On New Year’s Eve, when sparks take flight,
And midnight waits just out of sight,
We don’t just cheer a brand-new year—
We celebrate you, my kid so dear.
Four candles glow, four wishes too,
A sky of glitter—just like you.
Before the clocks can shout “Hooray!”
You turn four—and steal the day.
Happy 4th Birthday, Rost.
We weren’t even through our first road trip before I started thinking about the next one. Rost was such a wonderful driving and camping companion that I knew right away this trip was a success—and that many more miles were ahead of us. At the time, I didn’t yet realize we’d be taking back-to-back cross-country trips in the years to come.
The route was planned. Stops were booked. Snacks were stocked. Gas was topped off. The truck was packed and waiting.
The toilet, however, had other plans.
Just a few hours before we were set to leave on a 5,000+ mile trip, it sprang a leak. It wasn’t a hardware store run I had planned or a skill I wanted to learn, but I was grateful the tank failed before we left for two weeks rather than while we were gone. New skill unlocked.
I’ve driven across Montana more times than I can count, so I wanted this route to feel more adventurous than hours on the interstate. We headed north to Browning, stopped for lunch in Great Falls, then traveled east on Highway 87 through Belt, Moccasin, Grass Range, Mosby, and more before reaching our campground in Glendive. After nine straight hours of driving—not counting stops—we were still in Montana.
We slept fitfully next to very active train tracks (I can’t recommend Riverview RV Park), so we were happy to pack up early and move on. Our destination was Cousin Jett, Uncle Jesse, and Aunt Jaiden. With only three hours to drive, we headed straight to Mandan, North Dakota, stopping briefly at the border for photos and fresh air.
Rost and Jett quickly reconnected in true toddler fashion.
One night wasn’t nearly enough for two little boys to burn off their energy. Soon it was morning and time to head out again. On our way to visit my cousins, Mark and Beth Ann, we stopped at Sandy, the World’s Largest Sandhill Crane, and at a mall where Rost and I used “Mommy and Me” toilets together—an experience I won’t soon forget.
Before long, we crossed into Minnesota and arrived at a familiar door in Willmar.
This region deserves its own future trip, but this time Brian was eager to keep moving. Our next stop would end up being his favorite.
The drive to Green Bay, Wisconsin was thankfully uneventful. We skipped major stops so we could check into our hotel, explore around Lambeau Field, and get to bed early for Brian’s tour the next morning.
While Brian explored Lambeau, Rost and I played at a nearby cheese-and-football-themed playground. It wasn’t something I ever imagined myself doing, but it turned out to be surprisingly fun. Lambeau is impressive—equal parts history and business genius. As a lifelong Steelers fan, it pains me to admit we’ll be back someday for a game.
From Green Bay, we headed toward Michigan. Shortly after crossing into Illinois, we witnessed a terrifying accident. A vehicle flipped multiple times, and for several minutes I was convinced we’d just seen someone lose his life. When the driver regained consciousness, I finally felt some relief, but I was shaken. Brian took over driving for the rest of the day. We skipped our planned stops and went straight to the hotel to decompress. Thankfully, there was a McDonald’s in the parking lot, so dinner didn’t require getting back in the car. We fell asleep watching Willy Wonka—Rost now requests that a future road trip include a chocolate factory.
To reset after the tough day, we spent the next morning at Wellfield Botanical Garden in Indiana. Rost took photos and smelled every flower he could before we continued through Ohio and into Pittsburgh to stay with Sam and Cait.
Rost was not happy that we weren’t driving straight to Gimmy and Pappy’s that day. He was convinced Sam and Cait “probably didn’t even have anything fun.” Five minutes later, Sam pulled out a box of her childhood toys, and all complaints disappeared. They played, ran around, ordered delivery, and watched Peppa Pig on a giant screen.
Sam and Cait live just a five-minute walk from the Pittsburgh Zoo and Aquarium, so we spent a few hours there before continuing to Gimmy and Pappy’s.
The main reason for this trip was my 20-year high school reunion. I still can’t believe it’s been 20 years since Turkeyfoot. It was wonderful to see familiar faces—many for the first time since graduation. About half our class attended, and I even made my first TikTok.
The day after the reunion was our only unplanned day. We spent it with family—getting ice cream, picking corn at a roadside stand, and decorating Eat’n Park cookies with Gimmy.
Then it was time to repack and head west. As tent campers, we often had entire campground sections to ourselves. Eby Pines RV Park in Indiana gave us a peaceful and memorable first night on the return trip.
The next morning started early so we could celebrate the 39th anniversary of “The Event of 1986.” We visited the Shedd Aquarium, where I sang “Baby Beluga” with my baby-beluga-loving boy to a real beluga whale.
We followed that with lunch with Ian’s mom—one of those unexpected, meaningful moments that make travel special.
In Iowa, we settled into our campsite with our newest stuffed family member: Baby Beluga.
To break up the long drive to South Dakota, we stopped at several roadside attractions, including Rost’s favorite—the Corn Palace. For a corn-loving farm boy, it was magical.
