It's Merritt's fifth birthday today, which means for five years Katie Scot has been showing the world how this mothering thing is done. 

She hasn't had the easiest time. His birth was hard-fought, and the years since haven't been perfect. But she has made the best of every day. Since working so hard to bring him into the world, she's kept working to make sure to give that child the best life any kid could have. 

She is always up for a game of "store." She honors requests to make stuffed animals from scratch. She revels in building and playing and discovering. She finds art everywhere she looks. She teaches kindness and positivity just by existing. She has the kind of patience I never thought possible in a human. 

So, yes, it's Merritt's birthday. The day we celebrate him. But he wouldn't be here without her. So while I fight back tears all day because our baby just keeps growing up, I'll also be thinking about how lucky he is to have Katie as his mother. How lucky we all are to know her. 

Because of Katie, Merritt is here. And I am a mother. And we are a family.


Dear Katie,

Eight months doesn't seem so terrible, right? I mean, it's not even long enough to gestate a full-term human baby. You've been saying you thought I wanted to see if I could go a whole year without updating. Nope. Just 66.667% of one.

It has been one hell of two-thirds of a year, though, huh? Getting "officially" married, changing our names, buying a house, becoming overnight reality TV sensations. I can't wrap all of it up in just one "Because of Katie" post.

But I can say this: holy crap, do I love you. I keep thinking there is bound to be a day where perhaps that will wane some. And, sure, it's only been a little more than three years. But my excitement level over waking up next to you, over getting to be yours and having you be mine (in the metaphorical, non-patriarchal/chauvinistic/sexist meaning of that concept), over sharing this life and this house and this family with you, it's remained constant.

No, that's not true. Because it's actually grown exponentially. I don't like it when people say "exponentially" normally, because it's like saying something costs just "pennies a day." When people say something grows exponentially, they usually mean it gets really big really quickly. And "pennies a day" is suppose to imply that something is fairly low-cost. But math says that everything multiplies exponentially. Two to the power of one is just two. Whoa! Look at that exponential growth! And monetary values can be broken down into pennies a day, even if we end up speaking about trillions of pennies to quantify it.

The point is that I find these terms to be misleading. But here I am using "exponential" to define something large anyway.

So, let's be at least somewhat specific. Pick a big number. Make it a superscript and put it next to another big number. Then we have one hell of an exponential situation, and it might come close to being illustrative of what I feel for you and this life we've made. Maybe. Depends on the numbers you chose. I hope they were big.

As Merritt says to us pretty much daily, "I love you infinity and beyond and bigger than the sky and into outer space." But let's not get started on talking about space because we know that leads us to freak-outs about the actual concepts of infinity and mortality and galaxies and the size of Jupiter. And then the tears are close behind.

I just don't want to do this with anyone else. Not any of it. Not the yard debris cleanup we have to look forward to this weekend, not the refinishing of the dining room table, not the watching marathons of TV in bed, not the sex (especially not that), not this marriage. Not this life. It's better with you in it.

That's been the point of this blog all along, right? Because of you, everything is different and better. Every day -- even a boring one -- has a redeeming value because you're in it. You are the best wife and mother -- the best person -- I will ever know.

I write all this as you send me texts from Merritt's bedroom while trying to get him down for a nap, telling me that if I clip one more fingernail (it's too much noise!) Merritt would kill me, and you would be chopping up my body.

Naptime is serious, folks. But because of Katie, it's also pretty hilarious.

I love you,



Dear Katie,

Rice bowl!




Dear Katie,

I love you for putting up with how awful I am at doing this consistently. Maybe now that I'm Facebook-less, I'll get better.

Looking at all the images from Seattle on December 9th, I'm starting to think we should have been a part of that. I'm sorry we weren't. The idea of publicly declaring how much I love you is pretty damn appealing.

For now, I'll just comfort myself with the memory of October 21, 2011. I didn't think anything could change about us just from signing a piece of paper, but it just got better. And keeps getting better. Thanks for being my wife.




Dear Katie,

I'm just going to note the conversation we just had, because I don't ever want to forget.

While watching "Project Runway," I freaked out when a Russian girl's (Elena) mom showed up and looked super tiny. I commented on it more than once, until you said the following:

"Elena's mom is tiny because she fits inside Elena. And then Elena's grandmother is even smaller and fits inside Elena's mom."

And then I, quite literally, had an asthma attack because I laughed so hard. Not enough jokes about Russian nesting dolls in the world, I always say.

Oh, and it turned out the mom looked tiny because she was sitting and Elena was standing. But that doesn't change the amazingness of the conversation.

I love you.