooled.  Even people who are close to me.

In one week, a friend asked me how I “always have my shit together?”  (I always feel bad using language like that when I’m writing to you.  Don’t say those words, but it’s ok if Mommy does sometimes.)  🙂  Another friend asked if she could learn how to be a better parent from me.  You see, parenting doesn’t come with a manual, and none of us are truly doing a great job at it.  Including me.

I had a cold last week, it started on Christmas Eve and is still holding on a bit. Ike, you started to sneeze yesterday, and I knew it was heading your way. Before baths last night, I gave you two Hyland’s Cold dissolvable tablets. They are homeopathic, and I prefer them over harsh cold medicine. You had two more right before bed, and so did Pax. I left the container on your dresser, figuring you’d be up in the night. Like clockwork, you woke up calling for me at 1 am and I went down to get you. I brought you up in bed with us, and proceeded to not sleep a wink between worrying about your breathing and the constant jabs in the face. (You are such a violent sleeper.)

You woke up at 5:45. Like the crappy parent that I’ve been these past few days, I handed you my phone to watch nursery rhymes hoping I could finally catch a little sleep. Eventually you went downstairs with Daddy, and I stayed in bed for about 30 more minutes, before the mom guilt set in. I went downstairs and started to change your diaper. I laughed at the fact that you already had a messy face and hadn’t even had breakfast. I said, “Ike, what is this white stuff on your cheek?” Pax immediately replied, “He ate that whole bottle of medicine in his room.” 😳😳

Because it was a brand new bottle, the little plastic wrap (that I didn’t remove all the way) had prevented it from locking when I closed it.

I called poison control immediately, and you ended up being in the clear because the ingredients were safe, even in massive amounts. You ate 118 tablets in a couple minutes. 118 tablets.

I tell myself that everyone has one of these stories, but that’s not true.  We are so lucky that this story ended the way that it did.  I’m not sure that I’ll ever forgive myself for this, and maybe that’s why I need to put it out there, as a permanent brand to the fact that I’m not the incredible parent that I want to be, or that others falsely assume.

These past few months since I’ve written have been jam-packed.  My master’s classes are getting a little more intense, and I find it near impossible to carve out the time to write. Christmastime always seems to ground me back into reality.  A celebration of another year where we all made it.  Maybe after the 118 pills, it feels a little more that way.

I’ve written before that as I get older, I begin to embrace the season of fall more and more.  I’ve never been a fan of Halloween, but experiencing it through your eyes makes it a little more fun. I also love all things pumpkin patch, and we have a great one about 30 minutes from our house. I’m not sure if I’ve written about the first time we went as a family of four (and I’m too lazy to check right now), but Ike, you had a massive explosion from the collar of your shirt down to your socks.  I remember trying to change you into the ‘scraps’ I had thrown into the diaper bag.  All moms know exactly what I’m talking about- the clothes that don’t match that are bundled in the bottom of your diaper bag for emergency purposes only, and this was an emergency.  Trips to the pumpkin patch seem a little less eventful after that.

You’ve also both started the Fall Race Series with Daddy.  It’s a set of 4 races that you both get to run in.  They are hilarious.  I never realized how difficult it is for kids to run in a straight line.

We had our family pictures taken in October.  Who knew that was so stressful?  It costs a fortune for only a few minutes, and I left thinking we all looked good, just not at the same time or in the same place.  I was pleasantly surprised when we got them back!

We started letting you pick your own Halloween costumes last year, and this year, we continued the tradition.  Ike, you picked a construction worker costume, and Pax, you picked Doc McStuffins. We hit up a few of our amazing neighbors, did Trunk or Treat at the church, and went to Ammy and PopPop’s house.

November came in with a stomach bug and a big research paper due on my end.  You guys always seem to puke in the middle of the night, which happens to be when I usually end up going to bed.  It makes for an interesting series of events. I’ve also started taking more pictures (in my lack of free time).  I truly love being behind the camera, and always hoped that my photography would take back off at some point, I’m just not sure when is the ideal time for that to happen!

Pax, you have become slightly fixated on what life looks like as an adult.  You keep asking if you can live with us forever, and if so, if you can get a bigger bed and closet.

Gee and Papa moved here, and actually live just about 10 miles away from our house.  We’re all so excited to spend more time with them besides the once a year trip we were trying to make to Florida.  You both go and visit them during the week.  You’ve made all kinds of friends at the Dining Hall where they live.

We’ve taken advantage of the beautiful weather, and have spent a lot of November outside.  Watching Daddy put Christmas lights up on our new house was interesting to say the least.

This home feels so much more like home.  Decorating for the holidays is much more fun in a house where there is a bit of room.  I can’t wait to watch the traditions we develop here.  When I think of Christmas, I always think of sandwiches at Grandma and Grandpa’s house on Christmas Eve, and then biscuits and gravy in the morning at our house.  Although, like any other kid, I loved the presents, clearly the food made a bigger impression!  One of the things I looked forward to most (when house hunting) was finding a place that would make it possible to host.  Our house isn’t huge by any means, but it just feels right.

I think we’ve watched the movie Polar Express once a day (at least) leading up to Christmas.  Ike loves the “choo choo” movie and Pax, you love the songs (and the hot chocolate that you always get). We quickly found out that the little skinny tree that we had bought for our past house was not going to cut it in the new one!  It looked tiny in our living room, but it looked even smaller next to our huge windows that look out to all the real pine trees on the mountain.

Grandma and Grandpa came out in December, and we attempted some sledding in our yard and the result was me laughing harder than I have in a long time. There really is not a great run, so inevitably, just as you picked up speed, you would hit a tree, rock, or ravine, and it would send one or both of you flying out of the sled.  As I type that out, I realize (again) how I’m not quite the best parent. We kicked off Christmas break by riding the train up Pike’s Peak a big, singing carols, and having hot chocolate with Santa and Mrs. Claus. It was magical, as is seeing this season through both of your eyes.

We switched Christmas plans several times, and ended up all spending the night at Ammy and PopPop’s house.  We had sandwiches on Christmas Eve, you opened new pajamas, and Daddy read Twas the Night Before Christmas.  I had hoped that you both would fall asleep and we could play some games that night, but after a failed attempt, I ended up having to lay down with Ike to get him to sleep (super late).  Lane had a tough time sleeping that night, so when you both woke up (super early), he was still sleeping for a couple hours.  We ended up opening presents in shifts because you were so excited you couldn’t hardly stand it.  It was still a great time, and we were hit with quite the snowstorm that day.  It was a beautiful Christmas.

We ended the year with a trip to Skyzone and then our little incident of 118 tablets.

I feel like every year, and every post, I’m writing about how busy things have been, and maybe that’s just the theme of our lives.  I don’t think I’m one of those people that does my best in calm conditions.  I kind of crave the chaos I guess.  Maybe that’s how I am as a parent, too.  I don’t have it all together all the time, but I love you through the chaos, and that love never lessens one single bit.  Here’s to 2017.  I can’t wait to see what adventures are in store!

I love you,

Your mom.

Dear Pax and Ike,

Remember when I said that at some point, the downhill coast comes to a halt, and all of the sudden life slaps you in the face again?  Welcome August and September!

They finished our deck and built a little ramp in the back, which is so much fun for you both.

Pax, we signed you up for dance camp at the beginning of August.  Your response was, “Why do I need to have a teacher, I already have great moves.”  Although I was not a girly girl, buying you little leotards and tutus made my heart flutter.  Part of it is because I know it’s great for your coordination.  The other part is your still holding on to your so adorable chubby little thighs, and I couldn’t wait to squeeze them into tights and ballet shoes.  Ok, there’s one more part.  I’m super pigeon-toed, and seeing your little turnout brought me back to the years of the athletic trainers putting weights on my ankles before basketball practice in an attempt to “fix me.”  You loved dance camp, and really, it was our first attempt at anything “organized” for you.  The camp was for 3-5 year olds, and at 3, you were easily the tallest one.

On the final day of dance camp, we decided we would go camping.  This was our first time attempting to sleep with Ike in a tent (someday I’ll get a camper, right?)  We picked a spot and got set up.  Ammy and PopPop came out for supper, and as soon as we were done eating, it started pouring, which it did all night long.  Around 4 in the morning, it let up just long enough for the cows to begin their morning mooing.  Who puts a campground right next to a pasture full of cows?  Pax fell asleep quickly, and Ike, well you spent a good 45 minutes driving trucks all over my body. At some point in the night, you finally passed out, on my legs, which were hanging off the edge of the air mattress.  I sat up and tried to pull you up and felt a terrible pain in my back.  It was a rough night.  In the morning, we packed up quickly, and made a stop at urgent care so I could get a shot.  It wasn’t everything I had pictured for our first camping excursion, but it was a few hours of fun, and definitely a memory.

On my last day before heading back to school, we hit up a little thing in Woodland Park called “Touch a Truck.”  Ike, you were in heaven as you climbed on several different big vehicles and machines.  I keep thinking that going back to work after summer breaks will get easier, and I keep finding that is not the case.  I need more days, more moments, more time to tell you that I’m the luckiest mama in the world.  More time to chase butterflies, climb mountains, and enjoy the ride.

Grandma and Grandpa came out from Illinois for a visit and to watch you both while Ammy was in Florida.  We had such a great time showing them the new house and even going to the North Pole (a little amusement park built into the mountain).

Daddy had his race on August 20th.  The night before, Ike was up most of the night with a 103 degree fever.  My heart was torn.  I needed to be two places at once (being a mommy is like that) and I couldn’t.  Ike, you stayed with Grandma and Pax while Grandpa, Uncle Logan, and I headed up Pike’s Peak to watch Daddy finish the Ascent. Daddy did a great job and is already talking about doing it again next year!

