Why Disney, Revisited

Many years ago, near the start of this journal, I wrote about why we love Disney. And over the course of many years together and building a family, we have had many visits to Disney World. Disney never disappoints.  

Yes, of course, we have done many other things to give our family experiences; spring breaks in Utah, NYC, Alaska, Hawaii, DC, and Mexico. Trips to the beach and mountains too.  

Yet, Disney is the one place we gravitate to because some of our core memories were made there. TJ getting kissed on his little baby forehead by Snow White, Grant's uncontained excitement his first time on Big Thunder Mountain Railroad, Sam going "big sister" mode and taking the boys to Animal Kingdom in 2018 while Lisa and I recovered from the Half Marathon, Lisa and I enjoying DWTK (Disney Without the Kids) trips, and our numerous races over the years. Disney gives us back.

I know some people look at us and wonder how or why we visit so many times. It's the same reason people like to tow a camper into the woods and sit by a campfire, or buy season tickets and tailgate at games, or collect things - it gives us pleasure. Correction, it gives us joy. I don't judge what people spend on golf clubs, don't judge us on Lightning Lanes.

Lately, I have been disheartened at work and have been grumpy (not the dwarf) at home. It has been a funk I haven't been able to pull myself out of. Last week, Grant and I went to Disney and Samantha came in for a day. It was like a beam of sunshine. You could not get the smile off my face. I felt it in my core.

Watching Grant ride Guardians of the Galaxy, Cosmic Rewind for the first time, riding Smuggler's Run with Sam and Grant, watching Sam's anxiety rise on the Orange Line of Mission Space, riding Tron - at night - in the front row!, and Grant eating food from more than half a dozen countries during the Food & Wine Festival we made a new set of memories.

These are my core memories too. Memories of standing in line on Pirates of the Caribbean with my mom and dad at nine years old. Memories of Samantha jumping for joy at four years old as she entered the Magic Kingdom for the first time with me and my mom. 

It is my happy place above all others.  

 

Right in the Feels

Three years ago, we were watching the Dallas Cowboys playing their Thanksgiving Day game. During halftime, Dolly Parton donned a Cowboy's Cheerleader outfit and performed.

She was 77.

She rocked it - both the outfit and the performance.

Dolly Parton died yesterday. 

Rewatching her interviews and watching her perform and listening to remembrances about her, I am struck how deeply she made people feel good.  Feel good about her, about themselves, and about hope for humanity. Smart, simple spoken, and genuine. 

She was unifying at a time when we are so divided.

It would be a better world if we were all more like Dolly.

I learned through the news that she recorded her final song to be release on the anniversary of her 100th birthday.  That will be in twenty years; something to look forward to when I am 79. 

 

Stalking the Stalker

Since these two hadn't seen each other in a four weeks, they spent a lot of time hanging out. Mom, wanting to capture every moment - but not wanting to be intrusive - quietly watches them be siblings and records it. 

Homecoming

With a sigh of relief, we are whole again. Everyone is on the same continent and in the same Time Zone. 

Samantha and Mitch returned from their work and travels abroad and we all met up in Nashville - our favorite of cities - for a few days of fun.

Grant got a couple hours behind the wheel, driving from home to the Virginia border to work on his sixty hours. He opted not to drive I-40 through the mountains. TJ finished up work for the summer at Camp Sea Gull and he and Lisa flew out the next day.

Friday night, Sam arranged for an Escape Room - The Expedition of the Yeti - and invited Grant and I along for the adventure.  It turns out that given a timeline, escape rooms are chaos.  Fun, but chaos. Aside from three poor souls who got lumped in with us, the whole evening focused on Samantha and Grant. The two of them laser focused on the problems, literally solving most of the puzzles while Caroline, Mitch, and I barely helped, or simply stood out of the way. It is fun watching Grant hold his own among smart grown-ups.  

Saturday we went to a game bar - foosball, corn hole, pinball, bowling to meet up with Sam, Mitch and their friends before heading to a bougie restaurant for drinks and hors devours.  

Afterwards, Lisa and I paired off to Broadway, while the kids went to another Escape Room adventure. It was important to give Sam, Mitch, TJ, and Grant time together without parents around. Sam like to spoil her brothers and she deserves that right. She is proud of them and they look up to her. 

yet, it never seems to be enough time. There are so many people and demands on one another's time. This is what family is like with adult children who are hardcore adulting looks like. It isn't easy.

This is My America

Lisa and I spent the Fourth of July Week traveling home from Kentucky via Nashville and Chattanooga, TN, and Bryson City, NC.   

From the noise of Broadway, to the charm of Choo Choo City, to the small town celebration of the 250th anniversary of our nation, nothing compared to driving on the Blue Ridge Parkway from Cherokee to Asheville, NC.

In 1980, my mother packed her two sons - then 13 and 11 years old - into a maroon Oldsmobile Omega and drove cross country on a six week adventure. She relied on AAA Triptiks, Motel 6 accommodations, and sheer will. We saw Chicago, the Wisconsin Dells, the plains of Kansas, Mt. Rushmore, Lake Tahoe, six or seven National Parks, San Francisco, and LA. And that was just on the drive out.

