In the year and a half since losing our beloved dog Max, I can’t count how many times I’ve said “I want my dog back.” I’ve lost track of how many dreams I’ve had where he’s back at home and I’ve woken up confused in a quiet house as it sinks in again. How many moments I sat on the sofa thinking how nice it would be to have a furry friend curled beside me. But at the same time, even when the kids asked for a cat or dog, we didn’t feel ready.

I started to look at other ways we could enjoy a dog without adopting one. I looked at local rescue volunteer opportunities or fostering. Big B has wanted to be an animal trainer for the last several years, and I wanted to encourage that dream. When I saw an opportunity to read to therapy dogs at the library, I told him and he jumped at the chance. That turned out to be just the beginning.

“Can we get a German Shepard?” “No.” “Can we get a dog?” “Not right now.” “What about tomorrow?”

That became a constant dialogue during car rides and around the house. I’d opened a door that couldn’t be closed. One evening I gave in, and we looked up the animal shelter website. That’s when we saw him- Domino. An adorable, black and while labradoodle that was turned in the previous evening. We decided to go take a trip to the shelter the next day when it opened if Domino was still there, as I prefaced this promise with realism and the likelihood that he’d be adopted right away. The next day, we discovered I was right, and Domino was gone. Big B sobbed through lunch, disappointment dampening his mood and dashing his hopes.

The floodgates were open. The rest of the week was spent looking up rescues, reaching out to schedule visits, only to discover dogs adopted before we could meet. The boys were disappointed over and over, and I started thinking it was a sign it just wasn’t meant to be. Then we saw Bruno. Bruno was a tan labradoodle mix at the Arizona Small Dog Rescue in Tempe. Most of the dogs were offsite at an adoption event, so I called to ask about Bruno, who as it turned out was at the rescue facility instead of the event that day. After some debate and persuasion, we got dad on board and drove to the rescue. When I walked in, I saw Bruno right at the door… and the family that was signing his adoption paperwork.

Big B looked at the rescue volunteer with pleading eyes and said, “do you have any other dogs?”

They had one. He had been found wandering the street with a phone cord wrapped around his neck and turned into the rescue 10 days prior- an 11-month-old border terrier mix. They brought us into a grassy area and let him in to meet us. As soon as I saw him I thought, that’s my dog.

He wandered the perimeter, scoping out the environment, and then ran up to the boys with light in his eyes that seemed to say “My boys!” We played and discussed and debated and deliberated. Eventually, we decided to take him home. I knew from the beginning I wasn’t leaving without the dog, but I thought it would be nice to let everyone feel involved.

On the ride home, we brainstormed names while he rode in my lap. The boys rejected my idea of naming him Landline, a nod to his origin story. They agreed on Chewy, and we got him a Star Wars collar. In the months since he came home with us, he’s lived up to his name in the sense that he still puppy chews everything and everyone, and he’s as excitable and lovable as a wookie.

Chewy loves to dig and fetch toys and bury things in the yard. He hated the crate and sleeps fine in his bed. He lays out in the sun and chases birds. He barks at his reflection. He learns tricks and solves puzzles quickly.

We’ve seen so many similarities between Chewy and Max, that I can only assume our old Schnauzer mix’s terrier breed must have been Border Terrier. But I like to think maybe he just wanted another go around.

The boys jumped into ages 8 and 11 while celebrating with their friends at a trampoline park. When Big Bro woke up Saturday morning, I grabbed the tape measure and gasped when I marked his current height. He grew two inches in the last six months.

Little bro isn’t so little anymore either. At eight and eleven, I feel like we truly have two big kids now. Little b will head into third grade at the end of summer, and Big Bro will be going into his last year of elementary school. Being a big kid comes with more independence, more responsibility, more homework, but also more confidence. The boys were in their element jumping around with the friends, telling jokes while eating pizza, and opening gifts with excitement. It’s fun to watch each one of them grow together.

While they are big kids now, the kid part definitely remains, and I will keep it that way as long as I can. They spent the day after their party building their new lego sets, playing with action figures and pokemon cards. I don’t mind that we have a house that’s flooded with toys. I know the boxes will get smaller all too soon.

At age 11, Big Bro is kind, empathetic, creative, decisive, athletic, fun, and a great big brother. He’s finding his voice through leadership at school. He writes stories and makes his own games. His imagination knows no bounds.

At age eight, Little bro is funny, determined, curious, brave, creative, and bright. He draws cartoon illustrations on all of his spelling tests. He builds elaborate lego creations without instructions. He can’t resist a fart joke.

They both love dinosaurs, pokemon, roller blading, and swimming. They dislike bedtime and running errands.

This past summer during a trip back East, we detoured to Connecticut to visit with Grammy, who at the time was no longer healthy enough to join us on our summer vacations like she used to. Setting aside time to visit her at home on the Long Island Sound added the blessing of being able to show the boys one of my favorite places. I’d grown up visiting the house on the water every year, riding in a motor boat or rowboat and learning how to fish with my Papa, eating at our favorite local seafood place, swimming and jumping off the dock, sitting on the deck with Grammy watching the birds.

