Latest Blog Post

╰┈➤ from 3 to 4 years old

It soon became clear that, while Ivy had inherited her father’s creativity rather than her mother’s pragmatism, it didn’t take the same form as daddy’s. Music was something she merely liked listening to, but had no interest in truly understanding, while color was everything. Her fascination with it wasn’t a phase; it was a way of life.

She was rarely seen without a crayon, a paintbrush, or a lipstick in her hand. Art surrounded her, to the point where her parents often had to pull drawings and uncapped markers out from beneath her while she slept. And her imagination wasn’t confined to paper; it lived and breathed around them. One chair couldn’t be used because it belonged to the “royal frog,” and family members were regularly assigned roles they had to play if they didn't want to face her “very big mad.”

Needless to say, Ronan wasn’t very pleased the day Nate was cast as a brave knight and he was handed the role of a talking rock.

“It’s a magic rock, dada! ’Cause it TALKS!” she explained with deep conviction after his enthusiasm didn’t meet her standards.

Still, they loved listening to her speak, to witness how she connected ideas, how she expressed herself in full sentences, even if her grammar was somehow even messier than her bedroom.

But the thing that grew most wasn’t her creativity; it was her affection. Ivy gave love freely and unexpectedly. And just in case someone needed it and she didn't notice, she made sure to hand out “hug coupons” at the beginning of each month.

“You keep it ‘til you need it, ‘kay?,” she said seriously, placing them into grown-up hands with great ceremony.

Ivy wasn’t made of anecdotes anymore; she was a tiny, fully-formed human being, and the main reason Ronan found it harder every day to leave home.

“It’s okay,” she told him once, patting his cheek, “I still love you when you gone ‘nvisible.”

And just like that, she’d make the impossible feel a little easier day after day.