“Good night Sadie.”

That’s what Everett is saying at the window looking out to our backyard as he moves around the house, saying good night to everyone and everything.

Our dog Sadie is buried out there, in a spot soon to be marked by a new bee hive for Harrison.

We all worked on digging the grave just a couple of hours before, even Everett. Especially Everett. He’s a tenacious little bug when he has a mission.

As a family we talked to her, stroked her back and cried as she was given the final injection.

And now, as we float around the house—sad, relieved, and in shock—together as a family we say “Good night Sadie”.

We promised Harrison a new room in time for his birthday. It seemed plausible at the time.

So, when I’m not working or otherwise in-charge of someone or something, I’m working on the house. It’s quite a sense of accomplishment when some part of the project reaches a milestone. It’s also incredibly overwhelming to think about what still has to happen.

For those of you asking why I haven’t been posting, this is my excuse. I will begin posting on a regular schedule soon—I promise.

Parenting is like driving.

Some days you cruise along the highway, elbow out in the sun, and your singing sounds much better than what’s coming out of the speakers.

Other days you feel like you are barely in control of a 2-ton truck as you careen along the winding roads on the side of a mountain and Indiana Jones is hanging off the front giving you a look that you know means bad news.

Most days are somewhere in-between.

I write this as my car is being inspected—always a time of reflection.

At the end of the day I do realize how fortunate I am—where I live, the quality of my life and living conditions—but if there were any drastic upheavals in my life, as long as my family is together I know I’ll be okay.

It happens everywhere. Parents, talk to your kids. Kids, talk to your parents.

What a gutsy kid. I hope her parents are proud of her—I am.

Full story here: Alye Pollack’s Anti-Bullying Video: Conn. Eighth Grader’s Message Strikes A Chord.

Every time I see a shooting star I make a wish for one of my kids.

Usually it is along the lines of ‘I hope they have a better tomorrow than today’ or something specific such as ‘learns to overcome his frustration’. It is never for all of them at once, and often the recipient of my well-wishes is whomever is currently at the top of the ‘troubled’ list (see Halfway There).

Well, turns out I now have to use the ‘heal that broken arm’ wish. Again. For those of you keeping score at home it’s: Playgrounds 2 vs My Kids 0.

Now I know what my next wish is going to be: that there are enough shooting stars to get them through to adulthood.

It is so easy to underestimate what kids are capable of. Prior to being a parent, I would have never predicted that I could have this kind of conversation with a three-year-old.

It amazes me to see so much of present-day Harrison already there at three-years-old. He still has that probing mind and has gone on to perfect that nasty look.

He is currently content being an omnivore.

I’ve noticed over the last ten years that there is a certain ebb-and-flow to my kids personalities throughout the year and the high point is around their birthday. On the other end of the spectrum, six months out, that’s when they are the most challenged by their nascent abilities, troubled by a lack of confidence and likely to react to difficult situations with raw emotion instead of logical problem solving.

While this makes it possible to anticipate rough spots it doesn’t necessarily translate into easy answers or solutions for them, or us, as parents.

What occurs to me now is that as an adult I’m following much the same cycle but measured in a lifetime, not a single year. At the half-way point of my life I’ve had more doubts and fears and found myself in more difficult situations than I would have thought possible.

I could look at everything around me and declare that my life is half-over, the cup half-empty and holy crap, how could it get any worse?

Being an optimist though, I’m choosing to believe that it will only get better since I’m halfway there.

Life is good. At least that is the feeling I’m left with.

This morning when I dropped off the kids at school I happened to see Harrison holding the door open for a woman and child at school. He had to wait for them since they were nowhere near the door when he first saw them. It was 18° F, he was in a rush, and come on–he’s only ten.

He’s a great kid. I’m a proud father.

But, I wonder is it simplistic of me to dwell on an act so small when there are much larger, more important things in this world? To apply any value to Harrison’s gesture? I don’t think so. It is these small acts that are the building blocks of all other selfless behaviors and without them there would be nothing else to value.

You don’t have to limit yourself to appreciating the small kindnesses by any means, but I am saying that they have to be recognized. When they are, life is good.

I expect a lot of good things to happen this year: we’ll finish the addition to our house, Everett will finish with preschool, Oliver will come out of first grade a voracious reader and enthusiastic artist, Harrison will successfully compete in school-league soccer. I also expect some bad things: our property value will continue to drop despite our renovation/addition, work will become harder to get, clients harder to keep.

But the one thing I keep coming back to is that I think this is the year our oldest dog Sadie is going to die.

As sad as that is (on so, so many levels) what makes me smile is that the boys have totally fallen in love with our dogs in the last year. Never have the dogs had it so good — hugs in the morning, rub-downs in the afternoon, sleeping at the foot of someone’s bed each night. Sadie will be 15 this year but I swear when she’s getting attention from the boys she wiggles like a puppy on a Sunday morning.

Yeah, she still has trouble getting up even the slightest of rises, and yeah, she’s got all sorts of lumps but man — is she ever happy when one of the kids has got an arm wrapped around her neck and whispering some secret into her ear.

I guess you could say that the good thing that is going to come out of this is I’m not the only one that’s going to miss her.

This morning I found Oliver sitting on his bed looking very confused.

“Did I dream?” he asked.

“It looks like you did. Do you remember what was in the dream?”

He thinks for a moment. “I was learning to use a wand. How to cast spells. The right way to move….,” and he trailed off, looking around the room. He leans over and picks up a Playmobil oar from a pirate ship. He swishes it around in the air expectantly. Disappointment clouds his face. “It was a dream. That,” and he motions with his oar again, “would have worked.” And then he sighed.

I think Oliver’s Harry Potter phase has begun.