Right after Grandma and Grandpa left, we experienced our first trip to the Emergency Room with Ike.  I knew it was coming from the moment you were born, but it still doesn’t make it easy. You were standing up on the couch, because, well because you always stand on the couch.  Then you climb up the railing or you jump.  In this particular case, you had been jumping off.  You had climbed back up and had stepped on the footrest that was extended at the time.  Only this time, you were standing backwards.  I guess you needed more of a thrill.  Pax came around and pushed down the footrest as you jumped, and your foot got caught as you fell backwards.  You cried briefly, and then seemed ok.  However, you refused to walk.  I let you sleep on it and then took you for x-rays the next morning.  I told them what happened, and they x-rayed your foot and said it looked fine.  We went home and started getting ready for your 2nd birthday party. You both went camping with Ammy and PopPop, and although Ike continued to limp, his injury didn’t slow him down much.

I had a blast planning your birthday party.  Your favorite book right now is Little Blue Truck. I planned the entire party around that book.  We spray painted a kiddie pool, filled it with gravel, and put a bunch of little trucks in it.  The food was: Diesel dogs (hot dogs) and bumper brats, spark plug sliders, farm fresh eggs, vehicle veggies, carburetor kabobs, cracked windshields (chips) and dirt cake. After eating, I read the book to you and your friends.  When the truck says “beep beep beep” at the end of the story, Daddy brought out your very own blue truck.  It was such a fun day!

Three days after the party, we had your check-up at the doctor.  Because you were still limping, they sent us for more x-rays.  After that, we were called back for more x-rays the same afternoon. Finally, we were referred to an orthopedic specialist and found out YOU’D BEEN WALKING ON A BROKEN LEG FOR 1 WEEK AND 6 DAYS!  I felt like the worst kind of parent.  The doctor at the ER had only x-rayed your foot, and it was further up your leg.  They call these toddler fractures because they are so hard to see on an x-ray.  You rocked your first cast like a champ. You called it your “big blue bandaid” and were out hiking with Ammy and PopPop the next day.

People ask me all the time why I never do actual photo sessions with you both.  I’ve been waiting all summer for Ike’s knot to go away on his head.  It never did, and now he has a broken leg.  I decided to quit waiting, and to give it a shot.  On the way to Ammy and PopPop’s house, there is this patch of flowers that blooms beautifully each September, but the window is pretty short.  We went on a beautiful day and got some sweet pictures of you both.

We have had absolutely beautiful weather this past month.  We were able to head up to Denver to meet Lane at the zoo.  It’s always been fun getting you three together, but it’s getting even better now that you can all play.

Our country is slightly terrifying right now.  It’s weird to write this and have no idea what the outcome will be, and how different everything will be when you are old enough to understand these letters.  I’ve never been a political person.  Not only am I not very interested in it all, I don’t put enough effort into learning.  However, when I heard rumors that Donald Trump might be running for president, I truly thought it was a joke.  There was no way someone with his lack of experience and crazy history could be a leader in the country.  It appears that it was very much not a joke, and as we get closer to election day, I find myself consumed with worry.  Honestly, in Illinois, while I would care, this wouldn’t have been such a big issue.  But right now, in my job, with these students, I am scared.  I want them to live in a world where they are valued, praised, and given opportunities based on who they are and not where they’re from or what they look like.  Just writing that sentence takes me back to a time before I was even alive.  I’m scared for them, I’m scared I won’t have the right answers.  I do know that I find solace in your arms, in the moments.

I titled this post uphill part 1.  After every downhill, you hit it.  We hit it with a broken leg, and then the climb continued.  Then, Pax, you decided you wanted to add to the tab a bit as well…

You wrecked your scooter riding down the road outside of our house. They superglued you back together and sent us on our way.  In the past month, we’ve had two trips to urgent care, three sets of x-rays, 3 doctor appointments, a cast, and now a superglued chin.  Sometimes you wreck, usually it’s when you’re going too fast downhill.

I hope that things settle down for a bit now.  I hope that next time I write, we are back to cruising.  But we’ve never lasted like that for long, have we?  What fun is it when things are going smoothly?

I love you,

Your mom.

Dear Paxton and Ike,

I learned a lot about life from the back seat… of a tandem bicycle.

Ammy was a crazy bicyclist. At one point, she decided to turn our playroom into an extra room to watch TV.  I think it was discussed that it could be a sort of date room, or a room where our friends could hang without being in the way.  The best part was, there was this itty bitty television, but you couldn’t actually see it very well because all of mom’s bikes were hanging from the ceiling in that room.

One of the Christmases I remember the most entailed a bunch of little notes leading your Uncle Logan and I all over our house, through the barns, and culminating with new bikes for each of us. Ammy couldn’t just put a bow on it like any other parent, we had to do things like “Walk backwards 20 steps” and “Face the pond and take 8 strides.”  If I ever do things like that to you, know that I come by it honestly.  Ammy’s dad, your papa, still likes to wrap individual $1 bills in about 6 layers of duct tape.   The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

We started small, rides to and from town (about 7 miles one way).  Then we would make this trip to Warrensburg, a nearby town, and back. That was special because there was a little restaurant where we could eat barbecue and drink lemonade.  Then, all of the sudden, we were riding our bikes to school (again, 7 miles away) and being signed up for some longer bike rides, 25 miles here, 50 miles there.  Ammy had a couple road bikes, a mountain bike, and eventually, a tandem.  It was a red Burley tandem, and it was beautiful.  I don’t know how it was decided who got to ride on the back of the tandem, but it was usually me.  Actually, now that I type that, I get it.  Ammy picked the wimp. I would ride on the back of that tandem to school, hop off, put my helmet in my locker, and Ammy would ride it the rest of the way to work, by herself, with those back pedals spinning as if they were being powered by an imaginary person.

We spent a lot of miles on the pavement, dodging willy worms (you know, those fat caterpillars), talking about life, flying down hills and crawling up them.  I thought I was really sneaky, and I would occasionally (ok, all the time) take my feet off the pedals, leaving Ammy to pull our weight by herself.

Eventually we were doing some of the larger, multiple day rides.  PAC-RACC was a three day, 220 mile ride.  That’s a lot of time to spend on a bike, no matter if you are 12 or 32.  Some years it poured, some years it was miserably windy or hot.  We rode on that tandem bicycle with a battery powered radio strapped right behind my seat and a coonskin tail dangling from the antenna.  (Yes, I too am a bit embarrassed reading that back to myself!)  We rode, or at least I did, for the rest stops.  At the rest stops, we would get off the bike, grab a snack, fill up our water bottles, and chat with fellow cyclists.  I still distinctly remember the taste of gatorade coming out of my waterbottle, the smell of my bike gloves after riding all day, and the muscle cramps in my butt while cruising along to some country music.

I learned valuable lessons on the back of that bike, things I couldn’t have learned sitting at home playing video games.  Things like: 1) Once your underwear is wet, you can’t get any wetter (so stop complaining about the fact that it’s raining and we still have 60 miles to ride), 2) you will crash, 3) you better get up and keep going, 4) always wear a helmet, no matter how ‘uncool’ you think it is, 5) don’t get too excited about downhills, there’s bound to be an uphill real soon.

Life right now, as crazy as it sounds with working full time, finishing up my master’s degree, moving into a new house, etc… life right now is a downhill.  I think it’s one of the reasons I haven’t spent much time on this blog, I almost feel guilty talking about things going well.

The month of July was full of many adventures.  Selfishly, I love July because Daddy works at summer school and I get you both all to myself.  I also had a break in grad school classes in July this year, so besides editing thousands of pictures, you had all my attention.

I’ve decided that I want to devote this year to exploring more of the beautiful state we live in.  I’ve always wanted a camper, and I started really laying it on heavy with Daddy.  After all, I’m pretty convincing and I can usually get what I want.  I still don’t have a camper.

On the 4th of July, we went up to Denver to Logan and Kelsey’s house.  There was a small parade in their neighborhood, and then we swam for a bit.  It gets more and more fun each time we get together, watching you two play with Lane.

We tried to time the drive home so that we could catch some fireworks along the way.  We pulled over at a little scenic overlook after stopping for chocolate milk.  As soon as we parked, Daddy looked at me and said, “Is Ike going to puke?”  I turned around and recognized that look…and got him unbuckled and out of the carseat in under a second.  I, in a moment of desperation, could only extend my arms and hold him straight out while he puked everywhere, all over himself, a little over me, splattering all over the pavement.  I was just so ecstatic that I didn’t have to clean up the carseat, that I said, “Nice job, team!”  I heard some additional dry heaving that I didn’t recognize, and it was then that I realized that the entire vehicle next to us had their windows down and had watched, listened to, and smelled the entire thing.  Did we head home?  No, we changed shirts and went to watch some fireworks!  Turns out we were entirely too far away to see anything, so we hopped back in the car and headed towards home.  Pax, you hadn’t slept all day and it was nearing 9:30 p.m.  We were keeping you awake so you could see them on the drive.  We caught a beautiful show near Manitou Springs, and you finally passed out .  When Daddy woke you up to carry you inside, you moaned and said, “No more fireworks, let me sleep!”

When our deck was inspected at the new house, they found several rotten boards.  Because that was my favorite part of the house, and because we plan on staying here for a very long time, we decided to go ahead and have it torn down and rebuilt.  This meant a lot of noise and a couple weeks of having a 12 foot drop-off right outside the front door.  The contractor asked if we wanted to save $500 and stain the boards ourselves.  That seemed like such a great idea at the time, but it really took a chunk out of our time together. Because of this, you were both forced to play together and to entertain yourselves.  Ammy was in Florida helping out with Papa’s heart surgery and PopPop was busy with his own projects.  Somewhere in this 3 week period, Pax, you began to express yourself/ beg for attention, using your clothes.  This stage has no end in sight…

Daddy has been busy training for the Pike’s Peak Ascent.  Just writing that sentence makes me happy.  The Ascent is what always brought my family out to this area for vacation, and now we live in it.  We can’t wait to cheer him on next month as he climbs America’s Mountain (aka, our front yard).