Before re-entering Montana, we visited Dignity of Earth & Sky, Wall Drug, and Dinosaur Park.
On our final driving day, we stopped at the Museum of the Rockies to see dinosaur fossils—mostly discovered in Montana. There’s nothing quite like staring at a T. rex before lunch.
The road will always call to me. But as we continue building our life in northwest Montana, nothing compares to coming home and falling asleep in your own bed.
I recently hosted a Painting with Nature party at my house for our local Hiking with Tots group, which I help lead. I set everything up with canvases and paint, and let the kids gather their own “paintbrushes” from around the backyard—sticks, leaves, pine needles, flowers, whatever inspired them.
It was messy, creative, and so much fun. The kids dove right into their projects, and even the chickens wandered through to supervise and add to the entertainment. Everyone—feathered and otherwise—had a great time getting colorful!
We have the perfect little box elder tree in our front yard—just right for a childhood swing. When Rost outgrew his cloth-and-wood baby swing, I started looking for a sturdy wooden one that could grow with him through the years. I happened to mention it to our neighbor, Michael, and not long after, he showed up with the perfect solution – a handmade whiskey barrel swing.
Since it was first installed, I can confidently say Rost has spent hundreds of joyful hours soaring through the air. Thanks, Michael!
Eleven years—what a milestone! I’m still not sure how it came and went so fast.
And really, there are two elevens worth celebrating: Brian and I have now been married for 11 years, and Bucket just turned 11, too. Here’s to many, many more of both!
Brian’s Aunt Terri – who is our next door neighbor – needed a couple of trees taken down on her property. While we do have a professional arborist in the family, she opted to call in a crew of taller (and perhaps slightly more seasoned) pros for the job.
It turned into quite the spectacle. So much so, we had to make popcorn just to keep up with the entertainment.
I kicked off camping season a whole ten feet out the back door, because nothing says “wilderness adventure” like being within sprinting distance of indoor plumbing. But let’s be real—this toddler lives in the country, and there are trees nearby just waiting to be watered!
Rost packed all the essentials: a glowstick he held an inch from my face all night, a stuffed cow and a plastic bee from a Happy Meal—neither with any survival training—and one tractor pillow we were apparently meant to share.
We pitched the tent like seasoned pros and roasted marshmallows in the oven, since the firewood cover ripped over the winter and everything outside is still soggy.
Rost finally passed out once the sun went down, blissfully unaware of the coyotes yipping and howling for hours. I stayed up watching the stars crawl across the sky, catching the occasional shooting star. Honestly? 10/10. Can’t wait for more camping adventures with my little buddy.
Rost has been ready to potty train for a solid six months—but I wasn’t. Mentally, I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. I knew we had our first big road trip coming up, and diapers felt like the easier route for travel. So I put it off. My goal was to tackle it over the summer, but somehow summer slipped by in a blur. Suddenly, we were counting down the days to a cross-country flight for a cousin’s wedding, and I realized we’d likely return to cold Montana mornings and bundling up for fall. So, ready or not, it was time. I cleared my schedule, put down my phone, and committed. Rost and I were going all in—however long it took.
Day One: Birthday suit mode.
Rost loved being naked. We spent most of the day outside to protect both my floors and what was left of my sanity. Not a single accident. I started to think this might actually be easier than I expected.
Day Two: Underwear trials.
Since day one went so smoothly, I figured we’d try underwear. Between 7 a.m. and 11 a.m., we went through a pair every 20 minutes. I cried. Genuinely wondered if, at two and a half, Rost was just too little to really get it. But by 1 p.m.—breakthrough. From then until bedtime, just one more change. Hope was restored.
Day Three and beyond:
Less than a week into our potty training journey, we boarded a plane (yes, terrifying). But Rost handled it like a pro. He hasn’t had a single accident since day two—except once, when I couldn’t pull over in time. Since then, we’ve had the occasional slip-up (to be expected), but they’re so rare. I truly couldn’t be prouder of this determined little dude.
If you choose not to find joy in the snow, you will have less joy in your life but still the same amount of snow.
Goodbye winter. Until we meet again. Xoxo.
No one could remember the last time the septic tank had been serviced—could’ve been years, could’ve been decades, who knows? With three busy bodies now living full-time in the house, we figured it was probably wise to have it pumped before the system decided to surprise us.
Step one: find the tank. Easier said than done. We weren’t left a map, just a vague idea based on where the snow mysteriously melts first each winter—nature’s little hint, courtesy of a warm underground secret.
Once we finally tracked it down, we booked a cleaning with a local company. That’s when the real excitement began. Rost was over the moon when the poop truck pulled into the driveway. We kept a safe distance, but watched the entire process with wide-eyed enthusiasm—well, mostly Rost.
Now, if you ask him what he wants to be when he grows up, he won’t even hesitate: “I want to drive the poop truck!” Dreams really do start in the most unexpected places. Don’t be surprised if he asks where your septic tank is if we come visit.
