My first trip home--I have to admit how insanely lucky I am.

So obviously, I’ve been posting a lot less lately. There are a few reasons for that.

First of all—Ashley. She turned 15 weeks yesterday, and she’s unbelievably interactive now. I’ve tried to sit down and write a blog post at least a dozen times, but then she’ll smile or coo, or even throw a full-blown fit (which the baby books say isn’t possible yet, but trust me—there is some real intensity behind those cries). And suddenly I’m all in. I just want to sit with her, hold her, and soak it all in.

The second reason is that I got to go home to Texas for about 10 days and just… be there. Be present. Take it all in.

But maybe most importantly: the one-year mark passed. Almost without fanfare (aside from my post). And after everything that’s happened over the last year, something about that milestone felt quietly, unexpectedly cathartic. I didn’t know what I was expecting, exactly—especially since my viral moment was really just a blip—but now that I’ve eased into the comfort of family life and our new chapter in Arizona, I don’t feel the same urgency to post.

That said, I still have plenty to say. So no, this blog isn’t dead. But maybe posting less often will actually make me more interesting. I guess we’ll find out. If you have my email, please don’t hesitate to reach out—I just got back on Sunday and I have so much catching up to do.

Our new school district in Arizona uses a modified year-round calendar, so Abby and TJ actually went back to school on July 14. And since Evie is student teaching in the district and still staying with us during the week, Bubs and I figured that third week of July was a perfect window for me to fly to Texas with Ashley to introduce her to all the family and friends who hadn’t met our newest honorary Texan.

When the flooding happened, we debated whether to postpone the trip. But once it became clear that our area hadn’t been hit as hard, we decided it would be okay to go. Once again, we’re incredibly lucky. But while I was home, I found out that a city park central to the “Dani and Bubs origin story” was basically destroyed—and honestly, that news kind of gutted me.

The good news: Ashley was a dream to fly with. She lands squarely between my older two kids in terms of baby temperament—Abby was chill and only fussed when hungry or dirty. TJ, meanwhile, started screaming the moment he came into the world and hasn’t stopped in seven years. Ashley… could go either way. But for the flight? She was perfect. I fed her just before takeoff and she slept or blinked sweetly the whole way until we got outside security.

One funny moment: with eight cousins running around, there’s always this moment when the babies see me, Jenn, and Jess together and seem to think, “Wait... there are THREE of you?” With Ashley, it was even more of a shock. All the other kids were raised on the same block, so that recognition started early. Jenn and Jess had seen her as a newborn, but clearly her visual acuity hadn’t kicked in yet—because when we came through security this time and she saw her mom’s two doppelgängers fighting over who got to hold her first, she just stared, wide-eyed, like she was watching a magic trick.

I’m not sure what I was expecting, but Jenn and Jess had already loaded a car seat into the back of Jenn’s SUV—and guess who got to ride in the backseat, giggling and tickling the baby, and guess who got to drive the hour home? (I probably don’t even need to say it.) Ashley was in heaven the entire ride.

I can’t even describe how emotional it was to pull back into my old neighborhood. I’ve lived away before—for college, for Bubs’ military training—but I don’t think I’ve ever been gone this long. We left two days after Christmas, and coming back really did feel like coming home.

We stayed at our house—technically Addie and her fiancé are renting it now and when we pulled up, there was a huge “WELCOME HOME ASHLEY!!!” banner hanging above the garage. I was like, guys—she can’t even read, and as much as I loved the sentiment, I had to laugh. You couldn’t spring for eight more letters and an ampersand to include “…& Danielle”?

Still, it was absolutely adorable.

Inside, I was blown away by how well Addie and her fiancé have taken care of the place. She couldn’t wait to show me where Ashley would be sleeping—and when we got upstairs to what used to be Abby’s old room, I found a fully decorated nursery. I must’ve looked completely confused because I blurted out something like, “Addie, you shouldn’t have! This is too much trouble!” That’s when she pointed to her belly and finally shared the news: she’s 16 weeks pregnant.

She’d been waiting to tell us in person. It’s been her lifelong dream to be a mom, and she said it felt right to tell me while I was back home. She couldn’t believe neither my sisters nor Bubs’ mom had spoiled the surprise—and honestly, neither can I! Addie’s tall like Bubs (she’s 5'9") and you’d never guess she’s pregnant yet, but once she said it, I could see it—she was glowing.

