Father of the Year

Aaron and Rylee napping

Snuggles with Daddy

Aaron and Kaymaen

Teaching Ryann that she could fly.

Illustrating "The Christmas Story" to Ryann...

thankfully it was an icicle, not a Red Ryder BB gun!

Rylee has been sick now all weekend-another bout with pneumonia. While lack of sleep tends to make me a bit delirious, it also gives me loads of quiet stillness to think. Ryann loves to watch old home movies of herself. We recently came across a whole tape of Saturdays. Saturdays that Aaron missed because he was working hard. After an 80 hour week of outta town work he'd plop in his chair and sit to watch the hours that he missed. There was the time he stuck Ryann's head in the ceiling fan accidentally-he'd already turned it off but it was rotating slowly as his six foot four frame lifted her up and over the crib rail. The first time he tried to cut her tiny little fingernails and barely nipped her skin-both of them tearing up (he's never cut nails since). Buying her first K-Swiss tennis shoes and holding a tiny hand in his big calloused strong one as she took her first tentative steps. While I would cook dinner he'd turn on oldies and dance her to sleep. Every year they watch the Super Bowl together and fight over the Doritos. When Malibu Barbie got third degree burns from being left out in the sun and Aaron said he'd take her to plastic surgeon Ken for treatment. Discovering him teaching his girlie girl how to spit like a boy. Listening to him read her story after story, never tiring even after a long day at work. Or the time when he bought her fish for Christmas. Doe, Ray, and Me didn't make it long (note to others:never buy pets at Wal-Mart) and he'd wake up early each morning to grab a deceased fish before she woke up...and asking me, "Do you think she'd know if I just went and bought another one?" Every summer our yard becomes a waterpark so the two of them can relive his Slip'n Slide days. Last summer he introduced her to the joys of smores over a camp fire - and caught a bag of marshmallows on fire. Vacations where she has her Daddy's undivided attention. Then we had Rylee. We sat by her bed for three weeks in intensive care. Somehow we figured out how we could both sleep sideways on the chair-he always wanted to be there when the specialist came in. He learned how to put her NG tube down and check for placement. The first time I left her and she pooped up her back and front-he changed her...and the bedding...and her clothing. Doctor appointments were scheduled late in the day so he could be there to listen and learn, help me make decisions. He'd lay for hours with Rylee in the crook of his arm, barely daring to move as he listened for her soft irregular breathing. I remember how it took my breath the first time I saw her tiny still body as his arms engulfed her and they danced. He swayed gently, scared of hurting her or pulling a tube. We are used to everyone calling Ryann my "mini-me", but then everyone started talking about Rylee's blue eyes, long eyelashes, blond curly hair and how she looked like her Daddy. He bought her a pink hat when he let his hair grow long and had me take a picture of them-both of their curls coming out the bottom of the cap. He won't shave his goatee, since that's how Rylee recognizes him when he loves on her. Then of course came Kaymaen-the joy of having her in our arms yet knowing it wouldn't be for long. He took so many precious pictures-all we have now of her week here-capturing her sweet round face and dimpled hands. You can almost smell Dreft and Johnson & Johnson when you see those photos. I remember what a support he was to me, how much he loved our girls. The day after her funeral I literally felt as though I couldn't move, my heart heavy. I didn't know how to get out of the bed and start the day without my baby. Aaron sensed all this, got out of bed early and put the girls in bed with - reminding me that life does move on, we are still so blessed, our lives full of laughter and love, and that in living our life we honor Kaymaen.
I'm grateful for a husband who loves me and loves our girls. Shows them patience and unconditional love.
To quote our five year old (going on thirty), "You're the man Daddy."


We love you...to the moon and back...bushel and a peck...hug around the neck.