In these sweet couple months of coasting downhill, we’ve had our series of adventures.  Our own personal exploring of this beautiful place we call home.

I learned a lot on the backseat of that tandem.  Right now, it’s simply about enjoying the ride.  Watching you two grow into the little people you’re becoming is my favorite thing in the world.  I’m trying to hold my breath.  You know that sweet feeling when you are coasting downhill and the wind is blowing against your face.  You lift your legs up for a second (or a lot of seconds if you’re on the back of the tandem) and all seems right with the world.  I know that at the other end of the downhill comes the uphill, but for right now, right in this moment, I’m feeling the breeze.

I love you both,

Your mom.

Dear Paxton and Ike,

I just got an email saying that I haven’t posted in 7 months.  7 months?!?  But just yesterday I was writing that I would write again soon.  Sorry, team.  It’s been a jam-packed 7 months. I’m going to break it up into May and June for this post, and then I’ll do another to catch us up to speed.

When I left off last, I was throwing myself a big pity party because things weren’t going my way.  We had just lost out on a house that we really wanted, I was taking 3 classes and working a full+ time job, and I was mad.

We continued to look at houses, and resorted to the fact that we were probably going to have to buy a fixer-upper if we wanted to stay in this area and have a large enough house. I continued to stalk the websites any chance I got, because you have to move that fast when you find something you like.  Another house in Green Mountain Falls came on the market.  It was really big, near Ammy and PopPop, and had tons of potential, but very little parking or yard space.  We looked at it and immediately Ammy and I fell in love with parts of it.  It had this all wooden “Great Room” that had an entire wall of windows and a huge fireplace on another wall.  It needed major work, every room.  There was this really awkward master bathroom with a walk in shower, only the wall that should be between the shower and the bedroom was actually a window, not a wall.  I love your daddy, but I’m not starting every day with that show. It had a really neat little sunroom that I envisioned being a cute little studio.

The house was in our price range, but would require at least a $40-60 thousand dollar renovation over time.  We decided to sleep on it, and then called the realtor that we wanted to see it again that weekend.  He set us up for Saturday at 11 a.m.  We talked more about that house, and decided that we would probably make an offer on Saturday. Friday morning, I did my realtor.com check before school started.  There was a new house in Cascade, across the highway from our current house.  In Cascade, they have what’s called “The Sunny Side” and “The Shady Side.”  It all depends on which side of the highway you’re on, and how the mountains affect your light in the afternoon.  This house was way different than the others that we’d seen, and maybe that’s because it was also way out of our price range.  It was more modern, and it was in a neighborhood packed with families instead of vacation properties.  I emailed the listing to your dad, and said, “I know this is too much, but…”  Daddy analyzes all of our financial decisions.  Just like everything else in life, I react first, and then think.  I saw a picture today that read, “I don’t like to think before I talk.  I like to be just as surprised by what comes out of my mouth as you are.”  Someone out there must have the same struggles I do. 🙂

Somewhere in the mix of all of this, Ike, you ran into a table at Ammy and PopPop’s and got a really nasty knot on your head, paired with two black eyes.  I joked that it would never go away, that’s not so funny now.

Daddy actually loved that new house from the pictures.  It didn’t have a garage (one of his must-haves), but it had 3 bedrooms, an open concept, a basement, a wrap around deck, and yard space.  Finding yard space when you’re purchasing a house on the side of a mountain is a pretty daunting task.  He decided to humor me, and let me call the realtor to set up a showing.  Knowing how fast houses were flying off the market, I tried to get in that day.  They weren’t accepting showings until the following day, so we got the first one that morning, right before going to see that other house again.

I told my brain, my heart, my wallet, and my husband to not let me fall in love with that house.  None of them listened.  We pulled up and walked through the gate, and every memory of exactly what I pictured my life like with kids came flooding in.  It was an awful baby poop color of paint, and not just that, but they had picked 3 different baby poop shades to paint the house.  However, I couldn’t have even told you what color that house was when I walked through the gate.  I saw grass, a deck that went on for miles, and the most incredible view of the mountains.  I fell in love with that house before we even opened the front door.  Once inside, the house was taken over by natural light.  Side note, when I first met your daddy, he was living in a little rental house right next to your Grandma and Grandpa.  Every. Single. Window. was covered with dark curtains.  I’ll be the first to admit that I have a touch of that seasonal affective disorder.  I need sunshine.  This house has enormous picture windows that give you a view of the mountains from every room.  There are two bedrooms right next to each other on the main floor, and then a staircase up to the master suite, which is the entire upstairs. The master has a walk out balcony, a huge bathroom, a walk-in closet in the bathroom, and a spare little room (which would make a perfect nursery, but everyone else seems to disagree.)  Downstairs, there is a large basement, a laundry room, another bathroom, and a mudroom.  I looked at your daddy and he saw that look in my eyes and knew we were in trouble.

We didn’t go to that other house that day.  We put a full price offer on that first house, and you know what, we got it.  We spent the next few days actually getting our house ready to put on the market.  Cleaning a house with a one year old and a three year old is like trying to keep two puppies in a one foot square.  You clean up one room and then spend the next however many hours putting things back where they go. I volunteered to photograph our house, because I knew I could strategically hide things in each room before the tornado called Ike would come through like a wrecking ball. In what seemed like the craziest move in the entire world, our realtor wanted to try out a new strategy.  He wanted to list our house on a Friday, have an open house on a Saturday, and only accept offers until 8 p.m. that night with no other showings.  I said absolutely not.  The realtor asked me how I would feel if I had his child in my class and he came in and tried to tell me how to teach.  Point taken, do what you want realtor man.

He listed our house on a Friday morning at ten.  The open house was from 11-3 the next day. I had to go up to Denver that morning to take a test to become endorsed in Gifted and Talented education.  I wasn’t even the last person in our house before the open house, it was your daddy and both of you.  You know I have control issues, that combined with test anxiety put me in not so tremendous shape that day!

We got five offers at that open house, all above the asking price.  The person who bought it, didn’t even see it, but had her realtor video the walk through on his cell phone.  Here’s a fun fact, it was the same realtor we used to buy that very house two years ago.  The same realtor that I went round and round with.  God’s trying to give me a second chance at being nice with this guy, I think.

Everything became a whirlwind of inspections, signing papers, etc.  We set a closing date for our new house towards the end of May, and a closing date for the house we were selling for the middle of June.  It just so happened that we would be gone for 3 out of 4 weeks in the month of June.  It was also nearing my week of finals at grad school. Let the good times roll.

We had our final walkthrough on Monday afternoon.  They had been in doing some painting, and wouldn’t you know it, Ike found the tiny closet housing that wet paint, and stepped in it. Ike, your chapter in my book will always be called, “It’s a good thing you’re cute.”

We closed on our dream house Tuesday afternoon, although we didn’t plan on moving in until that Saturday.  I spent the rest of that week going over and painting after we put you both to bed.  I would come home at 1 in the morning, do a little homework, and then catch a couple hours of sleep.  As crazy as it was, it was so nice to do it this way, and be able to move things gradually.  On my birthday, which was that Saturday, a few amazing friends met at the house, and we moved in for good.  I’ll never forget your daddy going to pick up the U-Haul and running back in the house to ask me what to do if it was a stick shift instead of automatic.  I replied, “Call me, and I’ll drive it.”  Our relationship is so typical.

It was certainly NOT my 24th birthday, that’s just how great my village is!

We were in the new house for a total of 3 nights before we headed off to Florida with Ammy to see Papa and Gee for a week.  In those nights, I had to go back to the old house every night after you went to bed because we didn’t have internet yet, and I had a ton of homework to do.  It felt like a mean joke, and I didn’t think I was ever going to catch up.

Back to Florida, it was your first time flying, and I was a nervous wreck.  (One should never use the word wreck when referring to flying.)  I’m not sure how much I have told you about my luck with flying, but it’s not good.  I’m really good at screwing up the times, forgetting things, and trying to bring knives through the airport.  Needless to say, Ammy prefers to fly without my help!  I felt semi-prepared for this trip, although packing for three people is a lot more stressful than packing for just one.  We took off early in the morning for the airport, and we made it about 10 minutes before I made us turn around.  That’s not bad, right?

The flight was 3 1/2 hours long, and we didn’t get you a seat, Ike.  I thought I’d save us the $450 and let you sit on my lap.  At the time, I neglected to really think about those words- “sit for 3 1/2 hours.”  You know when they let the bulls out at rodeos?  The bulls that have been confined to those tiny cages, and they have a bull-rider on their backs, and they have one goal- to buck as much as possible to get said bull-rider to fall off?  That’s what it was like trying to get you to sit for 3 1/2 hours.  “But ma’am, he needs to have a seatbelt on.”  Ha, be my guest you sweet little flight attendant.  In fact, feel free to take him up to the cockpit and put a seatbelt on him.  I even tried to drug you both with Dramamine.  (Don’t judge me, all you perfect parents).  It had the opposite effect.  It was like watching a pinball fly through a machine, only that machine was filled with people.

It could’ve been worse, as Ammy always says.  You didn’t cry, you just didn’t stop moving.  We got to Florida and picked up our rental car, and we were on our way in the 5,000 degree heat with 300% humidity.  Us mountain folk are a bit spoiled, aren’t we?  We had the most incredible week in Florida.  We visited the beach 3 times, because you both loved it there.  We swam at night, took endless golf cart rides with Papa, and spent a lot of time sitting around their house laughing at both of you.  Those times are so, so important.

I’m pretty sure there were several trips to Florida in high school and college where I begged to go to the beach multiple times.  Funny how all you two had to do was say “BEACH” and we were loading up the rafts in the car again!  Not so funny was the effort I had to put into getting sand out of Ike’s butt cheeks.