I took the boys down the path to the beach nearby. We took Grammy to that same seafood place and I had the best lobster bisque of my life. The next morning, we took Grammy to the local aquarium, bigger and better than what I’d remembered from when I was a kid. Big bro pushed her wheelchair and we took in each exhibit, chatting about sea life the whole time. She was tired but smiling when we got home. 

That was the last time we saw her. Six months later, she is gone.

Before our trip, we’d debated the five-hour detour through New York City and D.C, with the logistics of booking one-way flights through two cities, riding a train or renting a car, toting luggage and the kids all the while. We decided the kids are great travelers, prayed for light traffic and did it despite the inconvenience. It was the right choice. One I’m sure will stay with us for the rest of our lives, hopefully reminding the boys someday how important it is to take the detour.

We had a really good day.

This year in particular, little bro is excited for all things Christmas. The morning after Thanksgiving he jumped into our bed, jostling us awake while asking, “can we put up the tree now?” It was 7am.

After I had my coffee I was ready to take the decorations down from their shelf in the garage and change our usual routine of doing the outdoors first, to grant him his wish of putting up the tree immediately. This year was the first time the boys put up nearly all the ornaments themselves, including the porcelain Precious Moments birth year ornament I’ve hung up for roughly 39 years. (It’s fine. Definitely not a big deal. I did not take it down and put it back up after they were asleep.) They were so excited when they got going they just didn’t stop. 

The boys have already watched Home Alone, Charlie Brown Christmas and The Grinch, and little bro is still begging for more Christmas movies each night. He brought out all of his Christmas books for me to read before bed, choosing a couple a night and snuggling in fleece Christmas Jammies even though it’s 75 and sunny each day.

This weekend, after we went Christmas shopping, he asked to help me wrap gifts. As I taught him how to measure and cut the paper and fold the ends, he focused hard, trying to smooth it out the best he could. He addressed them and signed his name in his best cursive. He asked for more until I ran out of boxes to wrap.

It’s pretty great having a little Christmas elf around. This truly is one of the best times of year to be a parent despite the to-do lists, busy nights and spirit days at school. Seeing the magic of Christmas come alive through their eyes fills me with renewed joy for the season I’ve always loved. I’ll watch all the movies, drink the cocoa, read the stories, and sing the carols. And hey, it looks like I won’t need to wrap any gifts! 

Having our boys three years apart (almost to the day) has been beneficial in so many ways. They have a close relationship as brothers, they can build forts, play with dinosaurs, conduct science experiments, and so much more for hours on end. They wake up early just to read books side by side or get a head start on their newest lego creation. Just yesterday, while we were sleeping in, we overheard Big B asking little b what kind of eggs he wanted as they walked to the kitchen and Big B proudly announced he could cook an over easy egg. I heard the pan on the burner and decided it was definitely time to get out of bed.

Some days, they pass the time without any intervention at all, begging to stay up late and continue playing. Other days, I feel like a referee. For a WWE fight. The other benefit to the boys being three years apart- they’re almost in the same weight class. Factor in little b’s scrappiness and they’re a pretty even match.

This weekend, as I walked into the playroom to break up their third argument of the day, I noticed our framed poster depicting Mindful Habits was in pieces. I picked it up, asking what happened. Of course, both chimed in at the same time, blaming the other one for the broken frame. Before I could figure out the answer, the glass from the frame slid out of my hand and shattered all over the floor. I sighed and got them both out safely so I could clean up. Then, I laughed at the irony of our mindfulness poster getting shattered all over the place. I went to throw it out but Drew told me to keep the frame’s contents and hang it back up.

He said they could use the reminder.

Earlier this year, I decided to set a long-term travel goal. Now, I’m on a mission to visit all 50 states by the time I turn 50. So far, I’ve visited the states marked green on this map, and after our Fall Break trip to Idaho last week, I’ve only got 20 left.

Between my upbringing on the East coast with family to visit in New England, West Virginia and Indiana, along with my move down to Florida and then across the country to the desert, I’ve covered a lot of ground so far. I love spending time in major cities and discovering the different activities, cultures, natural wonders, and people that each region has to offer. With the vast majority of the coastlines checked off my bucket list, I’m down to what some of us call “flyover country,” but I suspect it holds just as much to discover as the rest of our nation.

This fall break, we met the grandparents in Boise, Idaho, for no other reason than we’ve never been to Idaho before and the weather’s beautiful this time of year. We discovered delicious food, (potatoes of course!) family fun on the farm, outdoor art displays, and one of my favorite hidden gems- The Peregrine Fund headquarters, where we witnessed birds of prey and met the groups of people who brought the famous falcon species back from the brink of extinction.

As I scrutinize the map to plan out my next adventures, aiming to cover two states a year for the next decade, I’m excited thinking about what else we can find. It’s a big, bright, colorful country, and I’m going to see it all!

