Betz Family Columbus

these boys!

2026-04-09T19:03:00.007-04:00

10/10, no notes

some combination of fish, donkeys and cousins

2026-03-31T18:08:00.000-04:00

plus a couple college visits to round out spring break...

lately

2026-03-25T14:52:00.000-04:00

Carrie Newcomer concert, fresh eggs, Newsies audition prep, Ohio for Amy Acton, LEGOS, Columbus Gay Mens Chorus, OMEA contest, garage band, Butterfly Guild's Annie, favorite cat and crochet projects, among other things

The Little Mermaid

2026-03-16T08:01:00.000-04:00

2026 Grandview Heights High School spring musical, Prince Eric

Golden

2026-03-11T09:16:00.005-04:00

Dear Hank,

There's a choir of plush creatures guarding the edge of your quilt. I like to watch you wade through them and settle into bed with a giant brick of a book, imaginary worlds that make your small body grow enormous.

You turned ten on the 10th and have a LOT to say, often using several words when one could do. You have eyes the color of fresh churned mud, as big as mercy. You are always humming. You run a dizzyingly fast engine for art and experiment, a very hardworking empiricist. You act as professor of facts both significant and trivial and analyst of things like hawks and cereal and batteries. I admire your perseverance, a real Hermione Granger energy. You inhabit a perpetual state of possibility, a future brimming with promise, crowded with plans. Your friend group is joyful and kind and you are a reflection of the time you spend with peers, yet still more you than ever. You are fun and interesting and thoughtful; you make us laugh and make us think.

I resisted a powerful urge to purchase you an enormous present - a huge ruby or a Rembrandt or a real red panda, something extraordinarily astounding. But you know how hearts work, emotional connections over material gains and all that. I love you to the library and back, ten thousand times. Loving you (and your brothers) feels like the whole point of being alive.

I am here for you, open-armed and always.

Mom

going on seventeen

2026-03-08T19:06:00.002-04:00

Dear Tucker,

It's been a whirlwind of a weekend! You spent another birthday on stage, where it seems like the light shines on you and out of you at the same time. Once they're grown, most adults are mainly walking, talking versions of the stories they've told themselves. I'm so grateful several of your chapters are being scribed in Grandview's musical theatre department.

When I listen hard enough, I can still hear your two year old voice singing Super Boy and the Invisible Girl. And I remember her with you on March 7th too.

At seventeen you are mostly shiny and sharp on the outside ("that square jaw, those broad shoulders" according to Scuttle). You are able to sustain conversation on global politics and aquatic biology, but I like your fragile, vulnerable side too, full of moods and obsessions. If we had been high school kids at the same time, I'd have been psyched to be friends with you.

When you were ten I noted in your birthday letter that you seemed to live outside any whirlpool of urgencies. That's still true, time far more philosophy than rule. You are a perfectly lanky work in prog-mess with a strong nothing-is-beyond-salvation mindset, because of course anything can be fixed with duct tape or hot sauce. You are years away from cognitive maturation, that ripple of meat in the frontal lobe responsible for impulse control, at the age when adolescents tend to roll the dice and roll their eyes, learning to keep promises and secrets, working on the connection between effort and outcome. Someday I hope you'll understand the ultimate expression of love can sound like nagging? As you get older, I feel like I see more of your humanness, and I hope you see more of mine. You are a smashing success in so many ways, brave and kind better than intelligent or handsome. You have an ear attuned to melody, in poetry and song and science, a presence that can change the temperature in the room, a smile marquee bright.

You go around a lot like Prince Eric, making the whole world feel like an ocean of love -- and what a way to drown! Our job -- to witness you take off, swim deeper, to be the buoy along the shoreline -- feels like a gift. As much as you think I love you, I love you more.

Mom

keeping up with winter

2026-02-23T15:27:00.001-05:00

We've seen local high school productions of SUFFS and The Addams Family, spent time with cousins and friends, at dances and fundraisers and on band trips. There've been camp overnights and snow days, concerts and scenic construction. Instead of "How fast can I get this done?" I'm trying to channel "How relaxed can I be while we do this?"

Betz Family on Ice

2026-02-16T13:46:00.001-05:00

Everyone was a winner in Sally & Angie's Buckeye Lake Winter Olympics!

a whole month for hearts

2026-02-02T13:25:00.002-05:00

And a whole universe that pulls mine in every direction.

In choir, on the particularly long, sustained notes, everyone knows you have to stagger breaths with fellow singers so the music maintains one continuous melody. There might be a metaphor in that, for life in general.

Taking turns taking deep breaths and heart swells around here.

Three thirteen hour days of rehearsal
One very supportive vocal music director

Lots of new friends, and new skills

what is the word for horrifying AND hopeful?