The flight home was very similar to the flight there, except it was during nap time, and I knew it would have a different result.  After all, my friends have all posted pictures of their children passed out “the entire flight.”  It didn’t matter, I tried Dramamine again, jokes on me, Dramamine turns Ike into some nocturnal tasmanian-devil type creature.  I didn’t spend a ton of money in Florida, but looking back, I definitely should have purchased alcohol for the people in the seats near us.  When we sat down for our flight, the lady in front of us turned around and said, “Oh don’t worry, I am kid friendly.  I know what it’s like.”  Her smile didn’t last even 20 minutes by the time we had squirted her with a water bottle, kicked her seat repeatedly, thrown gummy bears at her, and sang “Old MacDonald” for the 600th time.

We headed back home for a quick week before we’d be packing up for our next adventure.

We had such an incredible time in Illinois last summer, but we felt really rushed.  We decided we would stay for two weeks this time.  We chose to drive through the night again, because let’s face it, no one wants to be in a tiny space with Ike for 18 hours when he’s wide awake!  Sorry kid, I love you like crazy, but wow, you are loud, and you do not like your carseat.  We left around 5 p.m. I knew it would be a couple hours before Ike fell asleep. Have I mentioned how much he loves trucks?  HE LOVES TRUCKS.  We thought his first word was duck, but looking back, he was probably trying to say truck.  Do you know how many trucks there are between Colorado and Illinois?  Do you know that he had to tell us every time he saw one?  This was 3:30 a.m….

Ike, you drifted in and out of sleep, but it was never much longer than 15 minutes before we heard, “MAMA, DADDY, 18-WHEELER, IT’S A BIIIIIG ONE!”  Good thing you’re so stinkin’ cute.

We had another incredible trip to Illinois.  My heart needed to spend some time with my old crew. You both needed to spend some time with Grandma and Grandpa and your cousins.  You ran a race, swam several times, and spent countless hours playing with all of Grandpa Joe’s special toys!

I have had several people in Illinois tell me that they’ve had difficulty finding another photographer after I left.  This has zero to do with my talent and everything to do with my ability to make a fool of myself and not care at all. Anyhow, I offered out mini-sessions to see if anyone would be interested.  3 days and almost 30 sessions later, I was beat.  The heat index on all three of the days I took pictures was well over 100.  Some women glow beautifully, I sweat, massive amounts.  This was something I just completely take for granted living in Colorado.  But, it allowed me the opportunity to get back behind the camera, and to see a lot of great people.  One of the neatest things about photography is watching children/families grow over time.  One day I’ll get better about taking your pictures, one day that knot will go away, right?

We headed back home and I couldn’t wait to really unpack the house, but mostly, to spend some beautiful time with the two of you.  I’ve found that I love the beach, the cornfields, the dessert, the forrest, the mountains, all of it.  I think it’s all about living in the now, and surrounding yourself with people who make it all worth it.  But man, pulling into that new house of ours, it just feels like home.

I love you,

Your mom.

Dear Paxton and Ike,

I fell in love with basketball on Saturday mornings at the YMCA when I was about 8 years old.

It required hustle, strategy, grit, and teamwork.

There were positions for short little scrappy players like me.

You could call a timeout when you were in a crunch.

It was ridiculously hard in the 4th quarter.

You could full-court press the other team and guarantee to get them frazzled.

In 6th grade, we were unstoppable.  Well, we were stopped twice, I suppose, but we finished the season with only those two losses.

High school was a different ballgame, pun intended.  The practices started and ended with sprints.  It was lifting before school and practice after.  It was physical therapy in the trainer’s room because they thought they could fix the fact that I was pigeon-toed.  It was a lot more competitive and a lot more people going for the same position. It meant watching upperclassmen wear the number that you had been rocking for three years.

I didn’t always see the last few minutes, or even the fourth quarter.  There were only 5 fouls, and a lot of games, I used all 5 of mine.  I left it all on the court.  I liked shooting, but more than that, I lived for defense.  I loved anticipating a pass, stealing the ball, flying up the court and getting the assist.  I wasn’t the best player that our little town had ever seen by far, but man, I loved that game.

Junior year of high school, I ended up at the hospital for emergency gallbladder surgery.  It was the week of tryouts.  I’ll never forget my first game back several weeks later at St. Teresa High School in Decatur, IL.  I went out in a JV game where the pace would be a little slower and the fouls a little less intense.  I wasn’t in long when I ended up falling on the ball, right on my stomach.  I remember sitting on the stairs outside the gym and crying, not sure if I was going to die because my insides just might have combusted or because I might not have enough time in the season to make it back to the player I knew I could be.

Maybe I subconsciously knew at that moment.  Or maybe I was just in pain.  But I never really got my love for the game back.  The rest of that season was messy.  Your junior and senior years are supposed to be the time that you soar and I fell on my face, literally.

When senior year came around, there were 6 of us who had played together, basically since Y ball.  I made the decision to not go out.  The season before had frustrated me and deep down, I think I feared senior night.  They couldn’t start all 6 of us, and what if I was the one that was on the bench when they announced the starting line-up?  The fear swallowed me.  I worried that the coaches minds were made up just based on my junior year.  It’s one of the decisions I’ve regretted most in my life.  I let fear win and I’ll never forgive myself for it. The thing about playing high school sports is you have no idea at the time just how important they are to your life.  You have no idea that one day you’ll look back and wish you had given it more, fully committed, and cared less about the rest of the drama of being a high schooler.

I woke up the other morning with a crying hangover.  You know the kind where it feels like you’ve been drinking all night, but the reality is you’ve cried so hard that you are sick to your stomach, your head is pounding and you don’t know why you fell asleep in that awkward position.

I haven’t wrote in awhile, because honestly, things just weren’t going my way and I’m not good at that.

Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s all passed in the blink of an eye.  We spent time with family, enjoyed it all, and made some amazing memories.  Pax, we celebrated your 3rd birthday with a rainbow party.  I told myself I wasn’t going to go all out, but you know that didn’t happen.

We bought a new vehicle (with a lot of help from your grandparents) because we were having all kinds of issues with the all wheel drive on our Enclave, and you can’t take those chances when you live in a place that tends to get at least 10 inches of snow every time they call for some flurries. We ended up with a certified used Jeep Grand Cherokee.  I say certified lightly.  At the dealership, they advertise this whole certified, so-many hundred point inspection thing.  After having issues with a vehicle, it made sense for us, who couldn’t afford brand new, to buy certified.  We spent over 3 hours at the dealership.  They gave us next to nothing for our Enclave because they pulled a report and found that we were actually the third owner (we thought we were the second) and that it had all kinds of issues before us. I just never know who to trust at those places. We got home and Grandpa Joe noticed that the antennae was missing off the top.  I thought, hmm, that’s weird that they didn’t catch that in their 3,000 point inspection.  Daddy called them and they said we could bring it in and they would either have it or order the part for us.  “Bringing it in” isn’t so easy because it’s at least a half hour from our house.  After that got fixed, I went to drive it one afternoon and grabbed the second fab.  Only, it didn’t work. I thought, hmm, that’s weird that they didn’t catch that in their 3,000 point inspection.  So, we called and they said that we could bring it in at some point, but we might have to pay for that.  The next day, I got in the Jeep after work and it said that tire pressure was low in the back left tire.  I drove to pick you both up and when I pulled into Ammy and PopPop’s house, I couldn’t make it up their driveway.  I checked the tire again, and it looked like it was maybe losing a little air, but not drastically.  I thought maybe the sensor was off.  When I pulled into our house, the dang tire was completely flat and you could hear the “psssssshhhhhh” as soon as I stepped out of the car.  No biggie, we’ll jack this baby up and change the tire.  Only problem was, it has a security lug nut on each tire.  We looked in the vehicle and couldn’t find anything, so I called the dealership.  Now remember, this is the third time they’ve heard from us in 5 days.  The guy tells me it should be in the glove box.  I inform him that it’s not.  He tells me that we’re going to have to get the vehicle towed to the dealership so they can take care of it, but the dealership will probably be closed when we get there.  I said some words that weren’t real nice and asked for the manager.  This was not our fault and we were not going to get the vehicle towed 30 miles away in the dark when it had been snowing.  Both of you were inside crying because you were hungry and you didn’t understand what was going on and basically Ike, you cry anytime I’m not holding you or giving you all my attention.  In the midst of me talking to the manager, he interrupts me and says, “first off, you need to calm down.  It’s just a flat tire.”

I’ve never liked the term “bat shit crazy,” but that’s what we’ll use to describe me in the next several moments.  I ended up holding the phone up to Ike and asking him if that sounded like just a flat tire?  It was so much more.  It was two kids that needed fed, it was a car that needed towed and a driveway that isn’t really set up for a tow truck.  It was a long day at work.  It was the fact that one of us wasn’t going to have a vehicle the next day.  It was the fact that none of this was our fault and HOW DID THEY NOT CATCH THIS ON THEIR 6,000 POINT INSPECTION??

The guy told me to call roadside assistance and to leave the fab in the dropbox and they’d look at it the following day. I asked him for the number and he didn’t know it.  This is real life, folks.  I called roadside assistance and they were going to send a tow truck, but they said it probably wouldn’t make it up our driveway so just go ahead and put the vehicle in the road and they would be there in the next hour.  Here’s a great idea, let’s put our dark grey jeep in the middle of the mountain roads in the dark.  I called the dealership back and informed them that we wouldn’t be there for another hour and a half and that my husband would ride with the two truck and we needed a loaner vehicle waiting for us at the dealership.  And, that our insurance didn’t cover the tow because it was over the allowed distance, so they would be taking care of that bill also.  The guy agreed, although he was still a jerk.