Somewhere on that trip I became enamored with the wide open spaces of this country. Vast expanses where you could see rain pouring down miles away and never be touched by a drop yourself. Spaces where blue skies went unbroken by buildings or where the only noise was the roar of a river over falls or in a canyon.  

Maybe it was the idea that places could be visited, but would never really be tamed. It was also the knowledge (later in life) that these places are meant to be savored, slowly, like a good bourbon or a piece of cheesecake (or both).  

Driving on the Blue Ridge Parkway has been an idea of ours for several years. We were fortunate to have the time to enjoy the drive. By that I mean the kids were not with us to declare how boring the trip was. Over three hours we drove 75 miles, through 18 tunnels, up to 6,300 feet above sea level, with zero billboards, and dozens of scenic overlooks into miles and miles of pristine rolling green ridges turning into the bluest skies imaginable.  And almost no civilization.  

Another element of this drive, the Blue Ridge Parkway, was that while it was meant as a project to put men to work during the Great Depression, it was intentionally made to be beautiful. It was built for the journey, not the destination. There is an elegance about that, that cannot be put into words. It has to be experienced.   

This is my America. Where places like this exist.

Represent

Another summer in Fort Knox, KY, is a long and boring adventure with many hours sitting  in the hotel room relearning how to binge watch shows.  However, I am of the mindset that you are responsible for your own entertainment and daily calendar.  That is why as soon as I got here, I looked up races in the Louisville and Ft. Knox area. I signed up for races days or literally hours, knowing full well that I would have to get up early on Saturday and drive somewhere  to run.   

A few early mornings, a few more medals on the wall, let’s go. "Run, run, get some!"

 

I ran the Hometown 5k in, or around, the Parklands Trail near Mt. Washington, KY, a lovely park with miles of trails for running, hiking, and biking.  Maybe there were 200 people there.  I had been running 8:30 miles for fun back home, so clearly, I would be in the pack.  However, within a half mile, I was near the front of the race. At the halfway turn around, I realized there were only two other people in front of me.  It was an out and back race, so I know I wasn’t lost, but third? Then there was the look of the other runners who hadn’t hit the halfway point yet. They looked at me as if to say, “what the hell is that old man doing at the front of the race?!”

With about a half mile to go I realized that there was no one else behind me and the two kids in front of me were probably already done. Third place was mine. First in my age group, “Masters”. Holy smokes. My reward was a plate of pancakes in a small, local diner, in Mt. Washington, KY. A hole in the wall place with a diehard set of Red State customers, a quaint atmosphere, and fantastic food. 

The second race was the Louisville H.E.R.O. 5k at the University of Louisville.  This was a bigger race and clearly there would be more competition.  Another out and back, the race went around parts of the university. It was a little warmer and I wasn’t on my game. Third in my age group. Behind some, ahead of most. I got a neat medal with the script “L” that seems to be everywhere in Louisville. There was a McDonald’s right next door and I had a hankering for a sausage and egg biscuit and coffee. 

 

The third race was at Ft. Knox.  I learned they had a summer race series and the first race was on a Friday night.  The race was titled, Nacho Average 5k…free nachos at the end of the race. When I tried to sign up, I found out the race was sold out, but I went over to the Morale, Welfare, and Recreation (MWR) office the day of the race to see if I could get a cancellation.  The organizer said, “No,” but took my number.  As I was driving back to work, he called to say that he had a bunch of last minute no shows and to come to the starting point of the race ninety minutes before the race.  I made it in with bib number “3”.  It was hot on a Friday night.  Four hundred people showed up, hiding in what shade they could find, stretching.  At least at this race, I knew people. It’s more fun to make small talk with people that you sort of know.

 

Running the heat was a beast. All sun, no shade, but – oddly – mostly downhill. There are not a lot of 59-year-olds on Ft. Knox, so it is safe to say that I was at the top of my age group. Prove me wrong. Unfortunately, the race organizers shorted the course by about a quarter mile-ish. The result was crazy stupid fast times because the timed for a 5k but measured it short. I did not run seven minute miles.  

 

This Saturday I ran the Louisville Bats 5k, the last of my self-titled, Kentucky Four Pack, at the Louisville Slugger Stadium on the Ohio River in downtown Louisville.  I have been to Slugger Stadium before. It is a nice minor league stadium that is like the ballpark in Durham, NC.  This was the biggest race of the four with about 500 runners.

 

The race had a fair hill in the first mile and then went into a residential area where the shade of buildings and trees kept the morning sun off.  The race went in a modified loop, eventually coming back onto itself with about a half mile to go. The last quarter mile was a treat. They opened the back gates to the ballfield, and we ran in the stadium around the warning track, behind home plate, and back out the gate we came in on to the finish line.

 

I must admit, by that time in the race, I was focused on finishing and not sightseeing. I was sure I was doing well (for my age group) and I was in the run – not the moment.  I finished with my characteristic arms-wide, open mouth, happy face finish. I grabbed my fourth medal in four weeks.  Second in my age group by :09 seconds!  My reward was a four egg omelet at a small breakfast place a block over.   

 

So what.

