Dear Holly: Celebrating My Birthday

9 years, 11 months.

Dear Holly,

With our birthday just four days apart, it ultimately ends up feeling like an entire week of celebrating both of our birthdays at the same time. As I began receiving gifts in the mail for my birthday, so did you.

Leading up to my 45th birthday on Monday, you had been telling me how hard you were working on my gift.

I am so proud of the drawing you made for… featuring me as a unicorn.

You know how much I always appreciate you taking the time to come up with creative drawings for me. It was perfect!

Love,

Daddy

Turning 45: Unserious Everything and Embrace Absurdity

Today is my 45th birthday. Something particularly interesting is that the Millennial generation begins with people born in 1981; which makes me the very oldest of the Millennials.

Recently I was watching a business video about different age demographics. The guy in the video casually pointed out, “Millennials are getting old.”

Oh… I’m “old” now? But… umm… I don’t act mature enough to be “old”.

Certainly, when people find out I am in my mid 40s (as of today, officially closer to 50 than I am 40 at this point), no one responds with, “Oh, well you’re still a baby!”… like the way they would do when I was still in my 30s.

And that’s okay. I’ve accepted my role as “the designated adult”, as occasion calls for it.

I feel like I am pretty good at just minding my own business. The problem is, theatrical situations always seem to find me.

Even just looking back these past few months…

By simply participating in the Christmas parade, I was unknowingly auditioning for the upcoming Children’s Advocacy Center Play.

By simply joining a group of friends to watch an amateur wrestling event, I found myself involved in a “confrontation” with one of the wrestlers.

By simply going on my morning run and mentioning to a friend that I was taking my daughter to the Easter Egg Hunt at the church, I ended up playing the Easter Bunny.

Maybe what I am trying to say is that the older I get, I am naturally accepting my role to “unserious everything” and embrace the absurdity.

I won’t settle for my life feeling like the movie Groundhog Day. I just have to go and make things weird.

This is 45.

 

 

 

 

Dear Holly: Hiking Up and Down Amicalola Falls

9 years, 11 months.

Dear Holly,

While on Spring Break last month, we as a family decided to take on the challenge of hiking up and back down Amicalola Falls.

I was prepared to carry you on my back at some point, as it was definitely not a leisurely hike. Or I at least expected you to get too tired, or hungry, or thirsty.

And then we would all have to take a break.

But, no.

You did just fine. You’re turning 10 years old in a week.

I love it that you are old enough now where we can have challenging, yet fun adventures like this as a family- and you can certainly hold your own!

Love,

Daddy

Dear Holly: Daddy is the Easter Bunny?

9 years, 11 months.

Dear Holly,

If there ever was a time for you to consider whether the Easter Bunny might actually be me, the answer was definitely confirmed this year.

When a friend found out I was taking you to our church’s egg hunt this past Saturday, she insisted I borrow the Easter Bunny costume she just happened to own.

So… I did. I just showed up unannounced as the Easter Bunny. And not once single person questioned it.

I played the part and everyone assummed it was part of the plan all along.

As multiple kids started coming up to ask to get their picture taken with me (and their family), as well as showing me their prizes they were winning from the games at the event, I realized, “Oh… I really am the Easter Bunny.”

I guess this means I need to invest in my own bunny costume now.

Love,

Daddy

Dear Jack: Potty on the Porch

15 years, 4 months.

Dear Jack,

After being out all day, we came home to see a toilet sitting on our front porch. No, I was not one bit curious as to why:

Obviously, it had something to do with your friends putting it there.

So Mommy had you recruit a friend to help you return it to wherever it mysteriously came from.

I still really don’t know the story of the potty on our porch. Oh well.

Love,

Daddy