2026-01-19T22:15:00.005-05:00

I try to write a sentence and trail off thinking about whether I added soy sauce to the grocery list, thinking about what ICE is doing in Minneapolis, thinking about how to juggle lessons and rehearsals and meetings and meals for the week ahead. I check Instagram and think the internet used to be a place we visited, not a place we lived and read another book instead: Long Island, The Accidental Favorite, The Correspondent, just this week. I come back to post and feel paralyzed. The less you care about doing something well, the better your chances of it doing delightedly, of doing it at all? The goal is just to get something recorded before the month is over, if January ever ends. I used to imagine the less important I became to my children, the more adept I might feel at doing other things besides mothering, like writing. Hush little inner critic, don't say a word.

Hank's friends gathered for hot chocolate and Young Sheldon and crochet last night. One girl does not knit but enjoys untangling knots. They'd likely include her regardless, but I admire the group's celebration of her useful, engaged participation.

Recently I've wished the whole world could watch Wonder, or be reminded of the way redwoods collaborate to share water, spreading resources to help the entire forest survive hardships like drought or fire. I can't make anyone abide the precept "choose kind" or take heart the parable about hogging all the water, but I can marvel at the way those things work.

In the bleak midwinter, I'm looking for ebullient colors and divine textures, making a very concerted effort to source joy in every possible way. Tucker got an electric guitar for Christmas and I finally understand, from him, some of the nuances. Also now I like to refer to my favorite old quilt, the one that does not plug in, as my acoustic blanket. Tuck humors me.

After a long day at school last week, Tucker sat at the counter and water colored for hours, chatting the whole time. He revisited a photo he'd taken in Wales as inspiration, our view from the top of Carn Ingli. While he painted he told us about the sheppey, the unit of length defined as the closest point at which sheep remain picturesque (approx 7/8 of a mile, fyi). He mixed colors on a clear plastic lid, creating blues and greens that felt very refreshing, like in a spearmint specific way. After at least three sessions, Tuck's painting is finished and on the fridge now, waiting for just the right frame, sparking delight.

Oh, these boys are my absolute favorite hopeful story. The daily tenderness, the ordinary suffering, the stubborn faithfulness, the full complexity, may it all be reflected here.

Boston!

2026-01-04T22:27:00.004-05:00

Part of the boys' holiday gift was a trip to Boston to see the world premiere of the new musical Wonder, based on a book all three of them enjoyed. The show was incredible -- super talented cast, terrific music and a timely, timeless message: choose kind.
Hank was so overcome by emotion that I was not the only one sobbing at the standing ovation, and Tolliver begged to go back again the next night.

We spent hours at Harvard's Museum of Natural History, glad to be there for Blaschka's glass models of plants but captivated by so many things. Tucker carried around a clipboard, examining insects as if he were trying to create one himself.

At the New England Aquarium the boys were fascinated by the elephantnose fish in the African river exhibit, and by the penguins playing with an errant infant pacifier.

A quick walk through the Collection of Historical Scientific Instruments allowed Tolliver's humor to shine, magnifying fart jokes and "teaching" Harvard's hardest course, Math 55, covering his take on something like "advanced calculus with quantum geometry and theoretical algebra."

The big draw at Boston's Museum of Fine Arts were Homer Winslow's paintings, mostly of trout and fisherman and seashores, but the collection of musical instruments grabbed our attention too.

We walked a lot and wore several layers against the wind, stepping on the Freedom Trail in a few spots and stopping in Faneuil Hall and the public library. We also had the opportunity to define words like phallic and erected to Hank, who did not understand why his brothers were laughing next to Paul Revere's grave.

You never know how a little getaway might lead to a chapter in some bigger story, be it watercolors or musical theater, entomology or conservation, capacity for imagination or education... but none of us will be surprised when one day in the future there's a string that ties back to this trip in some way.

December's never felt so long

2025-12-28T20:11:00.004-05:00

The cousins don't want to line up along the stairs and smile for the camera in cozy new holiday jammies, wild behavior when Santa is literally on his way to town, but the grown ups are getting used to things that will not be happening again*, at least not exactly the same way.

Caroling with neighbors, an annual event - but this year with our high school kids! - felt like going to church for some spiritual support, an ad-hoc pastor in the piano keys, the kind of together that seemed as if it's always been.

Traditions evolve.

I try to imagine the boys in some future, maybe in their thirties, during the holidays. Nothing is perfect, but they are comfortable with that, doing things they enjoy and celebrating others doing the same. They find meaning in people, not things and not rituals that aren’t right for them. They are content with enough. And they are this way because they understand that more is not more when it comes at the expense of a healthy mind. That relationships surpass good china and expensive gifts.

