My sister is only two years older than me, but her kids are much older than ours.  

I pulled into my sister’s driveway and outside of the car I crouched down and combed Riley’s hair with my hand and I watched his face, his eyes. Neither of us said anything, we didn’t need to. 

Everyone tells you this, and they aren’t wrong, the holidays are magical with children.   Still, Christmas was a mess this year.  

I wake up around 5 a.m. most mornings, whether it is a weekend or not, and in about two hours our oldest, Riley, will be up and roaming the house looking for me.  

I’m a father to three children under 5 years old, happily married for almost a decade, and working a white-collar job in Central Pennsylvania while my husband stays home with the kids.