 

The so what is that at my age, I am behind some, but ahead of so many others. It's not a competition - but it is. Life. So many of my demographic who look at physical fitness as something to avoided for fear of injury, or God forbid, being sore. My plan is to be that guy who beats men a third my age and they say afterward, "I got passed at mile two by some old dude who smoked my ass."  

Inspirational longevity with a touch of snobbishness.  Represent.

 

He's Already Done Hard Things. . . and This Mamma Is Proud

TJ just finished his first year of college.

That sentence alone feels big.

A year of new routines, new expectations, and new independence. A year of figuring things out without the familiar rhythms of home. There’s a quiet kind of pride that comes with watching your child step into that—and stay in it.

This semester, TJ took an English class and had an assignment to, naturally, write a paper. He shared an early draft with me earlier in the semester. At first, it felt like a simple assignment—an essay about Camp Sea Gull, about sailing, about a place that has meant so much to our family over the years. But by the end of the semester, it evolved. His professor challenged them to revisit, refine, and deepen their work. It had become something more.

He wrote about fear. About failure. About getting back in the boat when everything in him once said not to. He wrote about doing something hard—and staying with it long enough to change.And reading it now, at the end of his first year of college, it’s hard not to see the connection.

Because this year has asked the same thing of him in different ways:

Show up.
Stick with it.
Figure it out.

There’s something powerful about realizing that the skills we hope our kids are building… they already are. Long before college. Long before we’re ready to see them on their own.

One of the lines from his story that stayed with me most is this: The place that once held his fear is now where he helps others find courage. That kind of growth doesn’t happen overnight. It comes from doing something hard—and then choosing to do it again. And maybe that’s why this moment feels like more than just the end of a school year.

It feels like evidence.

Evidence that he knows how to do hard things.

And as he heads into year two, I hope he remembers that too.

To Make Her Proud

In my latest post, I shared some reflections on TJ finishing his first year of college and mentioned a paper he wrote this semester that really stayed with me.

This is that paper.

What started as an English assignment evolved over the course of the semester into a much deeper and more reflective piece. By the end, it had become the equivalent of a final exam—and he absolutely knocked it out of the park.

To Make Her Proud: The Effects of Fears on Kids

    There it is, Sunfish Beach, brown and beat down from the countless hot summers that it has gone through with little to no repairs. The American flag blows calmly, an extreme contrast to its usual violent bashing against the mast. Sunlight sparkles off the muddy Neuse River, almost hiding its dullish color. Campers my age, counselors years older, and little kids years younger than I am gather around what feels like a sanctuary. For me though this place reeks of past trauma.

    It was the summer of 2022 and my ninth year and final year as a camper at Camp Sea Gull. By the third week of the four-week session, time was running out. If I wanted to accomplish any unfinished goals, I had to act. And one goal stood above the rest, earning my Sunfish Master rank.

    My mom is the biggest reason for me wanting to complete this goal I had set upon myself. She grew up at this same camp and later worked on the sailing staff. Sailing, ironically, was the place I disliked most. It was always her goal to have her kids fall in love with the sea just like she did and I, unlike my brother, came up short of that goal. Years before that summer during orientation I was placed on a sailboat with a friend. The counselors expected us to be unnatural and pick up right where we left off the previous summer. Instead, we got tossed and turned by the high winds and big swells that were out on the Neuse that day. After struggling for an eternity I gave up. I wanted nothing to do with Sailing for as long as I was at camp. As years went on I felt as if I failed to make my mom proud, a fear that resigned deep inside of me. Parenting styles and expectations can have a major role in shaping fears in teens, especially when kids feel pressure to meet those expectations (Haghshenas et al.). I set it upon myself that summer to get on a sailboat and get that rank.

    At 15 years old, it had felt like a long journey to get over my past trauma. Childhood fears often form through experiences and stick around over time, and even more so when tied to emotions or past failures (Muris et al.). Every step I took in the process of getting my Sunfish Master felt like a weight inside of me was being let go. Throughout the week of training I committed to the process and I felt at ease with my decision. My training partner Mitchell and I would sail together almost every activity period even on the highest of wind days. I forced my fear aside and trusted my training. I adjusted to the wind, balanced against the waves, and felt the boat respond beneath me. Sailing started to feel natural and then, unexpectedly, it turned into something close to enjoyment, like my mom felt when she was my age.

    As the week of training came to an end it was time to take the final on-water test. Unlike the previous training sessions before this time I was all by myself. Sailing by myself was a lot different than with Mitchell; I was getting scared again. The fear that I had long ago of sailing was coming back, and not only that, but the fear of disappointing my mom. Fears can return in stressful situations especially when people are put back into the places they connect with negatively (King et al.). I pushed those feelings aside and remembered why I was out there and found the enjoyment I had felt not too long ago. I tightened my grip on the sheet and used the rudder to tack and gybe around the buoys almost perfectly until the counselors came up to my boat to congratulate me. I not only went on a sailboat but I got my Sunfish Master rank which I knew deep down was for my mom and to make her proud.

    On closing day I showed my mom my red US Sailing handbook and the certificate tucked inside. She had no idea I had even attempted the rank and when she saw it, her face lit up. Children, in most cases, seek approval from their parents and getting that approval can have a big impact on their confidence and self-worth (Davis). In that moment I understood what the long hours, the fear, and the frustration had been for.

