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Last night I had the worst nightmare I think I’ve ever had. For whatever reasons, Elise, Maly, possibly Mara (I can’t remember) and I were walking westbound on FM 1094. Elise and I were walking in the right lane, with traffic. Maly was walking in the left lane, against traffic. Although, there was no traffic. I yelled across the highway to Maly to get on the same side of the road as us. I don’t know where we were going or why we were walking on a farm market road.

Maly was pushing something. It was a nondescript toy of some such — maybe a wagon, a stroller or a cart or buggy. Out of nowhere and in the bat of any eye, an 18-wheeler came barreling down the highway at breakneck speed. One second it was calm and quiet and the only sound was me, yelling to my daughter to come get on the right side of the road with me. And then there was the sound of an 18-wheeler breaking the local sound barrier.

And just like that, Maly was gone. There was no sound beyond the roaring engine, the wind and the energy transferring from 18 wheels to the asphalt. There was no impact.

She was completely gone. It’s like she’d never existed. She was swept away in that same bat of an eye. No closure. No proof that an accident had happened. She just ceased to exist.

It took me a moment or two in my dream for my brain to process what I’d just witnessed. And at that point, I was alone. Elise was still there in the periphery, but she wasn’t present in the surreal fatality I’d just endured.

I was absolutely alone. I started screaming, “OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD!” over and over and over again.

I was completely alone. It was just me and absolutely nothing.

I forced myself to wake up. My head was drenched in sweat. It was somewhere around 3 a.m. I think I closed my eyes again because I was afraid to face the notion that my dream might’ve been real and I’d remember that my daughter didn’t exist in the physical world.

Reality quickly came over me, and my conscious comforted me in acknowledging that everything was, in fact, okay. Maly was okay and sleeping silently in her bedroom.

I got up and stood at the foot of Elise’s and my bed. I let my mind tell me again that everything was okay.

I went back to bed. I didn’t go check on Maly. I don’t know why I didn’t go check on Maly. I think my heart knew and told me that everything was okay, and won over my conscious that wanted me to worry.

Later this afternoon, I decided to see if it meant anything to have a dream about a child dying. Most of what I found indicates that it could be related to a serious quarrel or difference with the spouse or partner, because the child is a reflection of the both. Presently, that didn’t hold true for me. Another suggested that the dream might be indicative of one’s inner child dying. This might be true of me now.

I think it’s a calling to save him. My inner child.

I called Elise’s cell phone this evening. Before answering, Elise gave the phone to Maly. I can’t remember the last time I spoke to Maly on the phone. I’d venture to guess a year’s gone by already. I had an actual, coherent conversation with her tonight on the phone. She sounds so much older now. She’s growing up.

Anyway, last night’s dream was the absolute worst. Literally a parent’s worst nightmare. It’s a reminder to continuously strengthen the bond with my child, and with my child within.

I’ve been a Mozy customer for roughly five years. I’d say I’m a happy customer, but I’ve [thankfully] never had to use their recovery service. But I’ve had peace of mind, knowing that all of our photos and documents are being backed up offsite by both a 3rd party service and a hard drive sitting in a safe deposit box at the bank.

I’ve known for a while that Mozy was increasing their rates by A LOT. Luckily I was grandfathered in because I’ve always paid 2-years in advance. My subscription service is up in early November. I went ahead and signed up for a trial of BackBlaze, which is a competing off-site, automated hard drive backup service. So far so good with BackBlaze.

Now, to put it into perspective, I was paying $209 every two years for unlimited storage and backups with Mozy. A hundred bucks a year is a good price to me for peace of mind. I like to know that all of our photos and documents are safe should the house catch on fire or a computer explodes. As of right now, we have 437 GB backed up at Mozy. If I wanted 500 GB of storage space at Mozy after the price increase, my biennial rate will go up to $1,049. I’m not that good with math, but that’s like a 5X increase. That’s just nuts.

Now I’m not one of those crazy customers. I thought I’d give Mozy a chance to retain my business. I was really hoping that they’d appreciate my business and want to retain me as a customer. I had this conversation with Kara this afternoon:

So, I’m taking my back-up business to BackBlaze, where I’ll only pay $3.96 per month on a 2-year plan.

Sorry, Mozy. It’s not me, it’s you.

I think this makes an ordinary cup of mocha coffee taste better than the expensive sort at that chain coffee spot.

