2015 is almost over. We are dizzy from recent events. “I know, let’s go to Texas and see the family and try and relax,” I suggested.

Our 4-year old was on-board. My wife was, too. My family in Texas thought it was a fantastic idea. And Jetblue thought so, too.

My family caught us like a safety net below a trapeze artist. It felt good to be scooped up just before our faces hit the proverbial floor.

My Mom fed us lunch. My sister fed us dinner. Our exhaustion began to dissipate. We were loved. And it felt good.

Conor hugged on his grandmom. My sister hugged on my wife. And I hugged anyone that would hug me. Whew.

We visited the old haunts. Sister Ko introduced us to the new haunts. And Conor was loud enough to scare all the haunts.

Santa was good with his presents to Conor. And my wife and I were just happy to lean on each other instead of trading presents.

After filling our coffers with enough love to sustain us a couple of weeks or months, it was time to say goodbye.

My mom and I had a few quiet moments to share our truest feelings. And made a pact to be closer. That’s what love is.

My sister has always believed in me and I guess at this point, she’ll never stop. What a tremendous gift from a sister to her brother.

And my wife? Well, she signed up for all this and she keeps coming back for more. That’s love.

Merry Christmas, ya’ll.

Tags: family, christmas, 2015, mom, grandson, grandma, sister, wife, merry christmas

I heard our 4-year old come down the stairs. Our little tornado. What I didn’t see was that he stopped to hug our 12-year old dog.

What I didn’t see was that the dog was on the couch, a big ‘no-no.’ I didn’t see Conor reach out to hug him. I didn’t see the bite occur.

I was only 10 feet away. Preparing dinner. Digging in the fridge. Opening a beer. It all happened in a blink of an eye.

The scream was deafening. The blood was everywhere. My son ran to me as I ran to him. I had failed as a dad.

My 4-year old cried to me, “I’m okay, daddy. I’m okay.” I hugged him and pretended that it was all okay. But it wasn’t.

My wife was right there, too. We both missed what was happening. She was grabbing towels to clean the mess. What the hell happened?

She called our neighbor, the nurse. The neighbor ran over. Looked. And said, “Take him to the doctor.” Crap.

25 stitches and 8 hours later, we were on our way home. The next day the dog was at the kennel. 10 days later, the dog was on the one farm where dogs can run to their hearts content with no rules. Forever.

Conor still says he wants his dog back. Other times he says he doesn’t want to be a pet owner anymore. I don’t know what I want.

Conor still hugs dogs. And occasionally asks for a new puppy. I still cringe when he hugs dogs. But I bite my lip. Kids are resilient. Parents, not so much.

Tags: 4-year old, 2015, dog, bite, bitten, hospital, stitches