The tow truck shows up at 5:30.  Your daddy slowly drives the vehicle down to the truck and they get loaded up.  Meanwhile, I’m pissed off and trying to feed you, bathe you and just parent in general.  I called Ammy and just cried, thinking she might come over because I’m TERRIBLE at asking for help.  It’s one of the areas I need to work on the most.

I get a text from your daddy about an hour later.  THE TOW TRUCK BROKE DOWN and they were waiting for another tow truck to come ‘rescue’ them.  He didn’t get home until 9:30 that night.

When I called the following day to check in on the vehicle before picking it up after school, they let me know that they hadn’t started it because they couldn’t find it.  Apparently the vehicle sitting right in front of the service department door with a FLAT TIRE wasn’t enough of a clue.

Would you believe me if I told you that right after we got it back I was driving home and went to use the washer fluid and it didn’t work out of one side?  I thought, hmm, that’s weird that they didn’t catch that in their 9,000 point inspection.  True story, kids.  Certified isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.  Would you believe that our Enclave is currently listed on their website for much more than they gave us with a “Clean CarFax Report?”

In December, I began having nightmares about Ike.  99% of them, I think stemmed from the fact that his bedroom is so far away for ours.  In these dreams, I would look at the monitor and see someone coming in his room and taking him out of his crib and I could never get there in time.  Or we would be at a public place and all of the sudden, he was just gone.  There were so many scenarios, and they gave me a new kind of anxiety.  Somewhere in all of that, we decided to get in touch with a realtor and start looking at other houses.  We love our house, but I need to be closer to him.  We need a bit more space to run.  I need a space I can use for pictures. I want a house I can have family dinners at, a house where highchairs don’t take up the majority of our space.

We looked at quite a few over a couple months, and then while our realtor was out of town, in true Powell fashion, we found the house.  He set us up with another realtor to look at it the second day it was on the market.  The house was bank-owned and listed pretty low for a house its size.  It was right down the hill from Ammy and PopPop’s house.  It was over 2,000 square feet and had a perfect spot for a studio so I could get rolling with my photography again.  We expected it to be trashed, and in reality, it needed some love, but it was livable.  We could get this house and fix it up little by little as we go.  Just in case there was competition, we went in $15,000 above asking price that very same day.  The bank was going to take the highest bid, and we wanted to make sure that was us.

We went home and began getting our house ready to show.  We packed up what we didn’t need and things that were just taking up too much space.  We also packed up my dresser in order to make our bedroom look bigger.  We packed Ammy and PopPop’s garage with the very same things that had been cluttering our little house.  We had Monday off from school and spent that whole day running trips back and forth, knowing that later that week, as soon as we got the call, we’d list our house.

That night I went to grad school.  We had been on a break since mid-December and I really struggled with going back. The next day, we worked and then I had class again until 8:20 p.m.  I got home and Daddy told me that Ike had been walking around the house saying, “Mama, are you?”  That very same night, Pax, you grabbed me and asked me to stop working so much and have a Pax Bear and Mommy night.  I broke.  I’ve talked about the ‘mom guilt’ before, but it doesn’t get better.  I’m taking three classes this semester and I started to think that I may have actually taken on too much.  People always tell me that I can do things like this because that’s all they know of me, but what happens if they’re wrong?  What happens if I’m wrong?

On Wednesday, I texted Daddy before leaving school and told him that I wasn’t going to cook that night.  In fact, I wasn’t going to do anything but hold the two of you.  It was our night to reconnect.  It was my night to prove to you that I’m still in this for you.  We picked up a couple pizzas from Papa Murphy’s (they have the best gluten free crust) and got settled in.  A man had been working on a wall in our house that we had taken out, but never finished.  He called to say he was going to come by and get it done that night, and it should only take about 30 minutes.  I told Daddy to wait on the pizzas and we’d put them in as soon as he left. He showed up at 5:00, with his 5 year old son.  In any other situation, at any other time in my life, that probably would’ve been ok, but I had no idea.  His son, as sweet as can be, has special needs and clearly had a cold.  He came in with snot dripping down into his mouth, and his dad got to work.  I wiped his nose and showed him our toys and the whole time I was screaming from the inside.  I needed me time, I needed us time, I did not need to parent someone else’s kid when I was doing a bang-up job with my own.  Pax, you were just beautiful to watch interact with him.  You showed him every toy you have, and when he didn’t want to play what you wanted, you changed to make him happy.  Ike, you were crazy jealous when he was near me and I thanked my lucky stars that you were number 2 for us.  I don’t know how it would’ve worked if you had a younger sibling.  Daddy and I followed him around wiping his nose and cussing his father under our breaths. 30 minutes turned into an hour.  He started saying he was hungry, so I started getting out snacks and drinks, knowing we didn’t have enough pizza to feed him or his dad.  One hour turned into two.  We sat down for pizza that night at 7:15 and I was mad.

Thursday came and went and we got a text late that night that the bank would decide on offers and let us know the following day.  I stared at my phone obsessively the entire morning.  At lunch, I ran out to get some food for a friend whose daughter was sick.  I was in the Target checkout line when our realtor told me to call him ASAP.  I flew out of the store, got in the car, and prepared myself for our next step.  I couldn’t wait to call Daddy and tell him it was ours.  I couldn’t wait to take you both back to that house, you called it the house with so many rooms, and tell you that you could pick your room.

We didn’t get that house.  Our offer was the highest, but they went with someone who offered cash and $6,000 less than us.

I ugly cried in my car for the rest of my lunch break.  It’s weird when you’ve already mentally committed to something and someone takes that away.  I had our furniture organized, the paint colors picked out and I could already hear your happiness as you ran through the rooms.  I picked you up after work and we drove by that house, just like we did everyday the year before and everyday here on out. They had dug something up in the front yard, and Pax, you got all excited and said, “Look, they’re putting in a bouncy for me!” (That’s what you call trampolines.)  I broke again.

It was a combination of exhaustion, devastation, and upon reflection, just the fact that I’m no good at being told no.

So, I woke up that next morning with a crying hangover and I needed to call a timeout on life.  I needed to go into the locker room, sit on a bench, put a towel in my mouth and scream as loud as I could.  I needed to have a grand ole pity party or I wasn’t going to be able to finish the quarter, the half, the game.

Life isn’t like basketball.  You can’t just call timeouts.  Or maybe you run out of them before you are smart enough to save them for times when you actually need them.

Maybe it was just another foul, although those never bothered me too much.  Anyhow, I couldn’t get a timeout, I couldn’t get a 5 minute break to talk to my team in the locker room and then shoot a couple shots at halftime.  I had one choice, and that was to suck it up and keep going.

You both woke up with colds that morning.  Wonder where you could’ve possibly picked that up from?

As soon as they released the details about the closing, we tried one more time, because you know I don’t give up easily.  We found out that the guy who bought the house was going to flip it and list it for well over $100,000 more than he paid for it.  We offered him over $20,000 above the price he bought it for to walk away without doing any work.  We knew that as soon as he started fixing it, it would be out of our price range.  He countered with a ridiculous number that was nowhere near what we could afford right now and we countered again, this time $25,000 above what he paid.  He rejected our offer and we lost it again.

This is the point in the game where I lose control and end up with a technical.

*Side note- I never actually got a technical, but my friend Lindsey (the sweetest one of any of us) did, and even funnier, your Ammy did when she played in high school.

We’re still in our house.  It’s not on the market.  My dresser and most of your toys are in the garage at Ammy and PopPop’s house.  I still drive by that house every time I pick you up.  Yesterday, Pax, you noticed that there was a man at that house and that he had taken out all the toilets (and there were 4 of them- it was a person with food allergies/IBS/Celiac’s dream), the sinks, the oven, the dishwasher, the counters, etc.  I explained to you that he was going to fix up the house and then put a for sale sign in the yard.  You got all excited again and said that we could buy it after he fixes it.  I tried to reason with you that it would be too much and we don’t have that much money.  You thought for a second and said, “Sure we do.  Ike’s piggy bank is half full and I keep finding coins.”

If only it was that easy.

I wonder where we will be when you are old enough to read these.  Will we have a bigger house somewhere in our current neighborhood?  Will we find a house that’s still fairly small, but has all the bedrooms together?  Will we still be in this house with my underwear in a diaper box shoved under some clothes in the closet because my dresser is sitting in Ammy’s garage?  Will it even matter?

Life is tricky like this.  But just like my basketball career, you look back and realize what mattered and what didn’t.  I put a lot of pressure on myself because I like to be the best at whatever I do.  I find that while I’m trying to conquer the world, to win one more game, I end up giving 15% of myself here and there rather than giving 100% of myself to any one thing.  I work really hard at my job and I truly do love it.  My job changed in January and I get to spend time coaching other teachers, which is something I didn’t even know how much I enjoy doing.  When I get home, I have vowed that those precious few hours are just for you two.  I will play endless games of ring-around-the-rosie or cook you a fabulous meal that you won’t eat.  I will give you baths and read you bedtime stories, because you deserve your mom to be all of that for you.  But the truth is, some nights, I get home and just want to sit down.  I told myself that I wouldn’t do any homework while you are awake because you don’t deserve a mom behind her computer, you deserve one that is involved.  But the truth is, some nights, I have so much homework that I just can’t wait until 8:30 to start it when it’s due at midnight.  Some nights, I have to go to class and I get home to a quiet house.  Those nights I feel like a failure more than any others.  Those nights that I don’t get to tell you goodnight, to read you a story, to smell your freshly-lotioned piggies after your bath, those nights hurt something terrible.  Those are the nights when I look up at the scoreboard and wonder if I can pull back in the game.

Hang in there team, it’s only the third quarter, and I promise I’ll make it next season too.

