Castle in the Clouds

No two kids are alike and Gage taught us that pretty much from the first day he arrived in our lives. I like to tease him and tell him he was my difficult baby, my little temper tantrum thrower. I can say this with a smile now because at 22 years old, he's much more in control of himself and his emotions. Most of the time. As a baby, though, he was very different from his happy-go-lucky big brother. I have plenty of pictures of him with his ornery little scowls and tearful outbursts.  He's a bit stubborn. I jokingly say this started in the womb because when his due date came, he refused to go down the birth canal and required a C-section to deliver him into our arms. Well, his dad's arms. I was too busy having some kind of allergic reaction to the meds in my IV to snuggle him right away. While Ken rocked him in what should have been my labor and delivery room, I was in a recovery room thinking my skin was on fire. Good times.  His need to distinguish himself from his brothe

  Ken and I went to Las Vegas for vacation and brought home the best souvenir imaginable. Sure, we had to wait several months to meet him, but the wait was worth every stretch mark.  While we waited, we debated names. For a girl, we had Cheyanne Elizabeth picked out. For a boy, well, I didn't have much of a choice. None at all, in fact. Ken was adamant that if the baby bump turned out to be a son he would have to be named after him, his dad, and his favorite uncle. I was not thrilled. We had so many Kens in our lives already and adding another one to the batch would just multiply the confusion. After some negotiating, we agreed to continue on the first name tradition but instead of calling the baby Ken or Kenny, he would go by his initials: K.C. And that's exactly what happened. When I delivered a 6 lb, 15 oz, baby boy that February night, we welcomed our little K.C. into our lives and hearts.  Almost twenty-five years later, his friends and family still know him as K.C.  Even