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Remember this? Did you even read it a year ago?

Here’s a snippet from the end of that post:

The opportunity to move back has been offered a few times. More than a few, to be perfectly honest. Deep down, I wanted to move back – WE wanted to move back – yet I turned them all down. We made excuses to keep everything the same. Moving down here was easy, because it was just Sarah and I; two able-bodied adults that can care for themselves and be accountable for their actions. The baggage we will be bringing back has a heartbeat and is one hundred percent dependent on us to do the right thing.

I took the first of many huge steps yesterday. I told my boss that I was ready and that I would like to talk about my options. I just hope this decision isn’t one opportunity too late.

So, now, one very small gear in a very large clock has begun to turn, and quite frankly, I’m scared.

Eleven months ago, I told my manager that, while I love my job and all the freedoms it affords me, a move was in order. Since then, him and I have had many conversations about time-frames and opportunities. Soon, I would be hand-picked to assist with a project in New York. Soon, my brain would be rattled from all the information flowing into it. Soon, I would be working long hours, and long weeks, and be away from home for days at a time.

Soon, I would have five interviews for a yet to be created position back home. Soon, I would be offered the job.

Two weeks ago, I officially accepted.

I don’t know how to characterize what I’m feeling, mostly because it’s an emotional Smörgåsbord. Fear, anxiety, glee, worry. I know that I’m doing the right thing, both personally and professionally, but all those emotions are still there. I suppose that I should be more concerned if I didn’t feel those varying emotions.

So, Sarah and I spent many hours – and days – cleaning the house, painting, performing minor repairs, and trying to *keep* the house clean while a two year old monster terrorized the place. It’s now “on the market,” and our fingers are crossed that it sells before my March 1st start date. If not, I’ll have to commute to work, which may mean that I’ll only be home on weekends for a while. Oh, and have I mentioned that Baby Squiggles (the nickname we’ve chosen for the baby – of unknown gender – in Sarah’s 29 weeks pregnant belly) will be born on February 8th? Crazy times. If you know anyone that is looking for a very lovely home in a small town in Indiana, I’ve got exactly what you need.

But… this is all for the greater good. We remind ourselves of that fact every time we think about the worst-case scenario of Sarah being stuck at home with a 2 year old and a newly born infant for a few days at a time. I fear that it’ll be too much for her. I fear that Tyler won’t adjust well to the new baby and to my absence. I fear that Squiggles won’t know or grow attached to his very loving and dedicated daddy. But it’s all for the greater good…

Right?

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The absolutely best part of almost every single day is walking into the house after a long day at work. I am greeted with a wagging tail, a smiling and loving wife, and a squealing child who hugs my leg or jumps into my arms. Even after the most trying and tiring day at work, when I arrive home to the scene just described, all I can think to myself is “it’s all worth it.” The anticipation of walking into a flood of love is much like a child laying wide awake in his bed on Christmas morning. That excitement can only be topped by sitting under the Christmas tree and tearing into bows and ribbons and wrapping paper.

Christmas didn’t come a few days ago. All the evidence of an occupied house were present. Tyler doesn’t leave the house without his boots. Delilah’s leash was hanging on the wall. Sarah’s keys were still on the hook. Still, the house was silent.

Assuming that everyone was sleeping, and still wondering why Delilah didn’t wake up and bring her wagging tail into the room, I quietly took my shoes off and walked through the house. I thought I could hear a very faint voice on the second floor, and made my way up the stairs. I looked into Tyler’s room to see Sarah zipping his pants.

“Tyler had an accident.”

I was both sorrowful for Tyler and Sarah, and surprised. Tyler only has accidents during the night, and even those are few and far between. I asked if he was playing and forgot he had to use the potty.

“No, he made it to the bathroom. I think he just forgot to tuck.”

Tyler jumped into my arms and squeezed my neck. I drew in a deep breath and exhaled all the negativity of the day. It’s all worth it, I thought.

“Tyler, did you forget to tuck your penis into the potty?”

He told me that he did, and that he “make a mess”. I found out later HOW he forgot to tuck his penis into the potty, but now was the time to play and talk with my family. Sarah had already cleaned up the pee that was all over the bathroom floor, so we went into the living room for family time.

Later in the evening, I asked Tyler if he wanted to help me cut some pumpkins open to pull the guts and seeds out. Sarah was in the kitchen with her iPod while we covered our hands with orange pumpkin guts on the dining room floor. We had seven pumpkins to go through, so our work was cut out for us. We all intended to gut and carve pumpkins two weeks earlier, but life got in the way, as it is wont to do. Instead, we left them on the porch, uncarved. After the fifth pumpkin, Tyler stood up and said, “I have go potty.”

My hands were buried in the pumpkin, digging for seeds. I told him to ask his mommy to help him while I continued seeding the squash. Sarah washed his hands and told him to go to the bathroom. In a moment, he ran past me towards his potty. I glanced back to see him pushing his pants down. A smile formed across my face as I thought about how smart Tyler is, how much he’s learning, and how he’s doing so well at doing things on his own. I returned my attention to the pumpkin for a moment.

Then I remembered his “accident” from earlier. I spun around, terrified at what I might see. As I viewed the scene before me, my eyes widened.”

“NOOOO!! No No no no no no no!”

There he was… STANDING, two and a half feet away from his potty. His little hand was grasping his little weiner and pointing it nearly straight up. A beautiful stream of piss arched through the air, splashing on the wall and on the floor. Sarah walked out of the kitchen to see what the problem was.

“Ohhhhhh Tyler. What the?”

She looked at me. I closed my eyes and shook my head. We both realized how he made the mess earlier. There are some conversations that only a mother can have with her child, and some that only a father can. This one was all mine. Soon after the incident, I had to explain to Tyler the difference between standing up and sitting down, and that he needs to wait until he’s bigger to stand up for peeing.

Next Spring, we start practicing on trees!

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