    Now that I am older, I have returned to Camp Sea Gull as a sailing counselor. The same beach that once felt like a place of failure has become the place where I build courage in campers. Research shows that summer camps help build confidence, independence, and leadership skills which is what I now try to develop in my campers day in and day out (Benefits of Summer Camps). After earning my Sunfish Master rank, I set a new goal, to help my campers fall in love with sailing just like my mom and I did.

P.S. "I'm not crying, you're crying." 

I Hope They Play Judas Priest in My Retirement Home

"Oh, so hot, no time to take a rest, yeah

Act tough, ain't no room for second best

Real strong, got me some security

Hey, I'm a big smash, I'm goin' for infinity"

Driving into work today Judas Priest's "You've Got Another thing Coming" popped into my mix. Its a song I use for my runs because it has a pounding beat and help me push through the slow spots.

"If you think I'll sit around as the world goes by

You're thinkin' like a fool 'cause it's a case of "do or die"

Out there is a fortune, waitin' to be had

You think I'll let it go? You're mad"

I got to thinking about where all of this music will be in twenty-five to thirty years. AC/DC, Motley Crue, Metallica, real hard bands with real hard music. I have a hopeful thought about me, forty years from now at the nursing home sitting in my adult diaper, eating my apple sauce, being forced to rewatch episodes of Friends, but rocking out to Van Halen with absolute abandon...

"You've got another thing comin'

You got another thing comin'

You got another thing comin'

You've got another thing"

Up yours old age, I'm fighting back.

 

Spring is for Track

Spring has a way of filling up the calendar before you quite realize it. And this year, it's all track. 

My boys. Both runners. Both freshmen. Different seasons. 

Grant's season was a slow build from recovery. The end of the indoor season had him sidelined, managing a knee that wouldn't cooperate-- swelling, questions, and more rest than he wanted. For someone as competitive as Grant is, that's its own kind of challenge. But somewhere in that pause, he got curious. He realized he needed to adjust his run form to avoid knee problems. He started studying his gait, making small adjustments, repeated trips to the PT, paying attention to the slightest details. 

And when outdoor season ramped up, so did his return. Not tentative, but ready. He's been back on his feet, back in races, and putting together a really strong freshman season. There is something satisfying about watching hard-earned comebacks, especially the kind built on patience and self-awareness that Grant has shown. 

One of the clearest markers of that growth came at the Carolina Distance Festival. Last year, as an 8th grader running unattached, he lined up (for the first time, at a big meet like this), and ran a 5:05.98 in the 1600. This year, he came back and ran a 4:36.18 (converted from his 4:37.82 mile). 

That's nearly 30 seconds faster in a year. Same meet. Same distance. More experienced runner.

TJ's season has looked different. Less about PRs, more about figuring things out. His point of contention has been the 800- two laps that demand just the right mix of restraint and risk-- but that elusive sub-2:00 barrier has been just that. . . elusive. 

2:01.49, 2:00.67. . again and again. Close enough to taste, not quite close enough to claim. To me, it feels mental now, that last thin line between where he is and where he knows he can be. 

But instead of staying stuck there, he's done something I admire, he's expanded. Stepped into something new. 

The Steeplechase. 

3000 meters.

28 barriers.

7 water jumps. 

It's part race, part Cross Country on a track. Rhythm matters. So does courage. Fixed barriers don't move like hurdles-- they ask more of you. The water jump adds a layer of complication (and let's be honest, a little fun). And somehow, in between all of that, you still have to run far. . . and fast. 

It's one thing to describe it, and another to see it. Rich captured TJ's first Steeplechase on video, and it tells the story better than I can. (Good job, honey)!

It's an event TJ has always been curious about, and this season he had the opportunity to go for it. To learn something new. To be bad at first, but to gradually improve. There is a quiet bravery in that as a college athlete. He's raced the event once already and will line up again this weekend at conference-- each time getting a little more comfortable with the rhythm, the spacing, the feel of it all. 

And then there are the weekends. 

Long days at meets. Deciding which meet to go to and when. Learning the cadence of each environment, each new team, each set of parents in the stands. I've found myself working hard to build a new community-- track moms (and dads) in folding chairs, trading schedules, cheering for kids who aren't our own-- and meaning it, and slowly becoming familiar faces to each other. Working hard to find my footing again after TJ graduated from Willow Spring and Grant stepped into a new school. We're getting there.

It's been busy. Full. Sometimes a little chaotic. 

But mostly, it's been really, really good. 

Spring is for track. 

For comebacks and breakthroughs.

For near misses and new risks. 

For finding your stride, both on the track and alongside it. 

And for now, I wouldn't trade these weekends for anything.  

When They Call Each Other

There’s a part of parenting no one really prepares you for. It’s not the college drop-off, or the goodbye, or even the quiet house. It’s the not knowing.

