big kid years

by

Coaching Her First Season

Basketball has always been my favorite sport. Growing up, I spent so much of my time in the gym as my dad coached at our high school so we were often around to see the game. Then I spent years on my own teams learning the positions and the ups and downs of the sport. Hearing the bounce of the ball, the squeak of shoes, the rhythm of the game, it was something I loved and brought me so much.

When Daphne signed up for her first season this year, a part of me was so excited for her to experience that joy too. But another part of me didn’t want her to feel like she had to love it just because it was mine. I wanted to share something I love without making it feel like an obligation. I didn’t want my passion to accidentally become pressure.

I had to find the balance between my own excitement and giving her the space to love the game in her own way. That meant reminding myself not to immediately point out what she could get better at and sometimes she just needed to hear, “That was awesome.”

Watching her try something new is always such a gift. Some days were beautiful and light where she smiled, she hustled, she had fun. Other days were harder. She saw other kids who were more confident, more skilled, more sure of themselves, and she compared herself to them. She wondered why they “never” passed to her. And as her coach (and her mom), that part was tough to watch.

But those moments became opportunities, not to correct her, but to encourage her. To help her see that trying something new isn’t about being perfect. It’s about showing up, challenging yourself, and learning as you go.

As a coach, it’s easy to see mechanics and missed opportunities. As a mom, I had to make sure to see her first. I had to practice pausing. I had to ask myself, “Is this about her growth or my expectations?”

I know from experience how early comparison creeps in. It is part of the reason I stopped playing after my sophomore year. How quickly kids can measure themselves against someone else’s strengths can be something. And I learned that my job wasn’t to eliminate that feeling, it was to help her build the resilience to move through it.

What made me the proudest wasn’t how she dribbled down the court or her stats, it was her heart.

She was always the first one down the court when possessions changed over. She hustled. She encouraged her teammates. Even on the tough days, the ones where she felt discouraged or compared herself, she came back the next practice ready to try again. She didn’t give up. She listened. She worked. She grew.

And watching her grow forced me to grow too.

I learned (again) that my role isn’t to smooth every hard moment for her. It’s to sit beside her in it. To remind her who she is when the scoreboard feels louder than her confidence. To model steadiness. To cheer effort. To let her story be hers.

She learned so much this season, about basketball, and about herself. She learned that hard things are worth trying, that effort counts, and that being a teammate is about more than making baskets.

And I learned (again) that success looks different when you’re a parent. It’s quieter. It’s deeper. It’s less about outcomes and more about character.

This might be the only season she and I do together. Right now she says she wants to come back, but we’ll see what the year brings. And that’s okay if not because this season was a dream in itself.

When I was in middle school, my dad coached my basketball team. (See below, I am number 6, and my dad is the tall one.) It was the only team that he was officially my coach, but he was always supportive of the sport he loved as well. I didn’t fully appreciate it then, but now I look back and see what a gift it was, the time, the encouragement, the belief he had in me. Standing on the sideline with Daphne this season, I finally understand that dream in a whole new way.

Maybe she’ll keep playing. Maybe her path will lead somewhere else. Either way, what we gained this season was so much more than wins or losses.

It was connection. It was courage. It was growth.

And if this was our only season together, it was awesome.

by

Walter Turns Five

My sweet Walter,
Today you turn five. Five feels big. Five feels like the official goodbye to babyhood, toddlerhood, and so many little moments I’ve held onto with both hands. You came into this world with a sweet simplicity, and you have been healing parts of me ever since. You’re our youngest of three — the grand finale — and somehow watching you turn five feels both impossibly fast and incredibly sacred.

I’ve known this day was coming, but there’s something about the youngest hitting this milestone that hits a little differently. You’re the last one who needed me for everything. And now here you are — tall, hilarious, opinionated, fiercely independent, and so wonderfully you.

You were born into a loud house with siblings who have wrapped you up into their chaos. You’ve grown up trying to keep up with the big kids — running a little faster, climbing a little higher, talking a little sooner and a whole lot more. You’ve taught us all how to laugh at the chaos and soften in the sweetness.

You are the perfect blend of tough and tender. You know how to hold your own, but you also know how to melt into us when you want to be little. I secretly love those moments — the ones where you curl up next to me and remind me that no matter how big you get, you’ll always be my baby. You did this last night as climbed up to me to snuggle after you had a scary dream, and I will hold those last moments of being four so dear.