Not ten minutes later, all five of my nieces and nephews came barreling in (in the absolute sweetest way) and each took turns holding the newest member of the family. It was one of the most heartwarming things I’ve ever witnessed—watching how gentle and enamored they were with Ashley.

This is how charmed my life is: at one point, my 15-year-old niece Maddie took Ashley out of the house to walk her around the corner and say hi to my parents—and I didn’t feel even the slightest twinge of concern. That’s just the kind of village I come from. The whole trip was like that. We stayed a little over 10 days and, in between moments of rest, squeezed in road trips to visit extended family and close friends who are still in the area.

Of course, a huge topic of conversation was the flooding. Like I mentioned in my last post, we weren’t directly affected—but when I started hearing about people I still have on my Christmas card list who lost homes or loved ones, it was deeply overwhelming.

I’ve alluded to this before, but both of my parents are from small towns just east of Kerrville. It was the first time I’ve ever seen my dad tear up as he talked about the damage—and about friends he hadn’t seen in years who had kids or even grandkids lost in the flooding. I have to stop that train of thought here, because even now, it’s almost too much to hold.

What I will say is this: I didn’t know it until I got home, but a little piece of the early Dani-and-Bubs story is now just a memory.

In the middle of Kerrville is a park along the river—Louise Hays Park. And I guess now, it’s all but gone.

Bubs and I were 14, just out of eighth grade, and had been dating for just over a year. (I think it was right around the time his name officially changed from “Craig” to “Bubs” in my mind.) His grandfather had been dealing with some pretty serious health issues, so he and grandma was spending most of their time at Bubs’ house to be closer to medical care.

And being the wonderful old man he was, he let Bubs drive his truck around town—yes, in 2006, an unlicensed 14-year-old behind the wheel. His logic was that Bubs had been driving around the ranch since he was about 10, and back in his day kids taking road trips was nomal. I’m sure Bubs’ parents gave some sort of tacit approval. All I knew was that, as a 14-year-old girl, I felt like a queen in a chariot.

One Saturday, we just kept driving. I don’t even know how, but we ended up in Kerrville—at Louise Hays Park, about an hour from our hometown. It was a magical, golden Texas summer day. As we were driving on one of the roads that winds through the park at one of the picnic areas I spotted people dancing. Like, actual swing dancing. To my 14-year-old brain, it looked like the most joyful thing in the world.

“Bubs,” I said, “we have to stop. They’re dancing!”

To my introverted boyfriend, this was the worst idea imaginable. “We can’t just crash a party,” he whispered. But as soon as we stopped at a stop sign inside the park, I jumped out of the truck and ran toward the music.

I can only imagine the look on his face—his brain-dead, attention-loving girlfriend running up to a group of strangers like she belonged there. I found the friendliest-looking woman I could and asked if I could join. She smiled and said yes, as long as my parents were okay with it.

It didn’t occur to me she meant I needed to ask them. I just smiled and said, “They’re fine with it.” She nodded and introduced me to everyone. Turns out they were a club that did swing dancing in the park every Saturday evening, and they were happy to show me the ropes.

It was so fun.

Of course, eventually Bubs came rushing up, breathless and panicked, saying we had to go. That made a few people suspicious, and they asked where our parents were. When we explained we were from a small town closer to Austin, someone produced a cell phone and said we needed to call home. Thankfully, my mom  (and not my dad) answered. She wasn’t thrilled we’d driven that far, but since we were safe, she said we could stay a little longer. Bubs’ mom said more or less the same.

So we stayed. We danced. And at some point, Bubs—who had sworn he’d never, ever dance in public—loosened up and started to enjoy himself. It made me love him even more.

When it was finally time to go, one of the older couples followed us to a gas station, paid to top off the gas in truck, and made us promise to call them when we got home safely. I kept in touch with them for many years and they passed away during Covid so I don't know how their families fared during the flooding. 

I hate ending this blog on a sad note, but the fact that this is the park that’s now been destroyed—and that those sweet, generous people were likely the ones affected by this disaster—it’s nearly unbearable.

Like I said, Ashley and I got back to Arizona on Sunday. But that Texas spirit—that mix of adventure, kindness, and wide-open heart—is why it will always be home to me. I’m so lucky I got to experience it again, even for just a few days.