After we graduated high school, they always had an Alumni Game in March to raise money for Habitat for Humanity.  I went back and played several years and your Ammy coached one of the alumni teams each year.  My last time playing, the year before I got pregnant with you, Pax, I was on the opposite team from Ammy’s.  I wasn’t in great shape, but I wasn’t in terrible shape either.  Your daddy came and watched me from the bleachers.  It was weird to have the right guy watching me from the bleachers instead of all the wrong guys I as so crazy about in high school. I suited up in a familiar uniform and went out with some women that I played with and some women that I barely knew.  I had a diet coke on the bench instead of a gatorade. I scored the most points that night and our team won.  I didn’t even foul out.  My coach from high school stopped me some 4-5 months later and made the comment that she heard that I really tore it up at the Alumni Game.  As ridiculous as it sounds, I got my last season, a chance to prove myself ten years later.  A 4th quarter when I thought I was out.

I have one more year before I have my Master’s Degree and then one more year after that to get my admin license.  I have several more nights of staying up way too late doing homework.  I have hundreds of pages of reports to write and hundreds of peer-reviewed journal articles to read even after I’ve read Brown Bear, Brown Bear 15 times to you. But someday, someday I’ll get you a house like that house we loved.  Someday, we might even be able to afford one that’s all fixed up already.  Someday, we’ll look back on this and say that I could’ve quit and I didn’t.  I stuck it out for all 4 quarters and I was still playing senior season, last game, in the final 3 seconds.

Play until the buzzer.  No matter how hard it gets, and be thankful for all of those fouls because they just show that you have a little more heart.  Just take it easy after four.

I love you,

Your mom.

PS.  I’ll write soon about you two and how awesome you both are.  I just needed to get this out.  Because, you know what?  Sometimes you won’t get your way.  And sometimes you’ll just need to throw a little fit.

Dear Paxton, (Ike, I’ll get to you a little farther down),

I should stop telling you that you’re beautiful.

Growing up now is not like growing up when I was a little girl.  Things are changing, and they’re changing fast.

We live in a world where we sometimes don’t even look up to know what we’re missing.

We live in a world where technology is replacing face to face conversations.

Where there are no surprises in the mailbox, because it’s easier to just email or text.

Where “cat fishing” is a real thing people are doing on the internet, not just an afternoon spent at the lake.

Where an entire generation is obsessed with selfies, so much so, that the term was added to the dictionary this year.

Where bullying is a huge issue and it’s found new residency in the cyber world, making it even harder to address.

We live in a world where the media dictates our idea of beauty.

Where two year olds can compete in pageants and that’s acceptable.

Where you can pay to alter your face, your physique, your status.

In this world, there have been some pretty huge power shifts in terms of gender roles.  We are seeing more women as CEOs (your Ammy was one of them).  We have women running for the upcoming presidency.  Women are taking on jobs that in the past, only men were able to do.

We’re also seeing occasional advertising campaigns break the mold and declare the we’re all beautiful, no matter our size, shape, or color.  Dove commercials now sprinkle magazines with plus sized models embracing their curves.  It’s an interesting time, watching this all unroll.

However, in the midst of this shift, women are struggling between these split identities of what a woman should be, should look like.  Are we meant to represent a powerful and independent person or are we still being viewed as fragile and sensitive people who need to be catered to?  Is it ok to be proud of our curves or are we still trying to emulate an unrealistic idea of beauty?

The truth is, we can define those roles, and no one else has any right to decide for us.

I was going to the bathroom before school the other day and before going into the stall, I walked by 3 eighth grade girls looking at themselves in the mirror. They were frantically passing around lipstick, carefully painting their young pouts with whatever shade of pink one of them had snagged before the bell for first period rang.  They puckered and primped and it all came flashing back.

I remember being those girls.  I remember knowing that Mom wouldn’t let me wear makeup yet, so I’d borrow from friends.  I remember wanting to always go to my grandma’s house because she had a decent sized basket of makeup stashed in her bathroom under that old claw foot tub and next to several cans of hairspray. (Man, I miss that woman every single day.)  I remember desperately wanting to look older. That if only I could put on a bit of mascara and blush, that I’d magically be beautiful. I remember struggling with the decision of whether or not I could be ‘cool’, athletic, and smart, or if I’d need to just choose one.  And if I had to choose only one, would I settle for cool because in a thirteen year old’s eyes, it can probably take you further in life?

Someday, you’ll be there too.

Someday, your friends will show up to school in shorts that are too short, with carefully painted faces, and all of the sudden, you’ll be paying more attention to that cute boy in your class rather than the chapter you were supposed to read for social studies the night before. Someday, you’ll question your priorities, your looks, and even everything running through your brain at 150 mph, because that’s how our brains work when we are teenage girls.

Those three girls.  Me.  We all have such a skewed vision of what beauty is.

Being beautiful is not what you’re wearing, whether it be on your face or the clothes on your body.

Being beautiful is not how many parties you are invited to.

Being beautiful is not how many ‘likes’ you get on a selfie.

Being beautiful is not putting yourself in an uncomfortable situation to advance your status.

But, here’s what it is…

Being beautiful is being confident in the real you.

Being beautiful is being smart.

Being beautiful is chasing your passions, your dreams, and giving it all you got no matter what the world thinks of your ideas.

Being beautiful is standing up for what you believe in.

Being beautiful is showing compassion.

Being beautiful is being comfortable in your skin- however you define your ideal you.

Being beautiful is being a magnet- drawing everyone around you in because of the traits you possess deep in your soul.

Pax, when you are there, in that awful place, trying so hard to find you, and you take that last glance in the mirror, desperately hoping to put the pieces together on the outside, know that your reflection has absolutely nothing to do with beauty.  At all.

I hope you get to see a woman president.  I hope you never feel like you can’t have any job you want. I hope you put your cell phone down once in awhile to appreciate that there is beauty all around you.  I hope you leave beauty wherever you go.

I won’t stop calling you beautiful, Pax.  But, I will make sure you know that while being beautiful is multifaceted, it is not reflected in a mirror, a selfie, or anything surface level.

Dear Ike,

Your buddies will inevitably sway your thoughts on what beautiful means, what it looks like.  I’m not going to pretend that you will put more stock in what your mom says compared to what your friends say, but that doesn’t mean I can’t try.  Here’s my challenge to you.  Screw what your posse says.  Screw what the media says.  Don’t you dare spend all your time chasing the “hot girl” unless she’s also beautiful.  And don’t you dare think that beautiful has anything to do with how she looks.  Hotness isn’t exactly hotness after a certain age.  So go for long term.  Go for a girl who challenges you intellectually.  A girl who respects her parents.  A girl who has big dreams.  You are surrounded by a long line of strong willed women.  Find the one that you can uncover her beauty by building her up, treating her well and being her support system.  Be her mirror to reflect her beauty, but let her know that it’s so much more than what she can see.  Girls’ minds are tricky.  A girl wants to be ok with who she is, and at the very same time just want to be like everyone else.  A girl wants to be strong, independent, successful.  A girl also wants to be held, taken care of, and told she’s beautiful.

Since you were born, I’m talking the very first day, everyone has been quick to tell me what a beautiful baby you are.  It’s true.  When I’m holding you on my lap, and you’re bouncing away to Mickey Mouse Clubhouse or a nursery rhyme, I simply can’t take my eyes off you.  Sure, you have the most gorgeous eyelashes and some pretty amazing cheeks, but it’s so much more.  You draw me in at the deepest levels, but it’s not because of how you look, it’s because of how you are.  I hope you never lose your sensitive side.  I hope you always find refuge in big bear hugs and music.  I hope you continue to be so curious that it gets you in some sticky situations.  But most of all, I hope you recognize what beauty is, how beautiful you are, and what kind of beauty you should look for in others.

I love both of you beautiful kids with all I’ve got,

Your mom.

Dear Paxton and Michael,

We’re back into the swing of things with school, and yet, it still doesn’t get any easier to go every day. I know several women that don’t want to be stay at home moms because they enjoy working, having adult conversations, etc… I’m not one of those.  I like teaching, I like adult conversations, but my favorite thing in the world is definitely being with you two.  I cringed that first week of school when people would ask me if I was ready to get out of the house, to get a break?  I can’t get past the feeling that I will look back on my life and regret not doing absolutely everything possible to stay at home with you two.  But, if we would make that switch as a family, it would mean not having our house, not getting groceries, and not being able to ever take you anywhere because we wouldn’t even be able to afford gas for the car.  Pax, as you say frequently now, “It’s just not fair.”

And just like I tell you, “Life isn’t.”

We rounded out the summer with picnics in the park, lots of long walks in the stroller, a trip to sky zone, a visit from Gee and Papa, the zoo, an awful case of hand, foot, and mouth disease that hit everyone in the house except me, and celebrating our 5 year anniversary.  This summer was truly magical.  I love living in a place that people vacation to.  I will never get tired of these mountains or this no humidity thing.  I will say, though, there are more flies than I imagined, simply because our neighbors have horses.

I started meetings for work at the beginning of August, and before I knew it, you were both back at Ammy and Pop-Pop’s during the day. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, we’re so incredibly lucky.  I still text Ammy several times a day to find out how you’re both doing, even though I know you’re both having a great time.

In early September, Grandpa Joe and Grandma Connie came out from Illinois.  They stayed at our house, in Pax’s room, which meant she had 5 sleepover parties in a row in our room.  We had the best visit with them. You both were so excited to have them here and Ike took right up with Grandpa. Ike also took three steps on his birthday while they were here. It was pretty impressive, especially because I was the world’s worst mom and scheduled his one year check-up on his actual birthday.  Nothing like “Hey, happy birthday, here’s 4 shots to celebrate.”  Ike, you weighed in at 25 pounds and had a great check-up.  One of the best days when Grandpa and Grandma were here was going to The North Pole, which is the coolest little Christmas place right up the road from us.  Pax, you were our little adrenaline junkie, wanting to ride every ride over and over again.  You sat on Santa’s lap all by yourself and had a lot to tell him.  It was a great day.