• 3 cups boiling water
• 2 cups sugar
• 3/4 cup Dutch-processed cocoa powder
• 3/4 cup regular cocoa
• 1/2 cup imitation vanilla

1. Boil water
2. Measure Sugar and Cocoa into a two quart heat-resistant vessel.
3. Once the water is boiling, pour into vessel and whisk cocoa and sugar is dissolved.
4. Add the imitation vanilla; Mix thoroughly (this is optional. Elise and I prefer it without the vanilla).
5. Let mixture cool, and transfer into some pourable/squeezable container (we use an old honey squeeze bottle).
6. Use 2- 3 Tbsp Mocha Mix for a large cup of coffee
7. Makes approximately 32 oz.

Dear Mara,

You turned five-months-old today. I have to say, right off the bat, that one of the coolest things that happened to you this month was when your mom took you to the doctor’s office to get a couple inoculation. You won’t remember this, but when babies get shots, the shots are administered in the meaty part of their thighs. A couple weeks ago, you got two shots, one in each thigh. You didn’t even flinch on the first one. The nurse and your mom waiting for the screams. Nothing. The nurse gave you the second shot in your other thigh. From what I was told, you lifted your eyebrows ever-so-slightly, but that was it. No screams or whimpers. The nurse was so impressed that she immediately capped the syringe and went to the nurses station to brag about “the cute little red-headed baby who didn’t peep after two shots.”

It seems as if you’ve started to settle into something like a schedule. Unfortunately, your schedule doesn’t really mesh with your mom’s and mine. You like to be wide awake and yammering from around 9 – 11 p.m. This is your mom’s and my downtime where we might watch a little TV, hang out and talk, or catch up on personal business and correspondences. You like to take this opportunity to talk. We love to listen to you talk, but it’s bedtime, child. And when your mom puts you in your little bed in our room, you scream and cry to the point that we can’t stand hearing you scream and cry. So, one of us gets you and brings you back to the living room where you talk and talk and talk until eventually you wear yourself out and fall asleep on the rug. And while this schedule doesn’t mesh with ours, we know all too well that it’s only temporary, so we revel in it.

Just this past week, you’ve learned to get your knees up under yourself when your laying on your stomach and then you push yourself up. I’ll give you a couple more weeks and I think you’ll be crawling. After that, I think I’ll get you a little collar and a bell so we’ll know where you are at all times.

You’ve also started sitting up on your own. However, unless one of us is behind you, you’ll kick your feet to the point where you’ll fall backwards, so someone has to be there to catch you. You’re getting the hang of it though. If you’re sitting in my lap, you’ll just sit there quietly forever. You like to sit there and just observe things. I guess after you observe all of these things during the day, you like to tell us about them late at night when you should otherwise be sleeping.

Another one of my favorite characteristics of you are your eyebrows. When you see something that bewilders or amuses you, you do this ever-so-slight lift of your eyebrows that’s just hilarious. It’s hard to put into words how cute this little expression is. It’s like your little signature expression, and I hope it sticks.

You’re cuter, calmer and more laid back at each passing day. I love watching you grow and become more inquisitive of the world around you. I love watch you take everything in. I love your infectious little giggle. I love your huge, toothless grin. I wish I could bottle up your innocence, curiosity and glee and keep it for you forever. I wish I could also forever protect you from all of the scares, harm and hurt in this world. But what I know of you so far, I think you’ll do just fine.

I love you, Mars.

Love,

Daddy

In a valiant effort to cook foods that are healthier, last night Elise made quinoa cakes for the family dinner. I don’t know the recipe in it’s entirety, but the cakes contained things like kale, whole wheat flour, red onions, zucchini, quinoa, egg whites, dirt and twig extract.

During dinner, Maly chimed in with her critique: “First of all, it needs something. Second of all, it’s just not good.”

I love the brutal honesty of children.

There was a whole pot of cooked quinoa still sitting on the stove. One of our kitchen rules is “waste not want not,” so I decided to see if I could make some spiced up ad hoc quinoa cakes. I dumped a can of black beans and a fist full of grated cheddar cheese into the pot. Then I added generous amounts of chile powder, garlic, crushed red pepper and cumin. Then I patted out little palm-sized cakes, dredged them in an equal mixture of corn meal and white flour and fried them up in a big pan of bacon grease and plated them with ground chile & chipotle ketchup.

