Tag: life with kiddos Page 2 of 13

A Change’ll Do You Good

On leaning into that whole “change is inevitable” bit…


Rarely have major life changes lined up so neatly with a calendar year. Not quite a year ago, I jumped in the car with a suitcase, kissed the kiddos and Kel goodbye (although they’d be coming behind me the next day), and drove up the mountain to Cullowhee. I checked into the Bird Alumni House, which became our home for the next three weeks, and reported to HFR for my first day of work at Western. Later that week, we enrolled the kiddos in their new school, and Kel officially began her full-time work for her own company.

By the time we closed on our house a few weeks later, it had already snowed–twice. And by the time our movers arrived with all our household possessions, it had threatened to snow a third time. (The closing was a round robin of delays, COVID, and weather; the first week in the house, the kids slept on air mattresses, and we ate off a card table.)

I traveled a fair amount this year–eight trips for work, several others for personal matters. In March, we lost our dear Aunt Jean, and the N.C. contingency of the Hogan family trekked through a winter storm to make the funeral. In April, I took Julia on her first “on a plane” trip to St. Petersburg for a weekend. We all made it to Cherry Grove for our family beach week in June, and this fall, I flew back up to NJ for a football weekend with family, including Jason and the Knights Brigade.

We made plenty of trips back to Statesville. So many I cannot count them all.

A Double Exposure

Sometimes I wonder if I am the anachronism.


This weekend brought a short and windy return of winter bluster, capping off what had been a nice stretch of seasonally warm weather and visions of spring. Friday evening it was moderately cold, but the blasts of wind roaring over the eastern ridge made even reasonable temps in the 40s feel bone-chillingly cold. Each night over the weekend, we covered up our new ferns with bedsheets, our front porch looking more suitable for Halloween than spring.

We’ve just capped off an entire week of houseguests. Kel’s parents stayed with us for several days to celebrate Annie and Julia’s birthdays, and then my Mom came up Friday and stayed the weekend. It was our first opportunity to deploy the little guest apartment in the detached garage, and everything seemed to work brilliantly.

Our house in Statesville closed a week ago, and Kelly and I can both feel the difference. Although mildly surreal to now be wholly detached from what we both considered our hometown, it’s still a relief to have the stress of selling a house behind us, to not worry about keeping up with two mortgages, and to cash that check. We’ve got a few projects in mind here in Sylva.

Keep paddling.

Thomas, my boy:

I am writing this from the kitchen of our new house in Sylva, and I’m writing it exactly one month later than I intended. This letter, the sort that I write to you and your sisters exactly once every three years, is somehow overdue, but I feel that if you look back on this time—and goodness, what memories you’ll have of it going forward—you may very well understand.

The kitchen is a good enough place for writing because Mom bought a trio of barstools after she dropped you off at your new school, the one you started four weeks ago after break. Millie is stretched out on a bathroom mat spread out in the den floor; it’s comically too small, but somehow it ended up there, and it’s the right size for our young pup.

There are still boxes and boxes left to unpack and a couch and a bed down in the detached garage that we don’t know what to do with. We are still learning how to pull into and out of the steep driveway without scraping the bottoms of our cars. 

All of which is to say, your ninth birthday fell in a maelstrom of life. In the last 80 days, the world you’ve spent your entire life in was turned upside down, then packed away, then upended once more. 

It’s my fault.

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