On Sunday, September 6th, we celebrated Ike’s first birthday party.  It was a camping/moose themed party with a few friends, and it was a blast.  Ike, a friend of mine from college made you the cutest shirt for your birthday.  At the end of your party, it had dirt, icing, blood, and puke on it.  The true signs of a good party.  You ate way too much cake, then drank way too much water, then puked all over both of us.  Did I mention that I was wearing a white shirt and your cake was covered in green icing?  You were a hoot, and it was such a good time, outfit change and all.

Ike, at your one year appointment, I expressed some concerns to your pediatrician about how your skin was a little rough and I felt like you had started pooping way too often once we started adding in whole milk.  She said to keep an eye on it, that sometimes babies can’t handle the fat content in whole milk and need to go down to 2%.  We had been giving you all kinds of cheese/dairy products thinking it would cut down on the bathroom issues.  After several weeks of pooping 7-8 times a day, it finally hit me.  We cut out all dairy from your diet and you’ve been a changed man.  You sleep better, you’re happier when you’re awake, and you’re eating better and more now that your poor belly doesn’t hurt all the time. I hope that you’ll grow out of it, because doing everything gluten free and dairy free has not been easy.  I wonder if you’ll have some of the allergy issues that I have. Whatever the case, we’ll make it work.  Some nights, I end up fixing 4 different meals.  It’s a good thing I love all three of you so much. You are walking all over the place now, in the cutest little waddle.  Your shoulders and arms are up by your ears and your eyebrows seem to go a bit higher to increase your balance.  It makes for a pretty entertaining show.

We attempted some family pictures while Grandma and Grandpa were out.  I always have such high expectations of getting a picture shot of our family.  It’s never that easy.  I wish you both could see how many people it took to get you to even look at the camera.  This is how most of the pictures look… (and yes, I realize I was being dramatic.  The photographer in me just want a huge canvas of a perfect family picture.)

However, despite our theatrics, we pulled out a couple…

We went to the pumpkin patch a couple weeks ago. Actually, we went on the very first day it opened.  It was windy, but it was so much fun.  It’s crazy how excited I get for things like this.  Experiencing life is quite a ride, but experiencing life with two kids, it’s just the best.  I want to take it all in, show you both everything I possibly can, just to watch you live life.

Oh yeah, and Ike, you got bit by a miniature horse.  I don’t know what was worse… that I didn’t notice because I was taking this picture, or the fact that a man had to actually grab my arm and say, “I think he’s actually being bitten by that horse there.”  Sorry, kid.

I kept thinking this whole gig will get easier, and I’m starting to think it just might not.  And you know what?  We can’t sit around and wait for that to happen.  Your daddy is training for a half marathon right now, I’m taking two classes for my masters degree.  We’re both working full time jobs and then trying to give you both all the energy you deserve.  Pop-Pop just had his hip replaced, adding an extra little speed bump in life.

Pax, I’ve been told all along that you look like your daddy and act dangerously like your momma.  Only now, you look and act like me.  It’s trouble.  Your sweetness has been combined with an extra dose of sassiness.  You say the absolute funniest things.  One day when Ammy was watching you, you and Ike were laying in the sandbox and you dumped a bunch of sand into your shorts.  You turned to Ammy and said, “Is it ok to put sand in your britches?”  Ammy got you out and removed all the sand, telling you that the lesson of the day was that we don’t put sand in our britches.  You replied, “And we don’t put sand in our panties. And we especially don’t put sand in our butt fracks (cracks)!” You also asked if you will lose your teeth and then grow big teeth like me when you get older.  After explaining it to you for several minutes, you paused, and asked, “Will I grow a big butt like you too, Mama?”

I wanted you to be a pumpkin for halloween, because I thought I was a pumpkin for halloween when I was about your age (although looking through picture albums, there is no evidence of this and I might just be making it up.)  You wanted to be Marshall from Paw Patrol.  I told you that we couldn’t find any Marshall costumes and you’d need to pick something else.  Well, we let you go with us to pick out your costume, and you wondered over to the boys’ section, and there it was.  So… we walked out of that store with a 4T Marshall Costume.  You wore it the rest of the day.  It velcroes around the belly, and really is too small, but it’s what you want.  I swallowed my pride on that one. More pictures coming after Halloween.

As the temperatures get cooler, I feel a rush of excitement and anxiety at the same time.  I can’t wait to experience Thanksgiving and Christmas with you both this year.  At the same time, I just want it all to slow down.  I want to hold you for a little longer.  Both of you.  I want to be your comfort for a little longer. I want to write fewer research papers and more letters to you.  I want to do less homework and more laps around the kitchen chasing those giggles.  I want to spend less time teaching everyone else’s children, and more time reading books with my own.  Life isn’t always fair, but it’s those lessons along that way that make it all worth it.

I love you,

Your mom.

Dear Paxton and Michael,

Ok, more like just Michael, this one is going to be for him.

Being a teacher, and being a day camp director for years before that, I’ve watched my share of games of tag. There is freeze tag, color tag, all kind of varieties, but my favorite will always be regular, old, been around since the brink of time, tag. As the years and the game evolved, a new concept was introduced- base. Now, instead of running recklessly to no end, there is a safe haven, a refuge. Base kind of bothers me, because I feel like it was developed due to laziness. Isn’t the glory of the game the fact that you have to just keep running? Now, there’s this place where you can take a breather and be exempt from becoming ‘it.’ There are the kids that hang out on base all day. There are the kids that briefly visit it in a last ditch effort to not be tagged and will argue they were touching base before they got tagged. There are the kids that never even consider base as an option.

I’m your base.

It took me several months to realize this.

But, I’ve been your base all along.

During those brutal 4 days in the hospital when you were born, you would cry for hours, until I held you- your base. In those first weeks at home, you wouldn’t sleep, unless you were on my chest- your base. As you started to become more independent, you would still want to be right next to me- your base. When you started crawling, you learned to go from zero to sixty by day two. While most kids gain that independence and just keep going, you would go, but come right back and make sure I was there to chase you- your base. Now, at one year old, you’ve taken a few steps here and there, but you’re not really trying. It’s quite clear that you could walk easily if you’d try, but you prefer to hold my hands and walk- your base.

Raising a little boy is so different from raising a little girl. I look at Pax and I see a mini-me. I know how to deal with that. I know that she’s going to be stubborn. She’s going to give this world everything she’s got. She’s going to be passionate, and in turn, have her heart broken. I know that she’s going to get so mad at me that she’ll threaten to run away. I know that she’ll later say she’s sorry- whether it takes a few hours or a few years. I know that she has dreams and no one is going to slow her down. She’s going to be a leader, outspoken, intelligent, and driven.

I was afraid I didn’t know how to love a little boy. After all, I didn’t know anything about being one, other than the fact that I was not your typical little girl growing up. I believed in getting dirty, playing in the rain, picking up snakes, and living outside, all while wearing my white poofy slip and cowgirl boots. But you, sweet Ike, you were a surprise from the beginning. I knew you were a boy and I assumed you were going to be attached to your daddy’s hip. I had no idea the ride I was in for. I was afraid that I wouldn’t understand you, that you would not connect with me. That I would bring you into this place, just to watch you go. I wonder if other mamas feel this way, or if dads feel this way towards their daughters? Not a competition between spouses, but a need to feel a sense of affirmation that this living bundle walking around with half your DNA is not just scientifically part of you, but emotionally connected.

I’m your base. I’m where you feel safe. Where you can take a breather from life. Where you feel complete.

And craziest of all, you are mine. When I felt like giving up after 20 hours of labor.  When I hadn’t slept in days.  When work has been long and there are few hours left in the day.  You are exactly what I had no idea that I needed. I didn’t know my heart needed another child this soon. I didn’t know my heart needed to love a little boy. For all of your bruises, your dirty knees, your adventures. I needed to love you for all of your snotty noses, your scrapes, your gap-toothed smile, your sensitive spirt. I needed it all. I needed the hard days to appreciate the easy. I needed the unknown to realize what I know now. I needed it all.

As you grow, I’m sure you’ll need your base less and less. You’ll become one of the kids that likes to know it’s there, but doesn’t need to visit it as often. You’ll eventually become a man who will find his safety with his own family. But here’s the thing about base- it can always be there, even at the last minute. I’ve watched the games of tag for a year or two now, and I know that as quick as you can be tagged, you can also relocate your base. Please know, sweet boy, that in this season, this beautiful time in both of our lives, there’s nothing I love more than loving a little boy and his big sister with all I’ve got. In the end, base it a pretty cool addition to an old game. Sometimes you’re going to have to be ‘it’ all on your own, but I’ll help prepare you for that path. Sometimes it’s going to feel like you’re running forever, but the end will always be in sight. Sometimes you’re going to need to stop and reevaluate, and I’ll be here for that, too.

I don’t know exactly what you’ll be like. I don’t know if you’ll be hard headed like your sister. I don’t know if you’ll be quiet like your daddy. I don’t know if you’ll continue to have your feelings hurt easily. I don’t know if your temper (which is becoming more apparent by the day) will get the best of you at times.

I don’t know why I ever thought I wouldn’t know how to love you.

Here’s what I do know…all of me, every single part, needed to love you completely, my little boy, my base.

I love you,

Your mom.

Dear Paxton and Michael,

Technically, dandelions are weeds.

They annoy people because they pop up out of nowhere and have a root system that is quite impressive.

They decorate our yard like sprinkles on top of a cupcake.

I think dandelions are beautiful. They are bright, they have a neat pattern, they make me happy.  Really, aren’t marigolds just glorified dandelions anyway?  So Pax, naturally I beamed when you walked in the door the other day and said, “Mama, I pickt some boootiful fwowers for you,” and there sat a handful of dandelions.

