Five years ago, my wife and I carried bunk bed pieces down the hallway and into Jackson’s room, assembling what felt like the physical symbol of brotherhood. Two small boys. One room. One nightly routine. One parent wedged awkwardly between a wall and a ladder reading just one more book.
That first night they slept together in their bunks felt monumental. I even wrote about it at the time because that’s what dads like me do when they realize a moment matters—try to freeze it in words before it slips away.
Fast forward to now.
For the past couple of months, both boys have been asking to “set up their own rooms.” Not demanding. Not dramatic. Just casually, the way kids do when they’ve already moved on emotionally and are waiting for you to catch up.
So today we did it.
We rebuilt the bunks in Oliver’s room. Jackson’s room got a solo bed—no ladder, no top bunk negotiations, no whispered conversations that definitely weren’t happening five minutes after lights out.
Tonight is the first night they’re sleeping separately.
(Unless you count the occasional 3 a.m. migration into mom and dad’s room or a friend’s sleepover—but let’s not ruin the narrative.)
I knew this day would come. I just didn’t realize how much I’d miss the old routine until it was gone.
There was something special about bedtime in that shared room. Reading a book while one boy asked questions and the other slowly drifted off. Turning the lights down and listening to them talk to each other—about nothing and everything—until their voices faded into sleep. Sitting there longer than necessary because once they were asleep, the day officially ended.
Now there are two rooms. Two goodnight hugs. Two light switches. And somehow… less noise.
I’m proud of them. Truly. This is growth. Independence. Confidence. All the things we’re supposed to want for our kids.
But tonight, standing in the hallway after tucking them in, I felt it—that quiet reminder that childhood doesn’t ask permission before it changes. One day you’re climbing down from a top bunk, and the next you’re realizing you’ve done it for the last time.
I hope they always remember what it felt like to share a room. To fall asleep knowing their brother was right there. To learn—early—that even when life eventually gives you your own space, you don’t have to do everything alone.
Because rooms change. Beds move. Eras quietly end.
But brothers? That’s the part I hope never does.
PS: The fight for where Wednesday sleeps from now on has begun. Chalk up a night one win to big brother.
There’s a few places in our house that’s looking a little too quiet these days.
For years, those brightly colored trucks, puzzles, oversized stuffiees with threadbare noses—they were everywhere. They were the soundtrack of our days: the zoom of a car hitting the wall, the clack-clack of giant Lego bricks scattered across the living room, and the squeak of a well-loved toy undergoing yet another wrestling match.
But then our boys—now 11 and 8—grew. Not in leaps or bounds, but in these gentle pushes: deeper conversations, strategic video-game moves, jokes caught in mid-air that I have to chase to understand. Between folding laundry and coaching football, I noticed those baby toys starting to pile up.
Giving them away felt… like giving up a part of our story.
It feels silly, doesn’t it? The sight of that plastic race track makes me smile and then pause: wasn’t that the one Oliver made us watch him race while we were trying to watch a movie? Then I see the Radio Flier that Jax and Ollie used to race everywhere— I’m hit with memory after memory of small hands clutching these toys as if they were truly the most important things in the world.
Of course they’re not too old for toys—not really. Kids don’t come with an expiration date on imagination. But those toys, they were for the tiny hands that are throwing fastballs on the baseball field. Those were the baby-safe blocks now replaced by dialogue about science projects and football playbooks.
Letting those toys go doesn’t feel practical—it feels profoundly emotional. It feels like a goodbye, even though I know what’s coming after this is so much bigger, better, and more wonderful.
I’m reminded that the things that mattered most weren’t the toys themselves, but those moments: the giggles as the Mighty Pups climbed the Paw Patrol Towers, the walks up the street in a push cart where Oliver stuffed acorns, rocks and sidewalk chalk, the bubble lawnmower Jax used before he learned to ride my tractor and the way those stuffed animals made a busy home feel warm, cozy, alive.
