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I offer supplements and smarts to help you keep your family healthy. This includes the range of uses for essential oils, whole food based nutrition and access to pure & clean drinking water. I also write personal stories with universal take-aways that you can apply to your own life.

Good-Night-Love Routine

A post shared by Eric Walker (@ericwalkerblog) on

I say, I love you.

He says, I love you more.

I say, I love you most.

He says, I love you more than most.

I say, I love you more than most of all.

He says, I love you more than most of all happily ever after.

I say, I love you more than most of all happily ever after since before you were born and into our next generation.

He runs out of what to say next. He sighs because I always have the last word at this good-night-love routine.

Then he hugs me and says sweetly, That’s a lot of love Dad.

Me and Ada


Ada’s mom was pregnant with her when we broke up. It was a painful time period. I was angry. Nothing was certain. Even the rights I had taken for granted as a father with her siblings, Ella and Lucan, were put into question. I wasn’t at her birth, and it took about a year and a half before we gradually made it to almost 50/50 parenting time. Every visit was precious in those early days. I summoned all of my “be present, be patient” mojo hoping to accelerate our bond. At bottle time, I’d caress her forehead, sing her the “Daddy Loves You” song and pull her close into my warmth. That became our thing. She’s two and a half now. Our relationship has caught up on par with the other two. Today she brought me her empty bottle, “Num nums Daddy.” I filled it and she led me to the rocker. I caressed her head and sang her the song – our familiar love ritual now. I’m proud and grateful for how things turned out for us. I’m also grateful that her mom and I have grown to share our joy for the children together. It makes the difference for all of us.

Saying “Yes” to Lucan

One time not long ago, when he was mad at me he said he was “walking to mom’s.” I let him walk out the door. 10 minutes later I could not find him anywhere. I called 9-1-1. A police officer found him four blocks away. We met at the corner of Southworth and Center – both my son and the cop waiting for my response. All I could say was “Thank you” to the officer. I held my son’s hand the remaining streets home. I asked him if no one would have stopped him did he really think he could make it all the way to moms. He said “No.”

Life is our teacher. Experience offers us a lesson each time. I’m glad I didn’t tell him “No don’t you dare walk out that door.” I can’t both protect my boy from life and give it to him too. I won’t squeeze out the life that should be let in.

At the grocery store today, he hid in the toilet paper. I’m never sure whether to be freaked out that a predator could take him or pissed off because I know that’s my kid pushing the limits to see the other side. When I finally found him, he said, “Can I?” as if anticipating the pissed off version of me. I don’t always smile, but today I did and I said, “Yes.” He smiled too. Let me NEVER take this beautiful boy’s innocent smile away from him.

Then he tore away with abandon out of the TP imitating the character we both love and watch together, The Flash. He made it 10 or so paces before attempting a hair pin turn toward isle 13, but was side swiped by a cart being pushed by someone unaware that a 49 inch blur can suddenly appear in front of your path. He took the hit like an NFL running back but remained on his feet before screeching to a halt at an end cap aquarium of gold fish. I gave him the “dad look” but he smiled so I smiled back – shaking my head.

I give my boy a long metaphorical leash. He demands it. The space he takes to find himself is his own. He doesn’t need to always hear me say “No.” He doesn’t need a lecture or a warning. I do plenty of that as it is. If I scolded him every time I felt inclined to do so, I’d only steal what is most natural to him at this age: seeking the joy of the calling.

He needs to hear me say “Yes.” I trust my boy. I trust life. Sometimes, I force myself to trust when I tell him “Yes.” I trust that, for now, he will learn more from my “Yes’s” than he will my “No’s.”

Parenting, Politics and Me

Every President in my era of life (1976 til now) has been bad!

Here’s my logic: They all wove dreams from their intelligence then left us lonelier than ever. Except Bush two. He wasn’t what I’d describe as intelligent. We were all glad to see him gone. But this may be true for Obama, unfortunately.

I have only ever voted because the intelligent people that I have relationships with make it seem so important. I followed along because that was the ticket for joining the discussion even if I was apathetic. But from my perspective, casting a political vote has been like making a choice between Cats and The Lion King. Both are great shows that leave me emotionally lathered up. Then I go home to bed.

Perhaps this is the privilege of being a white, educated man. I can float for 40 unharmed years and live a good life despite poor choices and indifference to democracy.

But the wake-up call has arrived with a new President that has arrogantly usurped God with the audacity of Satan. Things I took for granted I can no longer take for granted. I am forced to get clear about my part as a conscious citizen. I have asked myself, ‘If I am in full support of taking a stand against discrimination and restriction of rights for all people, and in support of freedom of health choice, freedom of religion and gender equity, what do I do?’ The headlines scream atrocity, and for the first time in my life I actually have to determine how I feel about it.

There was time in the car on the way to school one morning when both my oldest daughter Ella and son Lucan began talking trash about Trump. One of the things I want for my children is for them to develop their own values and beliefs without feeling they must match mine or their mom’s or anyone. Their mimicked behavior arrived from exposure to adults who chose to not speak in code. It bothered me.

My best reply was that ‘I wasn’t going to be voting for him, but a lot of other people will and they have their reason.’ My worst reply was ‘Don’t believe everything you hear adults say.’

Months later, I haven’t stopped thinking about it. Now, I’m okay with telling my children, ‘Yep, Trump is a bad person.’ If pressed, I’d be honest in telling it straight. ‘He hurts women. He lies. He is a name caller. He lacks empathy.’ My daughter is 8 years old. She’ll understand.

In coming to this conclusion, I have realized that my vote is for my daughters. I have learned from my life that we either learn our lessons now, or we learn them later, or we pass it on. My biggest fear is passing it on. The time has come… “Later” is “Now.” If I sit through these next four years I’ll be passing it on. No can do.

Besides already having this conversation with the mother of my children, my first action will be to hold my daughter’s hand and begin an age appropriate dialog about what is happening about *some* of the current events.

This Saturday, Ella and I (and Virginia) will attend the Planned Parenthood rally. I want Ella to understand that Planned Parenthood is essential for health care.

I won’t talk of things like birth control, cancer screenings, STI testing and treatment, woman’s exams and probably a lot more I don’t know about. But I will let her know that important health care provisions that have been in place for a long time would no longer be accessible to millions of (mostly low income) people who rely on it within their communities. I will try my best to explain that folks who already face barriers for getting care, especially people of color and people in rural areas, could face even more hurdles for healthy living.

Foremost, I’ll let her know that Planned Parenthood promotes basic reproductive health care. Fundamentally, I want her to understand that Planned Parenthood is on the side of women having the final choice about their body and Trump is trying to take that away.

This weekend, Ella is going to ask a lot of questions. I want to tell her that this is what freedom is… That this is what makes our country (theoretically) great… That we have the right to take responsibility for standing up to bad people when they make choices about what they think we can and cannot do with our bodies. It’s important to me that I, as her father, bring her here because she should always have the right to decide what choices she makes for her body. No one else. I want her to know I will always support her in that right and fight for it beside her.

It’s real to me now. Up until present day, I’ve barely given a shit. But I’ve just whispered ‘I love you’ into Ella’s ears as she closes her eyes for sleep. My promise as a parent has always been, “The buck stops with me.” This Saturday we both start a new chapter.