a year of no regerts

26 years of running on butter

You’re getting a second letter today because it’s my birthday. And given that my servant’s heart works 365, it should be no surprise to you dear Buttercups that for my day, I’m choosing to pour time into your lives. You’re very welcome.

Today marks my 26th year of life. And I'm extremely grateful that my parents decided to not stop the baby making after eight kids (I’m the ninth born).

Now let’s take a look back at how the last year went.

September

Last year I celebrated my birthday on a private beach in Newport, CA. This year? Currently writing this from 30E (middle seat 😍) on Southwest in route to Dulles.

October

My sister Annie, mother of three, hunting from my parent’s backyard. She is Ballerina Farms meets Annie Oakley.

November

Green Lake with the OG Buttercups. Lydia and Lyssie are currently on a carnivore-ish regimen eating lots of grass-fed red meat and seasonal fruit. They’re also Crossfit queens. My brother Rudy had another relapse with Burgerville. Praying for him.

December

My parents’ porch at Christmastime. As much as I enjoy living in Scottsdale, cacti and asphalt don’t give the hygge of mom’s spice-rich soups and dad’s wood stove.

January

U.S. Supreme Court oral arguments with Jordan, a dedicated Buttercup. My argument that day: “Mr. Chief Justice, and may it please the Court. For over six decades, officials have wrongly branded butter as harmful and a cause of heart disease. Respondents insist butter is a “threat to national health,” Pet.App.974a (44–45). That claim has no scientific foundation and blatantly violates the 28th Amendment. Worse, the precedent has scarred this nation and inflicted lasting harm. For the sake of the country’s health, I urge this Court to reverse. I welcome the Court’s questions.”

February

My brothers Rudy and Tucker came to visit the desert. I introduced them to veggies. “No, Rudy—the orange ones are called carrots. The green ones are cucumbers.”

March

I coached track this spring. It’s so cool to see your athletes work hard, endure pain, set personal bests, and win medals. But honestly, my highlight was the coach’s 4x100m relay. I was second the second leg and owned that backstretch like I was Allyson Felix.

April

My friend with the camera said “smile!” and not gonna lie, this photo would kill it on a dating app for middle-aged divorcees. “Brad, 43. Location: Pittsburg. Occupation: software engineer. Kids: Yes. Wants kids: Maybe. ‘Looking for someone willing to forgive and forget.’”

May

Said I was coming home for Mother’s Day but really I just wanted to meet the newest edition to the family, Millie, a Jersey. You’ve heard of A2/A2? Cute. Millie produces A3/A3 milk, which tastes like what Cynthia Erivo’s voice sounds like. (Okay, technically A3/A3 isn’t a thing and Millie’s not yet milking, but I know she’s gonna give us great cream for making great butter.)

June

Paula’s roses. Paula is my sister-in-law and has the Midas touch with every domestic endeavor she assumes. It makes me angry. When I was 10, I made cookies for a family dinner. Peanut butter ones with a fork-imprinted lattice. I was proud. Until Paula waltzed in with not one but two trifold cakes that would have acquired thousands of pins on Pinterest. Since that day, I’ve been at war with Paula.

July

Rudy, my cousin, and a kid whose name I cannot remember contemplating on the lakeside about something I cannot remember.

August

My niece Tilly and nephew Wilbe. I said “smile!” They understood the assignment. They were also my workout buddies this summer. If Uncle Vance gets his way, these two will be Olympic track sensations.

Great year. I cannot thank you enough for reading Running On Butter and tolerating my antics.

Buckle up for what my fully-developed brain will produce this coming year.