So yes—I’ll sort those toys, bag them up, drop them off, and maybe even help someone else’s kids play with them… but inside, I’ll carry every memory. Because growing up does mean saying goodbye to some things. But it doesn’t mean forgetting what made them magical in the first place.
Here’s to the next chapter—and maybe, someday, rediscovering that same magic in the toys that are just right for now.
Here’s to hoping these toys will give another family the same type of memories they helped us made all these years!
Oliver’s coaches nominated him for athlete of the year:
“Oliver plays with heart bigger than any trophy. He cares more about teammates than himself, reminding us why we fell in love with sports.”
What do they love most about playing their sport(s)?
What inspires him most isn’t wins or stats—it’s the love he has for the game and the people in it. He’s the first at practice, the last to leave, and hugs every coach and teammate like family. Oliver was asked by coaches to play up with much older athletes for tackle football and is one of the youngest on the state travel baseball team— but it’s his heart, not his age or talent, that makes him unforgettable.
Who inspires them—on or off the field—and why?
I asked Oliver this question specifically: His response, “I love playing catch with you dad. You always tell us about playing catch with Pop (my grandfather). Playing catch with you makes me feel like I get to play catch with your Pop even though I never got to meet him. I love when you tell me about Rickey Henderson & Ken Griffey, Jr. Thanks for telling me about Pop, I love him for making us both love baseball!”
What’s one moment in their athletic journey that makes you proudest?
This basketball season, with time running out, Ollie had a clear opportunity to score again. As he got to the hoop, he saw a teammate who hadn’t scored all season. Without hesitating, he passed the ball so his teammate could score at the buzzer. After, I asked him about it, he said, ‘We win as a team and I love helping everyone.’ That selfless act, prioritizing team & uplifting a teammate, shows the kind of athlete and person he’s becoming. To me his leadership and character makes me most proud.
8.29.25: OK… TOP 5!?????… and currently he’s in second place! Maybe, just maybe this is a thing? The best part though is knowing that the votes that Oliver is getting are in turn supporting cancer research.
8.21.25: Ollie made it into the TOP TEN! Thank you to everyone who has supported Ollie on his athletic journey and through this process. He loves making everyone proud and Steph and I couldn’t be prouder!!!
8.14.25: Another great accomplishment. Oliver is now made it through to the TOP 15 of his group!!!
8.7.25: So incredibly proud to announce Oliver has made it through to the TOP 20 in his group!!!
What does an eight year old ask forgiveness for? I can’t imagine what it is like for a kid in 2025 to have a first reconciliation. Do they say, “Sorry I was on my iPad more than I was supposed to?” “I shouldn’t have been on my Chromebook during social studies class last week?” “I let the dog eat the broccoli and cucumbers I was supposed to have with dinner.”????
I’m really not sure what I thought was going to happen when Oliver sat with the priest to confess his sins. Oliver is a vault. He is second child quiet, so mom and I had no idea what to expect. Maybe Oliver was going to need to bring the priest a cup of coffee in the room… because there was a good chance he was going to be in there a while.
I mean what would happen if Oliver walked in and the lights went out?!??
All joking aside, you might be wondering what this eight year old asked for forgiveness for. For Oliver it was for, “Kicking his brother.” I asked him if he has a specific kick he was referencing, or if he is just gave the priest a tally of how many karate kicks have been dished out.
There are trips you plan, and then there are trips that have been living in you for years even before you ever pack a bag.
This one felt like the latter.
I had been to Lambeau Field before—twice, actually. Once with Stephanie which resulted in me catching Jordy Nelson in Lambeau Leap and once for a -19* playoff win, so I knew what it looked like, what it felt like, how it somehow manages to feel both massive and intimate at the same time. But I had never been there like this. Never with both of my boys. Never with the four of us together. Never as three Packers owners standing side by side, carrying a tradition we’ve talked about endlessly at home into the place where it actually lives.
