H, tonight you showed me a glimmer of your little self.

I was giving you and K your OIT doses – like I do every night – and y’all were watching the new My Little Pony Movie.

Now you are eight going on 15, and you often give us running tallies of how many more years until you are X years old or until you are in college.

So I have this view that you are so big and so old sometimes. And you are!

But tonight you melted my heart.

When I came in the room, your face was lit up and smiling.

And with the excitement of Christmas morning, looking at the TV and talking to me at the same time you said:

Dad, if I was a unicorn and got all my powers back like she did, do you know how excited I would be?!

My little girl! I just love you forever, doosie.

Of course, I am primed for all of this.

Because, K, you turn five tomorrow!!!

I’m fact, you are laying in my bed now as I type this.

My sweet flower.

Ok, so I’m gonna head to bed and snuggle you now. Ok?

Sweet dreams everyone.

I love you.

-Dad

Our flood started with the washing machine.

I was at work, mom and T at home.

I’m on a conference call and mom tries to call me twice before texting:

CALL ME. HOUSE IS FLOODINF.

I ran out the door and rushed home – and sure enough.

The utility room, kitchen, and entryway were all under water. And the mess was still spreading.

Long story short: Two hours later the flooring company (Carpet Tech) was tearing the flooring out of large sections of our house.

The water got under our laminate flooring and under the walls into our bedroom carpet.

In fact, rooms with tile flooring, and the smallest back bedroom were the ONLY rooms where our flooring did not get ruined.

A dozen industrial fans and currently drying out our home.

And I am typing this from our room at the Holiday Inn on Justice Avenue.

This is all a major pain at the wrong time of the year. Lots of decisions and work ahead. But we got this.

These are first-world problems.

And first-world problems are boring problems.

I love you.

-Dad

K, dropping you off at school this morning, you asked me to go and pick flowers with you.

At first I did not understand what you meant – or where you were seeing flowers.

We were standing in the parking lot, after all.

Finally, you pointed to the blooming bushes by your school building.

For the next 60 seconds, I tried to explain the tragedy of commons to you, like any over-reaching dad would do.

It went about as well as you expect explaining the tragedy of commons to a 3-year-old would go.

At the end of my monologue, you asked for the flowers again.

I told you I would get you flowers soon.

But you immediately asked me when.

Your birthday?

I said.

Yes. You get me flowers for my birthday.

You said back, pleased with yourself and ready for school.

The bushes were green and their blooms were pink.

I love you.

-Dad