Third of all, they just weren’t good.

I love it when Mara laughs.

First day of school today:

First day of Kindergarten last year:

First day of school 2 years ago:

First day of school 3 years ago:

First day of school 4 years ago:

Dear Mara,

You turned 4-months-old today. Your smile completely melts my heart, and you smile a lot. You’re such a laid-back and easy going kid. There’s not much that bugs you other than hunger. Therefore you smile a lot. The cutest thing is when you first wake up. You’re a little disoriented for a few moments when you first wake up, but then you see your mom or me and your indulge us in your huge toothless grin and it’s just awesome! I guess it means we’re doing something right if you like us this much.

This month you’ve become quite the expert and rolling over. You don’t mind laying on your back, but when you get bored, you quickly roll over to your stomach, push yourself up with your hands and look around and drool. I’m sure it won’t be too much longer and you’ll be crawling around.

You’ve started talking a lot this month, too. You haven’t really found any useful words — more like guttural and nasal hums, grunts and squeals. By around 10 p.m., when your sister’s long since asleep and your mom have had time to unwind and are finally sitting down to watch a little TV, you’ll sit in your little swing before the fireplace, watch me sitting on the couch and talk to me. I have no clue what you’re telling me, but I acknowledge you by saying, “yes!” and “really?!”

This month you found your feet. When you’re lying on your back, you’ll reach out a grab your feet and just hang on to them. You’ll do this for long periods of time, too. I’d venture to guess that when all that you’re used to doing is eating and passing waste, hanging on to your own feet is probably some pretty exciting stuff.

We took you on a road trip to Des Moines this month. You were surprisingly very patient during our 1,000 mile haul. There were a couple times where you got bored to the point of tears and screaming, but that was a good reminder that we all probably needed to stop and take a break.

Last weekend your were baptized. Your grandma, dad, mom, Maly, John, Christine, Jack and Grayson were all there. It was a baptism. That’s all I have to say about that.

You’re on the cusp of giggling. Your mom and I try to get you to giggle you by tickling you or making funny noises. Sometimes you’ll giggle at us, sometimes you’ll kind of giggle at something completely random. I think within the month you’ll be laughing. From what we’ve seen and heard thus far, your laugh is going to be infectious and awesome. I can’t wait until you can consciously laugh. It will then become my life’s work to fill your life with laughter.

I love you, Mars.

Love,

Daddy

Dear Mara,

Today you turned three months old. You’re so laid back that half the time we don’t even know you’re in the same room. I do, however, want to get this out of the way now — and there’s no real way to sugarcoat it — You suck at catching a football.

Lots of things have happened with you this month. One of the notable milestones is that your rolled over from your front to your back. I don’t think you did this on purpose though. As you’re learning to use and develop your muscles, you’ve learned to push your upper body up while you’re on your stomach. During one of these baby push-ups, one of your arms kind of gave way, you plummeted toward the floor and at angle that spun you to your back on your descent. I’m pretty sure you didn’t exactly do this on purpose because as your were rolling over your shoulder I heard you say, “dammit, why can’t I get this #&$@ing trick to land?!”

This month you also found your thumb. Your sister was also three months old when she found her two middle fingers on her left hand to suck on. You’ve found your right thumb to suck on. Don’t get too used to it though. Once you start losing your baby teeth, you’re going to have to stop sucking your thumb. And if you don’t learn how to catch a football, you might lose your baby teeth quicker than normal.

You’ve been losing some of your hair, but it looks like the recessive gene on chromosome 16 is going to stick. You are among the 2% of redheads. I think it, and all of you is absolutely adorable.

The highlight of this month is that you started to smile. There is absolutely nothing more beautiful in this world than a child’s smile, especially yours because it’s my child’s smile. It’s that fleeting moment of your smile that reminds me that life is a just a fleeting moment itself. It’s a simple reminder that things aren’t that bad and that life is good. It makes for that eternal moment where nothing else matters.

The highlight of my day is when I come to visit you while your mom is holding you, and I watch as a second passes and my face comes into focus. I can see your eyes light up and then the synapsis behind them connect as you realize, “Hey! I know this guy! He’s my daddy and he’s like, the totally most awesome guy ever!!” Then you beam that big, precious toothless baby grin. And that melts my heart.

Keep beaming, Junebug.