After landing in Miwaukee on a quiet Friday night, we started the long drive across Wisconsin, the kind of drive where conversation fades in and out and everyone is half-tired but too excited to really sleep. Green Bay doesn’t announce itself loudly. There’s no sudden skyline, no dramatic entrance. Instead, it sneaks up on you. And then, in the distance, you see it—a small glow against the dark sky. Easy to miss if you didn’t know what you were looking for.
But we knew.
That tiny illuminated speck grew with every mile. Slowly at first. Then unmistakably. Until finally, there it was—Lambeau Field, rising out of a sleepy town like a cathedral, glowing against the night as if it had always been there and always would be. I’ve seen it before, but seeing it through the windshield with my family beside me made it land differently. Heavier. Fuller.
We couldn’t go to bed, not even after a long flight and a three hour drive… That night we found ourselves right inside Lambeau for some food and a walk around the atrium where so many of my football memories live. It wasn’t the focus of the trip, but it added to the feeling that this place isn’t just about Sundays. It’s about moments. Shared ones.
Inside the stadium, everything felt amplified. We took the tour. We walked the halls. Later in the trip we would step onto the field and stand beneath the goalposts, trying to fully process the fact that we were standing where legends stood. In the Hall of Fame, the Lombardi Trophies gleamed behind glass, and for a moment the boys were quiet. Not because they were bored—but because they were registering something bigger than themselves.
Meeting former players throughout the weekend felt like touching history. Dan Majkowski. Brady Poppinga. James Lofton. Jerry Kramer—a Hall of Famer whose name still carries weight the second it’s spoken. Watching him talk to Jax about how to avoid a block and footwork and then allowing him, as the oldest, (because according to Jerry, “the oldest has the most responsibility”), to wear his Super Bowl Ring had me covered in goosebumps. Watching my boys meet them, shake their hands, listen to their stories, felt like watching football generations overlap in real time.
And then there was Oliver, standing with Super Bowl champion Ryan Grant, getting a lesson in running back technique. No crowd. No pressure. Just a former Packer passing down knowledge to a kid who dreams in green and gold. That’s the kind of moment you don’t fully understand while it’s happening—but you know it will matter forever.
Game day came fast.
We spent the morning in Titletown, the boys running around with that restless energy only kids can have when something big is coming. We tossed a football back and forth, the boys throwing passes to Steph (who believe it or not throws a pretty tight spiral) while Lambeau towered over us in the background. That image—casual, unscripted, perfect—might be my favorite memory of the whole trip. No tickets scanned. No crowd noise yet. Just us, a football, and the stadium looming quietly behind it all.
Tailgating together felt like something we had been rehearsing for years. Food, laughter, green and gold everywhere. Conversations with strangers that didn’t feel like strangers at all because when you’re there, wearing those colors, you’re already connected. The boys took it all in, wide-eyed, absorbing not just the spectacle but the sense of belonging.
The game itself had its own unexpected twist. With Jordan Love injured, Malik Willis stepped in and did what Packers quarterbacks have always been asked to do—win. Watching him guide the team to a win felt symbolic, especially with my boys beside me… waiving the Yellow G Flag in support. Football, like life, doesn’t always go according to plan. But preparation, belief, and opportunity still matter. The end of the game came down to a defensive stop on fourth down to put the game away and just like that the four of us cheered like it was a Super Bowl win.
As we walked out of Lambeau that day, tired and happy and still buzzing from a HUGE WIN, I realized something simple but important. I’ve written a lot about the Packers. I’ve watched them for decades. I’ve passed that love down intentionally, sometimes obsessively. But this trip wasn’t about teaching my kids why the Packers matter.
It was about watching them feel it.
Seeing the place. Standing on the field. Meeting the players. Throwing a football in the shadow of Lambeau. Driving toward a glowing stadium on a quiet Wisconsin night and knowing exactly where we were headed… to the place where the Lombardi Trophy was born…. and while it might visit other cities… the Lombardi Trophy will always call Titletown home.
Titletown
This wasn’t just my third trip to Green Bay.
It was our first—together.
And somehow, that made Lambeau feel brand new again.