Our house sits on a long road of well-manicured, country club type yards.  But, in sticking to my inner-rebel, our yard is spotted with dandelions.  Sometimes I feel like it glows in the dark in comparison to these other finely pruned yards.

It’s been so long since I last wrote, and honestly, the time to write is simply not there.  In the past several months, we had a beautiful Mother’s Day, celebrated my birthday (which consisted of me being home sick with both of you, who were also sick, and watching Mickey’s Once Upon a Christmas at 7:00 in the morning). When I woke up, the morning of my birthday, I told your uncle Logan that turning 30 was much like turning 21… I woke up lying on the floor (of Pax’s bedroom) with a sore back, headache, and puke on my shirt that wasn’t mine.  Shoot, maybe it was even more exciting than turning 21.

We’ve had trips to the park, the Penny Arcade, Cave of the Winds and the zoo.  We’ve had picnics at Garden of the Gods and time to just play.   We’ve roasted marshmallows, blown bubbles, and been on walks.  We’ve spent time hanging out with your cousin, Lane and several other kids.  I’ve started Grad School at Colorado State University in Pueblo and your Daddy is teaching summer school.  By the time that you are both in bed, the house is picked up, and my homework is done, I can’t wait to crash!

We loaded up the SUV and drove through the night back to Illinois to attempt to visit as many people as we could in one week.  Our trip was nothing short of amazing.  We left around 7:00 p.m. after baths and supper.  Ike, you cut two teeth the day we left and hadn’t napped at all.  It made for a crazy day as far as packing went, but once we buckled you in the carseat, you were out like a light.  Pax, you held strong until about 9:00, and then only woke up when we stopped for gas.  We stayed at Grandma Connie and Grandpa JoJo’s house.  Ike slept in a pack-n-play in their spare bedroom upstairs while we set up your crib downstairs next to a pull-out couch for us.  Turns out, we didn’t really need your crib, because you slept with us every night.  The first day there, you played “bad guys” with your cousins downstairs and that was all it took to keep you out of your bed. You have a wild imagination, just like your mom, and it doesn’t take much to scare you. It was wonderful seeing old friends and family.  It’s amazing how much you realize you’ve missed people when you see them again.  I felt like we didn’t have long enough with anyone, especially because we were trying to see so many people.  Still, it was a truly wonderful trip.

Pax, you ran your first race in true Pax fashion.  I was debating on whether or not I should take video or pictures, and this nice gentlemen next to me said, “If you want, I can take pictures and text them to you so you can just do video.”  Yesssss.  So here we were, all set up with our phones in our hands, a line of paparrazzi ready to catch the lightning bolt that you are.  Only, it wasn’t like that.  All the kids ran by and he said to me, “What was she wearing again?  I think I missed her.”  It was then that I looked back at the start line and saw you standing there.  You had to let everyone go first so all eyes could be on you.  That’s my girl.  We spent wonderful time with your grandparents and I got to see some friends who are so dear to my heart.  It was refreshing to my soul.  We headed back to Colorado, and while it was hard to leave, those mountains were certainly calling us back home.

You’re both changing so much, so fast.

Ike, you are now 10 months old. You. Don’t. Sit. Still. Ever. I’m completely serious. You’re so different than Pax was at this age. I laugh as I think back to telling my friends that I could barely keep up with her.  I had no idea.  It is a strenuous workout just to attempt to hold you. You pull yourself up on everything and are trying so hard to walk. You’ve taken a couple steps here and there, but your balance is still pretty terrible, and I’m certainly not rushing this walking business.  You fly up the stairs in no time flat.  Pax didn’t walk until she was 15 months old, and for some reason, I thought we would have the same “bumper” period with you. You know the one where I could sit you down and surround you with toys and you couldn’t actually go anywhere and I could still get some things done? Yeah, that lasted maybe a day with you. Changing your diaper is a full Olympic sport requiring several people or at least a poncho and towels.  You are also a mystery when it comes to nursing. Occasionally you’ll commit to it first thing in the morning, and only if it’s dark in your room and Jersey doesn’t bust in to find me. All other times you are too distracted. It’s been more of a challenge than I thought it would be- pumping, bottle feeding, and trying to chase two kids around. You are, however, big into eating real food (and dog food, and sticks, and pinecones, and rocks, and worms). You are eating pretty much the same meals I fix for your Daddy and I.  Sometimes, you eat just as much, too.  At your 9 month check up, I expressed concern that you weren’t getting enough milk because you are so distracted, but I figure with your weight in the 90’s on the percentile rank, you’re doing just fine.  You have two bottom teeth and four on the top, which are miles apart.  When you smile, your whole face scrunches up into a ball of cuteness.  Really, you are one big ball of cuteness, and it’s a darn good thing you’re so cute.  I’ve never seen a child love music the way that you do.  Anytime you hear music, you start rocking, bouncing, and waving your arms.  It’s been a beautiful distraction when we need to keep you still for 2 seconds.  It also means you love going to church, and boy do those women at church love you.  But just from a distance, because you won’t let anyone hold you except the people that make your short list- myself, sometimes your Daddy, Ammy and Pop-Pop.  When we went back to Illinois, it became a running joke to see who could hold you the longest.  Nobody made it very long, and I returned with some pretty impressive biceps.  I thought from the beginning that I knew your personality, but I was so off.  You were my little snuggler, but now you are on a mission of mass destruction.

Pax, you find beauty in everything, including dandelions.  I still stare at you and wonder how we got so lucky.  You are strong willed and set in your ways.  At a cookout with Daddy’s coworkers, you fell and scraped up both of your hands.  It was your first real injury.  We had bandaids on almost every finger, some fingers required two.  It was really hard for awhile, because you suck your fingers to put yourself to sleep.  I had worried that we wouldn’t be able to break you of it, and that you’d still be doing it in school, but the bandaids proved me wrong.  Everyday, you’d ask if your fingers were ready, and we’d tell you, “Not yet.”  Eventually, you no longer needed that comfort and didn’t even try.  I’m glad, but I secretly miss it a little.  It’s just one more thing that makes you a big girl now, instead of my little baby!  You’ve started to love all things art, and I wonder if you’ll take after me in that aspect.  You love to paint especially, and to take pictures. I spent a long time debating potty-training with you.  You told me that you “loved diapers and would be so sad if I made you wear panties.”  One morning I decided I was going for it.  We drove to Walmart, filled our cart with incentives, stickers, and m&m’s.  I don’t know what I was thinking tackling this when your daddy was gone at summer school from 7-1, but that’s the way I tend to do things.  We set a potty-timer, went naked, and stayed next to the potty seat as much as we could.  We spent a lot of timing playing in the front yard, minus pants.  All the people that come up here for a drive to see the houses, really got a special treat.  You wanted me to hold your hand or sit next to you during potty breaks, which meant that Ike had precious time to destroy things.  During potty breaks, I was pulling him out of Jersey’s water bowl, taking his hands out of the toilet, telling him to quit chewing on the TV stand, and cleaning up whatever it was he was currently tearing into pieces.  Boys.  We’ve started yelling, “The moose is on the loose” when your brother is getting into things.  I often wonder what the neighbors think when we have our windows open.  You took right up to potty-training and we decided on your second night to have a “campout” for your success!  We set up a tent in our backyard, and you were so excited to sleep in it with Mommy and Daddy.  At 10:00, I was wondering if it was truly a good idea or not.  The conversation went something like this:

Mommy and Daddy: (silence. yawning)

Pax: “Hey Mamma, what you doing over there?  COCKADOODLEDOO!  Daddy, do you see any bears?  Mamma, am I wearing panties or a diaper?  There were ten in the bed and the little one said, ROLL OVER!  Guys, are we in a tent?  What was that?  Do I have panties on?  Look at my shadow!  Mom, do you feel my stinky piggies in your face?  Am I wearing a diaper?”

It. was. exhausting.   Eventually you caved in and fell asleep in my arms.  it was beautiful for 5 minutes, and then my back started to hurt, I got cold, and I wondered if I was too old for this business.  Then 5 minutes into my escape of rolling my arm out from underneath you, your brother started wailing.  We had his monitor in the tent with us, although I didn’t think we’d need it, because he has slept so good for weeks.  Well, it happened 2 times, and then on the third time, he was up for almost an hour.  Turns out he wanted his own little party.  I didn’t make it back into the tent with you that night, but in theory, you had the BEST NIGHT EVER!  You’re just as sweet as they come and we’re so lucky to be able to watch you grow, to teach your brother, and to give us constant laughs.

Life is so incredibly busy, and so much fun.  We’re catching small glimpses of you two actually playing together and getting along.  Those small glimpses are sometimes followed by Ike trying to rip out handfuls of Pax’s hair, or Pax kicking Ike in the face, but hey, we’re getting there.

Today, I tell you this- always find the beauty in dandelions.  Strive to be like those dandelions.  Yes, I just told you to be like a weed, and I’m ok with that.  Plant your roots in the ground and let them spread.  Don’t let people hold you back.  When you get knocked down, broken, even completely pulled out, grow right back, only stronger.  Shine beautifully in your own unique way, a way that catches on and spreads throughout others.

I fear the less I write, the more I’ll forget about your childhood.  Then, I think, how could I possibly forget this?  I simple adore the fact that I get to love you like I do.  These sweet summer days with my babies.  I never want to forget the smell of sunscreen on your skin that is so pale it’s almost transparent.  I never want to forget the look in your eyes when I walk into your room to get you up from a nap.  I never want to forget how tight you hold on when I pick you up or the way you play with my necklace when you’re sitting in my lap.  As busy as we are, I’d put the pause button on life at any moment and keep it just like this.  This is real.  Dandelions and all.  It just doesn’t get any sweeter.

I love you,

Your mom.