Before the Birds

Today is going to be a short day at work.

That was always the plan.

The reason for it has changed a little.

But the half day?

I'm keeping that.

Tomorrow is Jacob's birthday.

Ten.

Two digits.

We've been planning this one for a while.

And tomorrow morning, before the birds are even awake, we're getting in the van and going somewhere.

The kids know that much.

That's about all they know.

They know we're taking a trip.

They know they need to get up ridiculously early.

They know we've been planning something.

They have absolutely no idea where we're going.

And my wife and I have every intention of keeping it that way until we get there.

Today is about making the journey part of the adventure.

Laundry.

Cleaning.

Snacks.

Drinks.

Everything charged.

Everything packed.

The route programmed into the GPS using names that reveal absolutely nothing useful to four increasingly suspicious children.

I'm also putting a monitor in the van.

Because why simply drive somewhere when Dad can turn the van into another project?

The plan is to have something waiting for them when they climb inside tomorrow morning.

Maybe The Goonies.

I have somehow made it this far into fatherhood without showing my children The Goonies.

That feels like something I should probably correct.

It fits too.

Exploration.

Adventure.

Something they've never seen before.

A group of kids heading somewhere without quite knowing what they'll find.

We'll see.

I reserve the right to completely change my mind sometime around midnight tonight.

That's also how these things work.

First, though...

Work.

Even a short day can be full.

This week certainly has been.

There has been a steady stream of last-minute needs coming toward my teams.

One request.

Then another.

Then another.

Questions that need answers.

Things that suddenly need to be built.

Things that have become urgent somewhere between when someone first thought of them and when they finally reached us.

That's part of the job.

Sometimes things happen quickly.

Sometimes people don't know what they need until they need it.

Sometimes there really isn't an earlier opportunity to bring us in.

I understand that.

But I spend a lot of time trying to remind people that they don't need to arrive with a finished request.

Bring us the question.

Bring us the idea.

Bring us the problem you're trying to solve.

Bring us in while you're still planning.

Maybe we can help.

That doesn't make the last-minute things disappear.

And this week...

There have been a lot of them.

It's been heavy.

So today, I'll focus on work while I'm working.

I'll answer what needs answering.

Help move what needs moving.

Make sure my teams have what they need.

Do my part.

And then...

I will log out.

Not check one more thing.

Not answer one more email.

Not find one last task.

Log out.

Walk away.

Because tomorrow morning, before the birds are awake, we have somewhere to go.

The boys have earned the adventure.

They made it through their first full week of school.

David is settling back into his rhythm.

A little tired in the morning.

Jacob is a little more tired by the end of the day.

Both are thriving.

One week down.

Zoey continues to amaze us.

She's staying ahead of her work.

She's focused.

She's engaged.

Most importantly, we have her back.

She's not constantly exhausted.

She's not fighting through frustration.

She's learning in an environment that works for her.

She's shining.

That's all I wanted.

Asher started easing into school this week too.

Everything I've seen tells me that it's going really well.

Next week will be his first full week.

Another rhythm begins.

Another kid finding his place.

My wife and I?

We're exhausted.

But we're happy.

And we're excited.

Because tomorrow belongs to Jacob.

At some point today, I also need to write something for him.

Every year, for every child, I try to write some kind of birthday letter.

A letter from Dad.

On their birthday.

I want them to have a record of what that year looked like through my eyes.

Not just how tall they were.

Not just what they liked.

Not just what grade they were in.

I want them to know what I saw.

Who they were becoming.

For Jacob, at ten...

I see a brilliant kid.

Curious.

Energetic.

Innovative.

Knowledge thirsty.

Always wanting to understand one more thing.

Always capable of surprising me.

Always growing in ways I don't think he recognizes nearly as quickly as the rest of us do.

Maybe he'll read the letter tomorrow.

Maybe he'll read it years from now.

Maybe he never will.

That's not really the point.

Some things deserve to be written because they were worth seeing.

I'm hoping to get his letter written today.

That's the tradition.

A birthday letter from Dad, on their birthday.

And I want Jacob to wake up tomorrow with his waiting for him too.

But tomorrow also belongs to Jacob.

Not to the blog.

Not to a publishing schedule.

Not to me sitting somewhere trying to find the perfect words while an adventure is happening around us.

So I'll do my best to get it written today.

If I do, it'll be there tomorrow like always.

If I don't...

Sunday is okay too.

I'd rather give him the letter a day late than miss part of the day the letter is supposed to remember.

Either way, I'll write it.

Some traditions are worth protecting without letting the tradition get in the way of the reason it exists.

So that's Friday.

A short workday that probably won't feel particularly short while I'm inside it.

Then laundry.

Cleaning.

Packing.

Snacks.

A monitor.

Secret destinations.

And four kids trying unsuccessfully to extract information from parents who are enjoying this entirely too much.

I hope you find something this weekend too.

Something big.

Something small.

A trip you've been planning for months.

Burgers in the backyard.

A movie your kids have never seen.

An hour where nobody needs anything from you.

Whatever it is...

Something that lets the week loosen its grip.

Sometimes that's enough.

Enough to level-set the brain.

Enough to settle the heart.

Enough to remind us why we pushed through the week in the first place.

Enough to make Monday feel possible again.

As for us...

The laundry needs finishing.

The snacks need packing.

The GPS needs to lie to my children.

And apparently I need to figure out how to mount a television in a minivan.

Tomorrow morning...

Before the birds...

We go.

Rest doesn't always mean doing nothing. Sometimes what restores us is simply doing something completely different from what exhausted us in the first place. It might be an adventure, a meal outside, a favorite movie, or a few uninterrupted hours with the people we love. Work will still be there. The lists will refill. Another Monday will arrive soon enough. But weekends give us a chance to loosen our grip on all of that for a little while and remember that the life we're working so hard to build also needs to be lived.

Much love.

Stay safe.

Wash your damn hands.

And I will see you, next time.