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BTW… we are now all currently on the 44 year waitlist for Season Rickeys at Lambeau:
Go Pack Go!!!
The Owner Trio
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…PS When you can try to get in a Lambeau Leap… you do it!
Hopefully this is just the first of his many Lambeau Leaps
September isn’t just for pumpkin spice and flannel, today is the day the Wizarding World Calendar reminds us it’s time to head back “homel. September 1 is day the Hogwarts students return for a new term by boarding the Hogwarts Express (or occasional a flying a Ford Anglia). As J.K. Rowling has said, “Whether you come back by page or by the big screen, Hogwarts will always be there to welcome you home.”
(Maybe this year the typo would draw JK’s attention, then again, maybe not):
So in keeping with tradition, for the 10th year in a row I tweeted @jkrowling to get some advice for Steph and I as we “dropped the boys off” on Platform 9 3/4.
Every year September 1st rolls around, I tweet the same thing to JK Rowling “Dear @jk_rowling any advice for parents… #BackToHogwarts”.
Still no response or any advice from her, but maybe this year will be the year! If not Stephanie and I will have to hope to run into a nice Wizarding family to help us out… Molly? Arthur? Can you hear us…
Oliver picked up a pack of 1988 Topps cards today. Today’s break was special not just for the Tom Glavine rookie card he pulled, but his first experience with baseball card pack gum! what’s your favorite Oliver quote from this break!!??
“OLLIE STOP!!!!” he’s doing something stupid. IE: Throwing the diving toys back into the pool when I asked him to take them all out.
“Oliver!???!!!!” (Note the sense of worry with the question marks) = He cant be found. IE: We thought he was in the pool, but he’s nowhere to be seen. He actually around the side peeing on the azalea bush.
“OLIVER!!!!” = He’s acting like an ass. IE: He’s screaming on a Sunday morning when the neighbors are trying to enjoy their coffee on a beautiful day on their deck.
“OLIVERRRRRRRRRRR!” (note the emphasis on the last sound). = He’s now screaming at the top of his lungs after you’ve already screamed his name multiple times. IE: he continues to scream while in the pool even after your neighbors have text you that they can hear your child screaming and you yelling at your child from five houses up the road.
As a former first grade teacher and now the parent of our second first grade child… It’s pretty simple if you ask me:
All emptied out of our first grader’s backpack the day after a four day vacation (in which he was sent to school with a completely clean and organized bookbag.
This blog entry will Chronicle (pun intended) a father and second sons’ first time reading the Harry Potter series together. This time around it’s a twist… As Oliver enters the magical world, this time the narrator will be both dad and big brother!!! I’ll update it after each chapter so that I can capture the most memorable moments. Come back often and check in on our progress and leave us a note or some feedback. Oliver, welcome to Hogwarts!!!
Finally! “I did my waiting! Twelve years of it!” (Well clearly it hasn’t been another 12 years, but I know Oliver has been asking for ages)! I thought we’d be able to make it a bit longer, however there was no keeping this little guy out of Hogwarts any longer. Tonight Oliver and I begin our journey at 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging… to Platform 9 3/4 and finally on to Hogwarts! Wish us luck… then again, we won’t need luck… we’ll be with Professor Dumbledore (and Jax).
Chapter 1: The Boy Who Lived
Oliver: “What’s a Muggle?“
Dad: “What do you think a Muggle is?”
Oliver: “Your Butt.”
Nothing like a good butt joke one chapter in!!!
Chapter 2: The Vanishing Glass
It’s been a bit since all three of us could actually sit down to read together, but tonight provided some much needed magical reading time.
Jax read a few pages as Oliver rolled around the floor, but like his dad he could seem to pay no attention while completely comprehending the entire chapter.
Oliver’s most important part of Chapter 2: acting out Harry talking to the snake:
Coming Soon
Check back often to see updates from our progress reading each chapter! For now check out Jackson’s Chapter by Chapter:
Sorry Sons: Chronicles of a New Dad 