What I want to remember about this age with you Wally:

  • The way you are always the last to wake up, and always with wild hair. You still have me carry you down to breakfast on school days, and I will keep doing it since I never know when the last time will be.
  • The sound of your footsteps running down the hallway because you have important things to tell us…or how you are sneaking down to get a late night milk.
  • Your obsession with chicken nuggets.
  • The way you throw yourself into things and teach yourself how to do something hard, like swinging on your own.
  • The way your body moves and dances anytime you hear music. Your movie credit dancing is my favorite.
  • The way you set your boundaries and stick to your strong will. You are firm when you don’t want to do something, and you cannot be swayed once you are convicted. This isn’t just about doing things like chores, but how you aren’t going to engage in activities that don’t bring you joy even if they seem fun to the rest of us.
  • The way your brother and sister light up when you do something funny. You bring out the kid in all of us. You are always trying to make everyone smile around you, and you bring levity into every situation.
  • You are wild beyond measure, but you still search for my hand to hold as we walk places which reminds me of your gentleness.

I want to remember how you look at the world with wide-open excitement, as if everything is an adventure waiting for you to join in.

You made our family feel complete. You taught me how to let go of perfection, how to savor the littlest moments, and how to find joy in the middle of messy days. You stretched my heart in ways I never expected.

As you step into five, into kindergarten this next year, into bigger shoes and braver steps, I hope you carry these things with you:

  • Keep your imagination big.
  • Keep your laugh loud.
  • Keep your kindness close.
  • Keep your dance moves coming.
  • And keep believing that the world is good, because you make it better just by being in it.

One day, you’ll be too big for my lap and too cool for my hugs. But I hope you’ll still read these words and know how fiercely loved you’ve always been.
You are my last baby, but you’re also the one who taught me that endings can be beautiful — because they’re really just beginnings in disguise.

We love you more every single day Wally, and we can’t wait to see you grow this year.

Here’s to five — to the magic, the mischief, and the memories ahead.

by

George Year Eleven

Dear George,

Today you turn eleven and start middle school. I cannot believe that we are at this stage, but welcome to this adventure called middle school! You are about to grow, stretch, stumble, laugh, learn, and change more in the next few years than you may even realize. And that’s okay—middle school is meant to be a little messy.

Here are a few things I want you to know:

  • It’s okay not to have it all figured out. You’re still learning who you are, what you like, and what matters most to you.
  • Mistakes are proof that you’re trying. Some of your biggest lessons won’t come from getting things right the first time, but from trying again.
  • Kindness matters. The way you treat others (and yourself!) will always matter more than grades, clothes, or being “cool.”
  • You are not alone. Even when it feels like no one understands, I promise there are people cheering you on—teachers, friends, family, and more.
  • You are enough. Exactly as you are today, you are worthy of love, respect, and joy.

Middle school is just one chapter in your story, but it’s an important one. Take chances, work hard, be curious, laugh often, and remember—who you are becoming matters more than who you’ve been.

So this is a very special birthday for you, you not only began a brand-new school year but also stepped into middle school today. Eleven is such a special age—you’re right in between being a kid and becoming a teenager. What I love most is how you get the best of both worlds: you still have that playful, silly side that makes life fun, and you’re also starting to see the world in deeper ways, asking big questions and sharing your thoughtful ideas.

I am so proud of you—of your positive attitude, your courage, and most of all, the way you are freely and unapologetically yourself. What a gift to walk into this new chapter on such a meaningful day.

You’ve got this.

Love,

Mom

Daphne Year Eight
by

Daphne Year Eight

This year Daphne has been insistent that she is going to space one day, and that she will be one of the first people to Mars. She is inquisitive about what it will take to get there, and from those details, she has created a plan. And if space doesn’t work she wants to be a Air Force pilot; and if that doesn’t work she will be an actress. It is precise and big, and entirely her.

Today is Daphne’s birthday. She is eight, and thinking about all the things. Another year older, a little taller, and somehow even more full of wonder than the year before.

She’s always been a big dreamer — the kind who sees possibilities in places most of us overlook. But here’s something else I deeply admire about her: she gets scared. She worries about trying new things. Whether it’s speaking up in class, learning to climb a rope, or joining a new activity like trying out for a musical— the fear is real. I see it in her eyes.

But then… she tries anyway.

And that’s what makes her brave. Not the absence of fear, but her choice to move forward in spite of it. Her dreams aren’t just floating ideas — they’re fuel. They carry her over the bumps, push her past the nerves, and inspire her to step into the unknown with wide eyes and a steady heart. Watching her dream and be determined to chase them is one of my favorite things.

As adults, we often fall into the trap of practicality. We trade wonder for what’s “realistic,” and over time, the dreams we once had quietly shrink. We have been talking a lot about dreams in our house, and I have to thank Daph for some of the reflection I have been doing lately. Watching her, especially today, reminds me how vital dreaming is — not just for children, but for all of us.

Dreaming gives us vision. It gives us hope. It sparks creativity, innovation, and joy. Daphne doesn’t yet know what’s impossible — and honestly, I hope she never fully believes anything is. Even when she is scared or doubts her ability, she still goes out on a limb and tries. She is shooting for the stars in so much of what she does. While her astronaut dreams may be cute memory in a decade, I hope she never loses this sense of dreaming and trying.