* the last line of Tony Hoagland's poem Into the Mystery feels like a good reminder at the end of the year...

as you continue moving through these days and years

where more and more the message is not to measure anything.

Jingling some of the way

2025-12-16T09:39:00.003-05:00

Most of the way. Just not alllll the way.

trying

2025-12-09T16:11:00.000-05:00

Here we are. It's December. Just trying to delight in the season.

Honoring, mostly, traditions that work for us, rather than those that require work.

Enjoying the first snow, and navigating the frigid air and the inevitable muddy melt.

Admiring the repeated chord progression, the same measures over and over, like the "roof ball" sliding across the shingles in some consistent attempt to master a trick, the again and againness -- learning to love these noises the best, the optimistic sound of someone's repeated trying.

fourteen

2025-11-28T11:06:00.001-05:00

Dear Tolliver,

You are suddenly less wild hair and strong opinions, more refined taste, bright but withholding, the king of nonchalance. You could, as they say, charm the rats off a cheesecake. Still, you know we will not spend $42 on the tiniest tube of hair pomade. But we will often accommodate a request for third dinner. You've leveled up on ramen, switching brands and adding garnishes, making something almost gourmet. You are growing in so many ways.

You have mostly aged out of your leap and lunge atmosphere, no longer so much like a large playful dog. You are still every young person's absolute favorite pal. You are not entirely focused on a ball rising into the air and falling toward a glove, but baseball is a very big part of your world. Your dad and I are proud of your effort in school, though even more pleased by the size of your heart, nevermind no one is collecting data on that.

You know where your water bottle is and what size cleats you wear and which homework assignment is due next Tuesday. Your chair is never on all fours. But you do linger at the table longer, adding humor and curiosity to grown up conversation, open to pleasure and connection. You have an appetite like a wood chipper. Every time you feel alive you're being shown your vitamins. I think for you that might mean fresh air and dirt. You are like a spectacular sunrise, slides and shorts and a cozy new sweatshirt, the sky graduating from navy to flame.

I look back at baby pictures and can see your exact essence now in a way I was only just discovering then, so much embedded in your tiny features. I used to be the world's premiere expert on you, but you are your own expert now. I love you as shortstop and Sully and as a rising star, and I'm desperate to know every future version of you. While it is both a challenge and a joy, it is also an immense privilege, steering one of the people I love most in this world right out of my orbit.

Happy birthday, bruh.

Mom

more than meets the I-O

2025-11-17T20:59:00.004-05:00

Another week, and all the emotional cliff-diving that comes with dreaming big and raising boys.

Trampoline repairs and marimba deliveries, musical auditions and making periodic tables with Ramen noodles, building strength of mind, building strength of heart. The yarn store and the youth retreat and the food pantry and so much more that may not get documented here, books consumed in stacks, like by boa constrictors, and skies the color of a candy necklace... simply noting some of it.

Radium Girls

2025-11-10T07:53:00.002-05:00

"Radium Girls" were female factory workers in the early 20th century who painted luminous watch dials with radium-based paint. The girls were instructed to sharpen the paintbrushes with their lips, causing them to ingest lethal doses of radium, which led to health problems like bone cancer and jaw necrosis. The women's courage in taking on their employers in court led to significant legal victories that paved the way for modern workplace safety regulations.

The GHHS cast of Radium Girls shined a bright light on ambition, progress and the hidden costs of chasing success. Both historically accurate and tragic, the students' portrayal of the fight for justice and fair compensation was thought-provoking and inspiring. As one friend aptly pointed out, Tucker is never not nice in real life but played a perfectly cold, smug company legal counsel, not quite blatantly malicious but certainly unyielding.

today's group project

2025-11-04T21:57:00.003-05:00

We saved daylight but could not turn the clocks ahead three years to save America.

It was a long weekend, a couple extra days off school, birthday parties and basketball tryouts, tailgating and food pantry work and well child visits, tech rehearsals and packing for a field trip to Washington DC.

Touring the nation's capital during a government shutdown though? There is a decaying lady on the counter here, held together with hot glue and adorned with hosta leaves and zinnia blooms, an acorn for a head, who could do a better job running things for the country.

Andy did a bit of yard work one evening, raking leaves and removing Halloween decorations, and left a bouquet of lilacs at the back door. How can lilacs in early November make me feel less alone? I wake up and I hardly know where to let my eyes land, dizzy with all the new ways to be angry at the world. But flowers that seem as confused as the rest of us? Give me all of those please. All of those plus the pine scented candle and the gang of 8th grade boys on bikes heading to the pharmacy to fill the cart with community snacks for the long bus ride, all of the cozy crocheted critters lined up along the back of the couch, blankets as infrastructure.