I recently read a book published by a comedic influencer I follow, @reallyverycrunchy. I’d been following her Instagram account as she makes homemade elderberry syrup and starts a forest friends homeschool group, etc. Her videos poke fun at the often toxic nature of those trying to remove toxins from their lives. While I enjoy the content and learn a thing or two, I considered myself to be very far from the “crunchy” category. However, after reading the book, I think I may fall into the in-between… what they call “scrunchy.”

I shop in the produce section of the grocery store first before meandering to the center aisles where I read labels and ingredients before adding things to my cart, but I can’t resist the occasional box of Lucky Charms.

I opt for natural cleaners and remedies like Bon Ami, baking soda, or homeopathic immune boosters, but when the going gets real tough I bring out the bleach or cough syrup. Germs be gone!

My kids play in the rain, the mud, the sand, the river, and run barefoot when the weather permits. I believe in the power of playing in nature and its ability to fuel the imagination, motor skills, scientific experimentation, and more. But, we also enjoy movie nights and video games.

It turns out, bringing my own reusable bags to the store or maintaining a more minimalistic household can be considered “scrunchy” behavior. Sort of an ‘almost’ category; not quite a stereotype.

For the last few weeks, I’ve been practicing “sky before screens.” Instead of getting up and scrolling my phone for news of the day, I get outside for a run, walk, or drink my coffee in the backyard. On the weekends, the boys have time in their sand construction site or ride bikes, or play with kids in the neighborhood. We’ve never been much for Saturday morning cartoons.

Call it crunchy, call it scrunchy. I call it balanced. If it means eating my vegetables and Lucky Charms too, I call it perfect.

Another school year is underway, and this time we have a fifth grader and a second grader. For little b, that means more independence, stronger friendships, and the confidence that comes from being comfortable in a classroom. For Big B, he’s leveled up with changing classes, navigating the fifth grade hallways, and expanded elective class options. He was excited to select band.

For us parents, it’s a milestone we remember fondly. I started band in sixth grade as a flute player and switched to oboe a year later, eventually landing a spot in the symphonic band as a high school freshman. Drew also found his place in band, playing baritone and percussion, leading to his role as Drum Major senior year. We didn’t know each other and we were a thousand miles apart, but had we attended the same school, we would’ve been friends.

Big B chose the trombone. We picked up his instrument at the band instrument day a few Saturdays ago, and had the pleasure of meeting his band teacher. He’s a UCF grad like Drew, so we know it’s a sign that Big B is in the right place.

And when I say he’s in the right place, I mean we haven’t seen him this excited about anything since he first picked up a guitar. He’s still taking guitar lessons on the weekends and preparing for an upcoming show, but the day he got his trombone he took it along to family dinner to show his cousins, and the next morning we awoke to the honks of a new trombone player serenading us at 7am.

He happily totes his trombone to school every day, even though the case is nearly as long as he is tall. He talks about band every night. It’s so fun to see such enthusiasm in his eyes.

And just as he couldn’t wait for breakfast before practicing his new skills, I can’t wait to see him continue to try new things, and find his passion.

Big Bro’s final project of fourth grade was a history project about one of the thirteen colonies. To my excitement, he was assigned my home state of Virginia. As he researched Jamestown for his project, I decided it was time we go see the real thing.

So this summer, we took a trip back in time.

Our Virginia trip allowed us to catch up with friends and family, and do a little road trip I’d been thinking about for a while. We explored the ruins of Jamestown, chatted with archaeologists still excavating the site, and walked along the James River where John Smith and the Powhatan tribe had stepped before. On July 4th, we spent the day with family in Colonial Williamsburg, watching reenactments, learning from blacksmiths and tinsmiths, and experiencing life as it was hundreds of years ago.

History was one of my favorite subjects in school, probably because I had the opportunity to learn in a hands-on environment. Transforming the colonial era from dusty pages in a textbook to a lively experience full of canon-fire and horse-drawn carriages, I hope this trip into the past is one they remember for a long time.

This school year was a little bit different. It wasn’t just because the boys have learned and grown so much in first and fourth grades that they’re hardly recognizable compared to the timid new students they were last year in our neighborhood school. This year, the worlds of school and work and home collided, as I took on a new professional role as marketing director in the very same school district which the boys attend.

Blending school and work and home has happened before (thanks 2020) but this time, it’s in the best way. With a commuting time that totals about six minutes, I get to make an impact on my own kids while supporting their teachers, principals, and all of the amazing staff (now my coworkers) who dedicate themselves to serving students. That working mom guilt is gone and I feel like I’ve finally found a way to align my career ambitions while prioritizing parenting.

Highlights this school year included having Thanksgiving lunch with my boys before holiday break, cheering them on in their school fundraiser jingle jog, attending the Donuts with a Grownup event, visiting their campus during their Leader in Me day, and being there to applaud their principal and teachers when their school was honored with a national leadership certification.

Soon enough, we’ll be dropping them off for another first day of school. I can’t believe they’ll be in second and fifth grade, and while it’s hard to let go, I won’t be far away. Only about six minutes.