Loud, curious, and endlessly full of ideas. Heโ€™ll talk your ear off about video games, make up three new board games before breakfast, and still ask to ride bikes before bed. Heโ€™s joy in motion, and the reason I learned to stop saying โ€œmaybe later.โ€

Quiet at first, but never dull. She sees more than she says, and when she opens up โ€” with a joke, a story, or a sudden game of Clue โ€” itโ€™s a gift. Parenting her reminds me that showing up means being ready, even when youโ€™re not sure she wants you there. Because sometimes, she does.

Now grown, but always my kid. He came into my life as a teenager, and I didnโ€™t know what I was doing โ€” just that I wanted to be there. We found our way, slowly. And now I get to watch him move through the world with calm strength. Itโ€™s one of the quiet victories I hold close.

Iโ€™m a dad whoโ€™s still figuring it out. Not all at once, and not always well โ€” but I try to show up. Thatโ€™s the thread running through most of what I write here.

This blog isnโ€™t about advice. Itโ€™s about the small, ordinary moments that stay with you: a side hug before school, a bike ride you almost skipped, a board game she actually said yes to. Itโ€™s my way of remembering what matters and making sense of the quiet work of being their dad.

This blog is where I keep track of what it means to be their dad. And maybe, in the process, figure out a little more about what that means for me too.