I read it described as a cruel exchange, this flimsy math of hours, one night of extra sleep for months of darkness. This is not a deal I might negotiate on my own, because I believe sunlight is a cure. But so can be finding the perfect pellet ice your sister left in the freezer, watching a child well-versed in choosing music that might move his body to dance, changing into "night pajamas" after wearing "day pajamas."

Today's group project veiled as an election is due, another opportunity to practice taking care of our brains, and our neighbors.

Jacob Collier & Chris Thile & the A2S

2025-10-25T14:57:00.002-04:00

We've all been fascinated by Jacob Collier's particular musical genius, and have looked forward to seeing him live, despite the nearest tour location being up north. (We arrived on campus after dusk, and Andy told the boys the sun never reaches the U of M) I'm mostly posting here so we can look back and remember the show - the astonishing talent, the incredible humility, the joy of being included in the music-making.

I kept waiting for Chris Thile's mandolin to catch on fire. Jacob is not only a harmonic mastermind, he's also an amazing showman. And the remarkable courage it must've required for symphony members to agree to compose with Jacob on the spot! It's completely out of character for our family to return home at 2AM on a school night, but none of us regret making the time to be there.

photos via Ann Arbor Symphony, courtesy Charlotte Smith

This Jacob Collier Improvises with the Symphony clip is what really drew us in awhile back!

'tis apparently the season

2025-10-19T17:55:00.001-04:00

Let's be clear, the through line here is spooky.

good advice

2025-10-09T13:48:00.000-04:00

to sit out in the sun, and listen

2025-10-02T12:14:00.002-04:00

If it exists, the America I love may be on the ball field and in the choir room.

And if there are answers in poetry, Hoagland's "The Word" suggests we find the time to do both, that among our duties, pleasure is a thing that needs accomplishing.

don't blink

2025-09-25T13:19:00.005-04:00

The ground is wet, finally, and the air smells of marigolds. It is officially fall but the zinnias have not given up their shades of sunset. The boys are underslept and overschooled and it is not even October. There is so much to do, and such a fine line between being better - at being a student or being a parent - and being happy.

Out front the boys inspect each other's eyeballs, comparing colors and laughing at their own reflections. Out back they refill bowls with taco soup and talk about the books they're reading, about the genetic incompatibility of hares to breed with rabbits. Andy seems to have had strong ink in the printer, eye pigment and appetite and interest in biology all around.

There are so many household particulars to sort, college visits and halloween costumes, computer repairs and pants that fit for homecoming. Things go from feeling logistically impossible to emotionally brutal to financially chaotic, until I find myself studying the irises of my boys. Are they amber or hazel or that color the poets call bistre? My usual inclination is to iron out all the details, but I'm wondering more about resting in the complexity some too.

enough

2025-09-18T13:41:00.005-04:00

I am mostly dealing with a frayed nervous system by reading poetry and taking walks, closing tabs and opening windows. Except this morning there are two hawks hunting in the side yard and the level of chipmunk distress is more than I can bear.

Turns out our bodies are not wired to swallow the whole planet's screams.

Aside from a voodoo doll costume project and lots of time at the harp, Hank has been primarily occupied with a spontaneous and mysterious shrine to slime, like the saline and the shaving cream have lit a fire inside him. The constant production, tupperware full of mostly sea foam shades, leave a literal trail of unfinished business out back.

It's a fraught MO, soothing anxiety by clinging to something I think I can control. But cleaning the sticky patio table feels far easier than standing in the breach against those who preach the gospel of blood and power.

People say reading novels builds empathy, and science backs this up. Studies show that when we immerse ourselves in fictional worlds, we become more prosocial in the real world — more likely to help, share, and be kind.

One of my recent favorites was Growing Home. Isn't every good children's book a work of philosophy in disguise?

Last night the boys were up past bedtime, working on pentatonic scales. It's hard to enforce the clock when the activity tethers them to something ancient, to each other, when it serves as a counterbalance to the day, to the country. Could their music be communion from a different alter?

I read a parenting advice column recently that offered alternatives to How was your day?

For example, Is there anything you've been holding onto that you kind of want to say out loud?

I kind of wish someone would ask me this question.

I am mostly just guessing at how to grow children. Borrow books and buy sheet music. Apologize for the horrors of the world and talk about love. Point at the moon and the men who speak in complete sentences with civility. Serve lemonade and listening ears and cinnamon toast.

There's a world of worry out there. Here at home three boys sleep soundly under a sea of quilts and tented novels, and for today that might be enough.

shade and sunshine

2025-09-11T10:39:00.000-04:00

There's a Longfellow poem with a line that says

Life is checkered shade and sunshine

and I can't stop thinking about that truth...