TJ is knee deep into his second semester in college, and staying in touch is inconsistent at best. I’ve tried to keep my expectations low—a quick “I’m alive” text, maybe a phone call here and there. I don’t want to be the mom who hovers or nags, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t still want to know everything. His highs and lows. Who his friends are. What’s stressing him out. If he’s eating well. If he’s sleeping at all.

I’ve had to get creative. I check his Strava to see when he runs and try to understand all the comments. I watch for the occasional Instagram reel he sends. Little glimpses into a life I’m no longer part of in the same way. And that’s been the hardest part—not being in the rhythm of his everyday life.

But here’s the part I didn’t expect.

What has brought me the most joy in this season isn’t when TJ calls me. It’s when he calls his brother.

Sometimes it happens when I’m in the car with Grant driving home from school. The phone rings, and it’s TJ. And I get to listen—not as the main character in the conversation, but as a quiet observer. A fly on the wall. Over time, I’ve learned to stay there, to not jump in or redirect, but to just listen.

Most of the time, it’s nonsense. Banter. Jokes. Running talk. Social media memes, things that a 55 year old just does not understand. But its the kind of back-and-forth that only brothers understand. And every once in a while, there’s something more. TJ asking Grant how his race went. Checking in on his year at a new school. Offering a quick piece of advice. And Grant, in his own way, receiving it—asking questions, letting his guard down just enough.

It’s subtle. Easy to miss if I'm not paying attention. But I see it. And it stops me every time.

Because calling your mom is expected. Calling your brother is a choice.

There’s something unfiltered about it. Something real. They aren’t performing or protecting. They’re just themselves. And in that space, I get to see who they are becoming—not just as individuals, but as brothers.

For a long time, I thought my role was to stay closely connected to them forever—to be the one they came to for everything. But I’m starting to see it differently. Maybe parenting success isn’t measured by how often they call me. Maybe it’s that they call each other.

I’m still figuring out what it looks like to be the mom of a college student. I’m still learning when to reach out and when to hold back, still adjusting to the space. But in the middle of all that, I get these glimpses—small, ordinary phone calls between brothers—and they remind me that even though things are changing, the most important things are holding steady.

Brothers aren’t just family; they’re a lifelong support system. And somehow, in the letting go, I get to watch that take shape.

Wet Shoes

A pile of wet, stinky, sometimes still snow covered shoes and boots is a staple of any home in the snow belt. It is the result of putting on boots to go shovel, shoes to go and run errands, and something else to run to the mailbox. For some inexplicable reason, each of these tasks seems to require a different set of footwear which then accumulates by the front door.  

Last week we anticipated the biggest snowstorm in two decades. By some atmospheric miracle, the storm almost completely missed us and dumped over a foot of snow in Charlotte and inches as far south as Myrtle Beach.  However, we still got enough to cover the roads, shutdown everything, and add to our collective Cabin Fever.  

Harking back to our New York days, we bundled up to take Lucie for a walk and assess the two inches we received for snowman making and sledding opportunities. Snow is pretty for a few minutes and then it's just a frigid nuisance. Nonetheless, we stayed out in it for an hour, swept and shoveled some out of the driveway, and played with the neighbors kids until everyone got cold.  

Grant? Grant hardly poked his head out the door and was not interested in making fun in the snow. He did go out to learn how to drive in it, but a Subaru sticks to the road in all kinds of conditions. TJ got a dusting at college and wished he had more. Snow is more fun when you are young there are many peers looking for something to do.  Lisa made a snowman and got plugged with a couple of snowballs for her effort. Me? I recalled days back when snow was a part of everyday life.   

Back when the snow I shoveled from the driveway was three feet deep in the yard and made for great snow forts. When you drove in snow squalls and it looked like flying in hyperspace. When snow was not a once a year "treat". When a pile of wet shoes was a constant reminder of winter.  

Walk for Peace

The Walk for Peace is a long-distance pilgrimage by Buddhist monks from the Huong Dao Vipassana Bhavana Center in Fort Worth, TX, to Washington, D.C., promoting peace, compassion, and nonviolence. Monks carry signs and engage with the public through quiet presence and peaceful interaction rather than political messaging. 

It passed through Raleigh over the horrible winter weather weekend. 

The walk began in Fort Worth, Texas, following a route through the southeastern United States, passing through states including Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, and Georgia. 

The path then went north through the Carolinas, on it's way to Virginia before concluding in Washington, D.C. - over 2,300 miles in all. The monks maintain a meditative walking pace and pause in various communities along the way to engage with local residents and share their message.  

Somehow, this walk has become "a thing" to draw in tens of thousands of people who would normally - probably - just dismiss it as an attention seeking gag.  People have been tracking the monks for over a week and everyone seemed to know that they were passing through Raleigh and wouldn't it be cool to see them?

But why? They are just a bunch of men in robes dedicated to their faith and their mission. People do extraordinary act to bring awareness to some thing all the time - yet they do not attract the public's attention like the monks do.

Maybe it's their mindfulness, or spirituality, or dedication what we all wish we could find in ourselves and therefore look up to in the acts of others.    

I think it is because we all need someone, or something, that rises above all of the awful, hateful rhetoric that is dividing the nation. We need a symbol of peace and the brotherhood of man that is so desperately lacking from any of our elected leaders. Some people are just tired of being so fucking angry all the time that they have stopped engaging with family and friends who have been incited to be angry all the time. Something to bring us back to an emotional and spiritual center. 