So this is a little birthday love letter to her — and to every child (and adult) who still dares to dream big. Let’s not quiet that voice. Let’s fan the flame. Let’s encourage curiosity, imagination, and the wild kind of belief that makes going to Mars feel absolutely possible.

Here’s to the dreamers — may we raise them, may we nurture them, and may we remember that we are them too.

Happy birthday to my BIG dreamer! Daphne, you are a wonder.

by

George Turns TEN

How has it been a decade already?

In honor of his birthday, here are 10 of our favorite memories over the last decade.

We had our annual Storm the Gate event this week at my work, and I cannot go to the event without thinking of the year that George peed on the lawn. He was newly potty-trained, just turned three, and here we are on a college campus celebrating a new class. He was used to peeing in our yard, so just as several hundred college freshman and many staff and faculty gathered on the front lawn of campus, here is George pulling his pants down around his ankle to pee on one of the biggest trees on campus.

This past summer George had a charity lemonade stand at school. He saw that his table was not getting as much traffic as others, so he decided to add a something special. He offered a unique George dance for a $1, and each time he did it, it got more elaborate and special. I love his creative brain and willingness to put himself out there.

When he was about 4 years old, we went to the zoo and off course there is a train. This was in the height of his obsession with all things that go. We basically went to the zoo for him to call the train and follow it every where. He was so excited. And there is a moment that will live in my brain where the excitement was bursting from him as he happened to “Choo Choo” call and then it drove by like it heard him. He was so ecstatic that his little body shook as it went by.

There are so many memories around Legos, so we are wrapping it all into one. Tom built him a special Lego table, and we have spent so many hours creating and building together. From our Lego Master competitions during COVID to building all kinds of different scenes. Our favorite though is when our family all chipped in for his 5th birthday to get all the sets to the Volcano Rescue theme. It was so fun to see his reaction and then spending all the time building the complete scene. Some of those sets we still use now.

None of the kids have taken conventional swimming lessons past 2 years, so we have taught them by a lot of determination and exposure. The summer that George was 7, he was determined to swim under water. We tried different things all summer, but a few weeks before the summer ended, he just made it happen! I loved how proud he was off himself. He jumped out of the water in disbelief that he actually did it. And now we can’t keep him above water when we go swimming.

When George was in pre-school, he was really into Little Blue Truck. After reading the Christmas book, he was convinced that there as a Christmas Tree Truck guy that delivered our tree. We counted down until we put up the tree with a paper chain. And then we put it up over his nap. He came down in disbelief that it was delivered, and he thought it was the coolest thing ever .It was such a magical year where he believed this so fully. It honestly may have been the start of his obsession with Christmas, which led to his 6th birthday being a Christmas themed party (in August).

Before Daphne and Wally came along, I got a lot of solo nights with George. Tom was on shift work, so he was only home at night a third of the time. So we had a lot of just me and George nights his first couple years. It was so special to spend that time together, and I remember so many random things from our solo time then. While there are a lot of things he may not get as a first born kiddo, but he is the only one who got that.

When George was 6 and Daphne was 3, there was a black snake on the driveway. Daphne walked over to the snake because she was curious. He jumped between Daphne and the snake. Then he picked her up and ran away with her. He was a beast taking care of his sister. So no matter how much they can bicker and fight, I know that he will protect her when he needs to.

George meeting his siblings when they were born is such a special thing to witness. He was so sweet as a three year old with Daphne. He would rub her head and say sweet things to her to calm her down. When George met Wally when he was 6 years old, he cried because he was so emotional about having another sibling. He sat and just held him for so long, and always wanted to love on him. To watch them together and see their bond grow is so significant.

And for our most favorite George memory, is one before he was even born. He has been surprising us since the day we found out about him. You can read the full story here. It is funny to look at those pregnancy announcement photos that say September. Again, he has kept us on our toes since day 1.

    My favorite thing to do with him is when we go for walks, and we just get to talk and explore. Tom’s favorite thing to do with him is drive around in the car and get to talk and listen to music. So in generally we love conversations with this kiddo, which are ever abundant. He always wants to talk through things and ask questions about things around him. Being able to give him space to talk has been so special to build as his parents.

    It is weird to say I have been a mom for a decade. George has taught me so much about love, forgiveness, being fearless, and enjoying the moments for what they are. He is the first to take a piece of my heart with him, and I just love watching him grow. He is so kind and funny. He wears his heart on his sleeve. He wants to know everything about everything, and he lives out being curious and not judgmental. He is a ray of sunshine who is as pure as he can be. He is really special, and it is a joy to be part of his world.

    Happy birthday kiddo!