Love,

Daddy

Dear Mara,

You turned two months old today. It’s so cool to see all the changes that can go on in just a short month. You’re still proving to be a really cool and calm baby. You don’t fuss much beyond the usual needs of a baby, which is usually only when you’re hungry, which is a lot. You eat like a champ.

This month you’ve learned to pacify yourself by sucking your thumb. You’re still itty bitty, and not very coordinated, so in order to suck your thumb you end up punching yourself in the face a few times. But invariably, you’ll find your thumb and nurse yourself to sleep.

Speaking of sleep, in true baby form, you still sleep a lot. I think you’re somewhat settling into a schedule, and your mom has to wake up a couple times during the night to feed you. You’re not sleeping as much as you did last month, which means we get to see your eyes and interact with you more often. And you have these big beautiful blue eyes.

We learned today at your 2-month checkup that you still can’t see much more than a couple feet from your face. One thing that you do like to do is stare at the ceiling fan. I have to admit, I find ceiling fans rather fascinating myself, and often use them as a source of procrastination.

You’re also at that cute age where you’ve started following our voices. You know who your family is, and I think you like us. The best part is that you’ve started smiling. There’s nothing cuter or more heartwarming than seeing your little smile. I’m pretty sure you’re just smiling because you know you’ve got us wrapped around your finger, but I’ll take it.

A blessing in disguise has been your eczema and possible dairy protein allergy. Whenever your mom consumes dairy, your stomach gets upset and your skin starts itching. So we’ve been cutting out the dairy. If your mom can’t eat it, I’m not going to eat it, either. Unfortunately your mom likes cheese and was really craving pizza, so I went on a quest to find non-dairy cheese that melts and is gooey. I found it, and made a vegan pizza that turned out pretty damn good. We won’t go all vegan, but your allergy has made us more cognizant of what we all put into our bodies. And it’s not like we did needed a good excuse to eat healthier, but we got one of out you.

You’ve been awesome, amazing, awe-inspiring and a little bundle of some pretty amazing farts. I always look forward to watching you grow and encounter new things in your world. Keep being you!

I love you, sug!

Daddy

“Daddy, do blind people like jumping on trampolines?”

“…”

“…”

“Hell, Sug, I don’t know. Why can’t you ask normal questions?!”

Dear Mara,

You turned one-month-old today. The story of your birth is almost laughable, and we’ll tell you about it in more detail when you’re a bit older. Just know that if we’d waited a few minutes longer before heading to the hospital a month ago, I would’ve had to deliver you myself.

After your mom and I took some leisurely walks throughout the day, and your mom endured some contractions throughout, we (meaning your mom) decided it was time to head to the hospital at about 12:15 a.m. We were officially checked in at 12:37 a.m. and you were born at 1:06 a.m. You weighed in at 7 lbs. and 9.5 oz. and measured exactly 20-inches.

You were born on your due date; very early on your due date at that. This gives me hope that you’ll be punctual throughout your life.

Your mom and I decided with both you and your sister that we didn’t want to know the gender of either of you until you were born. The two nurses and the labor technician at the hospital thought that this was so cool. Rare is it these days for a family to leave the gender of their baby to surprise. Your mom and I are just crazy and laid back like this.

There are a couple things that I’ve found admirable and worth noting from your immediate entrance into our world. The first is that you have been very calm and laid back. I’m not going to name names, but your sister, Maly, cried a lot and didn’t sleep much. We didn’t know any different seeing how she was our first and only child. You sleep a lot and rarely cry or fuss. You do cry in typical baby form, but really it’s only because of your inherent newborn needs, such as needing your diaper changed or you’re hungry. Maybe it’s because your mom and I kind of know what we’re doing now, but either way, you’ve been a very pleasant and happy baby.

The other noteworthy event from your emergence was when the doctor set you atop your mother’s stomach after you were born, the first thing you did was pooped all over your mom. I don’t know if it was because our world scared it out of you, or you were just so happy, comfortable and relieved to finally be here with us. I’m leaning toward the latter. Either way, it was pretty awesome. And when your mom wasn’t looking, I gave you a little baby high-five!