And so I found myself driving out towards Jordan Lake on Highway 64 to see if I could see them. At first I thought I missed them because I could not find them on their map tracker. Then I saw a car on the side of the road and a few people with signs. I didn't miss them. For the next 6 miles I drove to find a good spot to watch them. For the next 6 miles the sides of the road filled with parked cars. A dozen people? No, thousands. Thousands of people. All of these people looking for a little peace.

We saw the flashing blue lights of the police escort about a quarter mile away as they approached. And then a weird thing happened. 

The crowd went quiet. Church quiet. Then the sound of feet on the pavement. Then it was over. For a just moment it seemed like the world went on mute and slow motion at the same time before returning to normal.

Just like that they walked on. The monks in silence as a low murmur grew among us who they has passed. Just like that it was over and a majority of us returned to our cars and drove off.  

I can't tell you that I feel any of those things, more centered, or mindful, or spiritual. But I wouldn't discount it either. I am glad I was out there to witness them and I was happy to go out there and see so, so many others like me.   

 

 

 

Decade of the Dog

2015

2025

Still. The. Best. Dog. Ever.

She has been with us for ten years and is the spoiled member of the family. 

Table scraps? Yes.

Belly rubs? Yep.

Sleeps in the bedroom?  Uh-huh.

Sporting a couple extra pounds? Oh yeah.

Lucie is the community dog. She watches out the window from her perch on the second floor. She is the dog other dogs get along with. Lucie is the big dog that little kids feel comfortable around. Our neighbor walks her for company on her daily stroll.

And still she is our dog - Lisa's dog. Every morning she is at the side of the bed to say "good morning" and wait for ear rubs and back scratches. She follows Lisa when she leaves the room or comes into the kitchen when she knows I am making food. She is the one thing to look forward to when everything else is going sideways.

When she is gentle and sweet source of love and affection...

...and a grand (older) lady.  

Twenty Years of Us

Twenty years. It sounds like such a big number, and yet, it doesn't feel that long at all. Today marks two decades since we stood on that pier in Key West, surrounded by family, wind, sunlight, and promised to love each other for life. Two decades of laughter, grace, and growth. Two decades of choosing each other-- even when it was hard, even when life didn't go as planned-- and trusting that God would meet us in the middle. 

I still remember the morning of our wedding day like it was yesterday. We started the day with a run. Before the day swept us up, we met early, laced up our shoes, and explored Key West, logging the miles together. It was so us. I don't remember how far we went, but I remember how right it felt-- like we were literally running into our future together. 

Later that day, standing on the pier, I got lost in your eyes during our vows. We still laugh about that moment today. We were so full of promise, wide-eyed and hopeful, believing that love could carry us through anything. And somehow, by the grace of God, it has. 

Now, twenty years later, that promise has been realized. We are what I hoped for, what I dreamed of... and more. When I look at you now, I still get lost in your eyes, but I also see all that we've created-- a life built on faith, laughter, forgiveness, and love that keeps deepening and fueling us forward. We did it. We are doing it. Living. Loving. Together. 

And as I think of our children, I hope they see it too. I hope they see what love looks like-- not perfect, but persistent. I hope they see two people who work at it (and have fun doing so), who give grace, and support each other through it all. I hope they know how deeply we love each other, and how much we love them. Because this life, this marriage, this family is one of the greatest gifts God has given us and in turn, one of the greatest gifts we've given to Samantha, TJ, and Grant. This is what love is. 

I know we promised to go back to Key West every ten years to celebrate. We made it on our 10th, but this year, life had other plans. Still, we will find our way back. And when we do, we'll lace up our shoes again, trace those familar streets, and thank God for twenty years-- for all the answered prayers I didnt even know to pray, and for the way we have put one foot in front of the other, one mile, one moment at a time. 

 

Happy Anniversary! Here's to us and to all of the life we have yet to live side-by-side. 

Hands in the Air: Rich Brown Wins Volunteer of the Year

Picture this: a packed banquet hall, the Fuquay-Varina Chamber of Commerce ready to hand out its big awards, and me sitting at a back-corner table with a secret I’d been carrying for a month.

That secret? Rich was about to be named the 2025 Fred Eargle Volunteer of the Year. My one job was to get him to the event without spilling the beans. Simple, right? Except this is the same man who once surprised me with UNC–Duke basketball tickets, so I felt like I had to come up with an equally epic reveal. Spoiler alert: I failed. After weeks of trying to convince him to come with me to this event in the middle of his work day, I finally confessed, “I’m tasked with getting you to the event.” Not exactly the dramatic reveal I’d envisioned.

If you know Rich, this recognition won’t surprise you. He has always been the kind of person who steps up, gets things done, and makes sure every detail is in order. For the past two years—and now heading into his third—Rich has served as the Parade Director for the Fuquay-Varina Christmas Parade. Originally, he was recruited because of his loud drill-sergeant voice and his no-nonsense approach—people knew he could wrangle parade groups into place without hesitation. But what started as a need for someone to “keep order” quickly turned into something much more.

