By the end of 2025, I realized I had spent most of the year trying to keep pace — not just with schedules or seasons, but with the quiet, steady way Jackson and Oliver were growing right in front of me. This wasn’t a year defined by one headline moment. It was a year defined by accumulation — small changes stacking up until suddenly, unmistakably, things felt different.

Both boys took real steps forward this year, though in very different ways. Oliver’s year was full of momentum. He played up in sports, took on bigger competition, and carried himself with a confidence that felt new — not loud or cocky, but earned. There were moments when the game seemed to slow down for him, when he trusted his instincts and went for it. Watching him compete against older kids and belong on the field with them was one of those parenting moments where pride and disbelief exist at the same time. Just as meaningful, though, were the moments when things didn’t go his way — the tough losses, the playoff ending, the frustration — and seeing him learn how to process that, reset, and come back ready to work.

Jackson’s growth in 2025 was quieter, but no less significant. He found his place — not by forcing it, but by steadily earning it. I watched him grow more confident in himself, more comfortable stepping in when needed, contributing in ways that mattered, that he earned himself by putting in the work and getting results in big moments. There were moments this year where he surprised me — not with flash, but with consistency, awareness, and leadership that showed up when it counted. He became more sure of who he is, and less concerned with proving it to anyone but himself.

Sports were a big part of the backdrop this year, but they were never really the point. They were just the setting where so many lessons played out — about effort, resilience, teamwork, and handling disappointment with maturity. I watched both boys learn how to lose, how to support teammates, and how to show up the next day regardless of the outcome. Those were the moments that stuck far longer than any score.

Jackson has always stood out. Known as the “mayor of his school,” and being asked to coach the younger football team (earning his own coaching whistle), Jax had already cemented a place among the wise beyond his years crowd.

2025 gave Oliver one of the more unexpected experiences of 2025… seeing people outside our family take notice of him — not just for his ability, but for his heart and effort. this year seeing strangers rally around Oliver was humbling and emotional in a way I didn’t anticipate. It forced me to pause and see him not just as my little boy, but as someone capable of inspiring people simply by being himself. At the same time, it reminded me how lucky Jackson and Oliver are to have each other — one pushing, one steadying, both learning what it means to grow side by side.

And then there were the moments that had nothing to do with sports at all. Near the end of the year, we took down the bunk beds the boys had shared for years and gave them separate rooms. It felt like a practical decision — until it didn’t. That first night, standing in the hallway with two closed doors instead of one shared space, landed heavier than I expected. It marked the end of late-night conversations, shared laughter, and the comfort of knowing they were just a few feet apart. Jackson was ready. Oliver was ready. I wasn’t sure I was — but that’s usually how these transitions go.

Looking back, 2025 wasn’t about milestones you circle on a calendar. It was about watching independence take shape in real time. It was about realizing that the things I used to focus on — wins, stats, outcomes — mattered less than character, effort, and growth. It was about seeing Jackson become more grounded in himself, and Oliver begin to test just how far his drive could take him.

As the year closed, I felt deeply grateful. Not because everything went perfectly — it didn’t — but because I was present enough to notice the changes while they were happening even if watching those changes happened while the boys quietly closed the doors to their own rooms for the first time in many years. The practices, the car rides, the quiet talks, the proud moments, and even the silence after lights out — that was 2025.

We’re heading into a new year now, and I know the pace won’t slow down. But this year reminded me that growth doesn’t need to be rushed or measured to matter. Sometimes it just needs to be noticed, because realizing they are now forging their own path and leading their own journey is not just hard to handle… it’s exactly what you’re been raising them to do.

Sometimes the view from the hallway comes with the best seats in the house — if only you don’t mind a little distance from the action.