Thankfully we’ve all been blessed with your good health. You checked out just fine when your mom and I left the hospital. You’ve also checked out just fine at your first two visits to the pediatrician. During your third week, you came down with a pretty heavy duty case of baby acne. Just to be on the safe side, your mom scheduled another appointment with the pediatrician where we found that you not only have baby acne, but also eczema. So you’re adorably cute in a blotchy kind of way. The doctor has recommended that your mom avoid dairy, so we’re hoping that’ll help clear you up. Since you seem to be happy and not in any kind of pain or discomfort, we hope you’re feeling okay. You don’t seem to mind the eczema, but just know that we’re on top of it.

So far as we can tell, you’re a redhead. Your fine and soft hair is red, and your eyebrows are red. Your mom and I both have recessive redheaded genes, and think it’s adorable that you’re that little reflection of our collective lineage. I’m not certain the red will stick, but we’ll revel in it in the meantime.

I’ll tell you now that you were born into a pretty awesome family. While you were born at 1 a.m., and your mom and I were both pretty exhausted from all of the excitement, I couldn’t sleep. I had a lot of work-related things on my mind, but, more importantly, I couldn’t wait to go home and tell your sister about you. I left the hospital at 6:30 a.m. and headed home to wake your sister up. I was a little delirious, and, in hind site, had I had my wits about me at the time, I probably should’ve told your sister that your mom and I went to the hospital and had a puppy. But she wouldn’t have been half as excited.

I went into Maly’s room, rubbed her back and said, “hey, Sug. Wake up!” While she was slowly coming to, I said, “Hey. Guess what?” She rubbed her eyes and said, “What?” It was then that I told her that mommy and I went to the hospital early in the morning. Maly’s eyes got really big. “And you have a baby sister!” The look on her face was indescribable. I told her that instead of going to school that morning, she was going to get to go up to the hospital and spend the day with her mom and new sister. I’ve never seen your sister get ready faster. She was so excited to finally get to meet you for the first time at the hospital after nine long months.

Many don’t know this, but your mom and I had very difficult time having another child, and the thought was that we might never have another child. To have you come into our lives was nothing short of a blessing. You were immediately brought into a world of undying love and adoration from your family, and I couldn’t be happier to have you as our precious little daughter.

I love you, Junebug. More than you’ll ever know!

Love,

Daddy

My dad died over five years ago, and it took it’s toll on me. Like most things, I internalized his death. That’s just my nature. It’s who I am and it’s part of what makes up my character. I don’t “let things out.” I take things, like death, and hold them inside.

I find it interesting that, to the best of my recollection, I haven’t had a dream of my dad until recently. I had a dream about him a few weeks ago, and then another dream of him last night.

Last night my dad and I were talking something about guns. I told him I was going to go outside and use his .243 because he had more shells in his rifle. This was some sort of jab, insinuating that I fired rounds from my rifle while my dad didn’t, so I was going to put his gun to use.

I went outside onto some sort of easement, patio or alley. There were wooden shelves affixed to a brick or concrete wall. High upon the top shelf was a large scorpion, at least the size of my hand. The scorpion was purple and/or green. I can’t remember vivid details, but it was an unnatural color. My dad came out onto the patio and indulged me in a stern warning about the scorpion. Then he threw his pocket knife at the scorpion in his father-like way of protecting his only son. He missed. His knife went over the scorpion, hit the brick wall and landed on the shelf, somewhere near the arthropod. I unclipped my $1 Wal-Mart knife from my pocket, opened it, threw, and pierced the scorpion’s left side, fatally injuring it.

As I knew it was going to die, I immediately walked up to the shelf to pick up the scorpion with my two hands. My dad was at my side the whole way, telepathically telling me to wait, to not touch the scorpion as it was still alive and dangerous. I was still reaching for it, as was my dad. We were both going for the scorpion – my hands for the scorpion, my dad’s hands to protect me from the sting. Our four hands fumbled upward toward the dying beast. The scorpion knew we were coming for it, and it struck.

That’s when the dream started to get scary for me, and my mind began telling me to wake up. The last thing I remember, the scorpion struck with it’s stinger multiple times. I remember seeing my dad’s strong, tanned hands on top of mine. I remember his hands the same way they were when I held them and cried goodbye to him more than five years ago. The last time I held my dad’s hands, he was 70-years-old and I was 30. Before then, I can’t remember the last time I held my dad’s hand. It was probably when I was a little boy, when it was still okay to hold daddy’s hand. I don’t know who the scorpion stung.

When I awoke from my dream, it was 1:30 a.m., I was scared, and both of my hands were asleep.