Rich has poured his energy into the operations side of the parade and beyond: working logistics, coordinating with town leaders, and finding smart ways to leverage resources. He thrives on making sure things run smoothly, and he’s really good at it. He’s the person you want in charge when it matters most.

Fast-forward to the event. They seated us at the back-corner table—you know, the kind usually reserved for people who snuck in without paying (oh wait, I guess that was us). The moment Rich's name was called, he launched out of his chair with both hands in the air, cheering all the way to the stage like he’d just been called down on The Price is Right. All he was missing was someone shouting, “Come on down!” Honestly, I half-expected him to start high-fiving strangers and tossing out parade candy on his way to the podium. 

Always the comedian, always making sure nobody forgets that moment.

The Chamber recognized not only his leadership with the parade but also his all-around dedication and service to the community. This award shines a spotlight on the countless hours he has given, the relationships he’s built, and the deep love he has for Fuquay-Varina.

I couldn’t be prouder of my husband with this award. Rich has invested so much into this town, and it means the world to see him honored as a leader who makes a difference. Congratulations, Rich—you truly deserve it (and thanks for always making every event a little more fun).

Back to the Starting Line

Pole Green Park felt familiar. Just a year ago, TJ ran that same grassy path as a high school senior. Back then, he was one of the oldest on the line, full of confidence and experience. Fast forward to this weekend: same stretches of grass and turns I've walked as a spectator before, but this weekend, everything felt different. 

This time, TJ wore his college jersey. He lined up as a freshman, one of the youngest in the field. And while the course may have been steady and predictable, what wasn't was the shift in perspective. He is no longer the big fish in the high school pond. Now he is stepping into the deeper waters of college athletics. And as his mom, I felt every ounce of that weight and possibility with him. 

And what a stage it was. TJ raced against teams from all three divisions, including powerhouse programs like UVA. Last fall, I watched Gary Martin win the ACC championship on TV, and the fan-girl in me would have loved to see him in person. Maybe it was just as well that he wasn’t racing, because all my focus stayed on TJ, right where it belonged. Still, to picture my son standing on the same line as athletes of that caliber was surreal. Equal parts intimidating and inspiring. And yes, my chest was tight watching him. 

And he did it. He held his own. TJ finished in 20:42.1, placing 97th overall, 28th among Division III runners, 10th among Division III freshmen, and 1st for CNU freshmen. More importantly, he was CNU’s 7th man, just behind upperclassmen Kevin Farnsworth and Tom Foti. As a team, the Captains finished seventh overall and were the top Division III program in the race. And just like that, its offical. TJ competed in his first collegiate meet. He is on the record as an NCAA athlete. How cool is that? 

Now, here's something I didn't realize until I became a cross country mom: that 7th runner can really matter. Only the top five officially score, but the 6th and 7th can change everything. If your 7th runner finishes ahead of another team’s 5th, you raise their score and strengthen your own team. That’s a big deal, especially for a freshman still finding his place.

That is what this weekend was about. Not winning. Not even setting personal records. It was about showing up, finding his rythm, and learning how to compete at this level. He belongs here. He matters on this team. His contribution-- even as the 7th runner-- helps the team succeed. He is a part of the engine that brings in wins, maybe even championships. 

For TJ, it was both a return and a beginning. A familiar park, a familiar course, but the start of an entirely new chapter for this NCAA college athlete. 

...And I cannot wait to see what comes next-- for him, for his teammates, for this season that has just begun. 

 

He Ate the Whole Thing

Let it be known that on August 29, 2025, Grant Brown ate this double cheeseburger with bacon.  

I mean, he didn't even hesitate or slow down. It was both awesome and horrifying to watch at the same time.

His Cross Country coach said, "his body is like a furnace with all of the running he is doing, so feed him protein." 

I mean, sure, but dang.  

(Not pictured, cucumbers and couscous).  

"First Day of School! First Day of School!"

Grant started high school today—and he’s not following in his brother TJ’s footsteps at Willow Spring. He’s forging his own path at Cardinal Gibbons. Sending him to a Catholic private school 35 minutes away was a hard choice, and I had my doubts along the way. But today, seeing him dive in and embrace this new chapter, I can clearly see it was the right decision.

Grant needs to be challenged academically. He’s smart—sometimes smarter than his own teachers. Last year, he flew through two grade levels of math and scored in the 98th percentile on his EOG tests. When he isn’t challenged, he acts up—just ask his social studies teacher, Mr. Oates. While Willow Spring would have been comfortable, we knew Grant would thrive surrounded by peers who cared as much about learning as he does and by teachers who would push him to excel. A place where college is expected, not optional—and where the world beyond North Carolina feels within reach.

This new chapter is also a shift for me. The drive to Cardinal Gibbons is long, and it requires a new level of commitment in my daily schedule. No more lingering mornings. I’m up early, part of the carpool rush, and off to work—staying until Grant’s school day is done, post-practice. Change is hard, but I’m trying to embrace it.

Grant jumped in without hesitation. He started a full week before most of his neighborhood friends and joined the cross-country team. He’d already been training with the team for a month, so he had a head start on building relationships. His first meet—the Pace Yourself Early Bird Challenge—was impressive. For his first high school race, he placed 3rd among all 9th graders in a field of 300 runners, 45th overall, and 5th on his team. Way to set the tone, Grant! I couldn’t be prouder.

Grant is stepping into a new chapter, and today was just the beginning. I hope he takes full advantage of the challenges, friendships, and opportunities ahead. This new routine—long drives, early mornings, and carpool chaos—is a small price to pay to watch him grow. I’m excited to see him carve his own path, make his own choices, and fully embrace the privilege of this experience. 

High school is just beginning, and I can’t wait to see how he makes it his own.

He's Off to College

I’ve been going over this day in my mind for months. College drop-off—the milestone you know is coming but can’t fully prepare for until you’re standing in it. For us, it all came down to one single day. Just one.

It also happened to fall during my busiest week of the year for work—Meredith’s Orientation. In fact, Meredith’s own move-in day was the very next day. That meant our trip to Christopher Newport had to be a quick down-and-back. No lingering, no extra days to get him settled, no slow soaking in of the campus. Just one day to move him in, hug him goodbye, and turn back home.

The three-and-a-half-hour drive was sprinkled with meaningful conversations—all the things left to cover. Can I still track you on Life360? How will we communicate? What’s my expectation for how often we’ll talk? How will we handle money and covering costs of incidentals? The kind of last-minute “rules of engagement” every mom wants in place before her kid flies.

Of course, it wasn’t all conversation. TJ was tired—he’d stayed up late the night before saying goodbye to Allyssa—so he slept through a good portion of the ride. When I wasnt talking with Rich, I was alone with my thoughts, turning over the weight of the day. The tension sat with me. I wanted to leave him fully settled, but I knew there would be things left undone. Still to buy. Still to organize. And I had to remind myself—it’s not my job. It’s not my space. It’s his. To truly feel at home, you have to live into it. And that takes time.

Still, that truth didn’t stop me from wishing for just a little more time to help him with all of this. 

Finally, we made it to campus and pulled right up to his hall. The very first person we ran into? The college president himself. He and his wife were making the rounds, and before we’d even carried in a box, he stopped to greet us, shook TJ’s hand, and remarked on how well I was holding it together (guess I fooled him). If you need reassurance that your kid is in good hands, that moment was it.

The actual move-in was surprisingly smooth. Task-focused. No drama. No “too many cooks in the kitchen,” since TJ’s roommate wasn’t arriving until the next day. Part of me wished they could’ve set up the room together, but I know they’ll rearrange things soon enough. For now, we got everything in place—and in one trip, no less. Everything from the car to the residence hall in a single go. Unheard of! It helped that TJ lives on the first floor, that the weather wasn’t brutal, and that Dad was there for all of the logistics.

While TJ and I unpacked, Dad and Grant wandered campus and met up with an ROTC friend. I kept my head down, organizing and folding, maybe because it was easier to focus on the tasks than the emotions.

By the time we wrapped up, the question was—what next? I assumed the plan was lunch together, but TJ casually mentioned he was meeting the cross-country team for a run at 3:00, with a meeting at 5:00. Cue the mama heartache. Lunch suddenly seemed in jeopardy. But here’s where TJ stepped up—he read the disappointment on my face and said, “Let’s do lunch. I don’t need to run.” Thank you, TJ. You’ll never know how much that small choice meant.

We ended up at a family favorite, Chick-fil-A, which was also right next to Target. Shopping came next, though it was over far too quickly. TJ was laser-focused—straight to the items on his list, no wandering the aisles. Probably for the best, since in my “mama-is-gonna-miss-you” state, I would have said yes to anything he wanted.

And then came the hardest part of the day: goodbye.

It wasn’t even my hug with TJ that broke me—it was watching him say goodbye to Grant. Those two have been each other’s “go-to” for so long. Over dinner. Over video games. Over TikTok laughs. Their bond is woven into the daily rhythm of our home, and suddenly that rhythm has changed. It will take time for both of them to adjust to their new normal. For all of us to adjust.

When the car pulled away, I felt the weight of both pride and loss. I left part of my heart at Christopher Newport today. We raise them to let them go—but that doesn’t make it any easier.

I knew this day was coming, and now it’s here. I am so proud of him, but I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a quiet ache, too. Because an era has ended. The everyday laughter, the inside jokes, the late-night brother banter—that rhythm won’t be the same.

On the way home, I finally let myself cry. Ten minutes, maybe. My tears didn’t mean I wanted to turn back—they were a quiet acknowledgment of all the years that brought us here, and all the changes ahead. This is what learning to let go feels like: trusting that he’s ready, even when my heart wants to hold on.

TJ is starting a new chapter, one where he’ll make his own decisions, face challenges on his own, and build the life he’s meant to live. And as he learns to fly, I’m learning that letting go doesn’t mean stepping away—it means giving him space to grow while still being here to cheer, to guide, and to celebrate each milestone from the sidelines.

It’s not easy. It’s not supposed to be. But it is beautiful. And though a part of my heart will always be on that campus with him, I know that letting him go is the greatest gift I can give him—and it's the next lesson I get to learn as his mom.