Between Seasons

A lot is going on.

Nothing new there.

Monday, my wife and Zoey made the trip to Richmond. A visit with my mom, a doctor's appointment, then violin lessons. After that, the long drive back south, arriving just in time to make it to David's game.

His unofficial final game of the season.

It was a good one.

A hard-fought four innings.

At his first at-bat, he drew a walk. Then stole second. Then third. A hit followed, and he crossed home plate with a grin that could probably be seen from space.

He had a few chances in right field. We'll spend some time working on that arm this summer and fall. But he did well.

Really well.

His final at-bat ended with a strikeout.

He missed a few pitches.

It was late.

He's been sick.

It's been a long season.

Sometimes that's just baseball.

The home team rallied in the bottom of the fourth, turning a 5-3 deficit into a 6-5 win.

A loss on paper.

A great game in reality.

David didn't mind.

Neither team did.

After the game, he handed out signed baseballs to the players and coaches who could make it.

Handshakes.

High fives.

Fist bumps.

A couple of hugs.

Good people.

The kind of people that make youth sports worth the investment.

That should have been the end of the night.

It wasn't.

Jacob had a moment during the game.

To this day, I still don't know exactly what happened.

Something upset him.

He got angry and decided to walk away.

At first, I wasn't worried.

Then enough time passed.

Then more.

People helped look for him. Someone spotted him on a walking trail. I yelled his name. He heard me, stopped, looked directly at me, then kept walking.

I ran toward a gate.

He ran the other way.

By the time I got through, he had disappeared over a hill and into a parking lot.

We found him before the game ended.

He rode home with me.

Mostly in silence.

Eventually we talked.

I explained why I was scared.

Why I needed him to come when I called.

Why being angry doesn't mean you stop being part of the family.

All is well now.

But I still don't know exactly what happened in that moment.

Maybe that's part of parenting too.

Sometimes you solve the problem.

Sometimes you simply stay close enough to help carry it.

We got home very late.

The kids went to bed.

David went to sleep smiling.

Yesterday was different.

Work.

School.

Stream preparation.

Work remained busy, but it left just enough room for me to tackle school. I started with the class I tend to procrastinate on the most. I gave myself a simple goal.

Finish it before lunch.

11 a.m.

Done.

That felt good.

Then I discovered I had made a mistake.

A big one.

There was an entire drive of stream assets I thought had already been migrated to the NAS.

They had not.

And the drive had already been formatted.

After a frantic search, the conclusion became unavoidable.

Gone.

All of it.

So rebuilding stream assets got added to the list.

Photoshop.

Downloads.

Updates.

Recreation.

All while working meetings and completing the second class.

Work always comes first.

It should.

The challenge is fitting the rest of life into the spaces between.

And then came the part I had been working toward for months.

The second class was finished before dinner.

The stream assets were rebuilt by eight.

At a little after nine, I pressed the button.

The first stream back.

Short.

Intentional.

Testing.

Checking.

Breaking things.

Fixing things.

Making notes.

Not looking for new features.

Only stability.

The stream went well.

The list of fixes was long.

But manageable.

Thursday is for cleaning up the list.

Yesterday, while I was doing all of that, my wife spent the day cleaning.

The room projects paused long enough to catch up on life.

She also moved the chicks out into the tent inside the chicken run.

It was time.

Everything seems to be reaching that stage lately.

It was time.

Today is more work.

More stream fixes.

More painting.

More room preparation.

The goal is to have Jacob and Asher's new beds assembled by Friday night.

Another room.

Another transition.

Another season.

And maybe that's the point.

Standing on that hill Monday night, watching the lights come on over the ballfield, I realized how many things are quietly ending and beginning at the same time. A baseball season. A room. A school year. A stream coming back online. Chicks leaving the brooder. Another semester behind me. Most of life doesn't arrive as some dramatic turning point. It shows up disguised as ordinary evenings, long drives, unfinished projects, and kids growing up while you're busy looking at the next thing on the list. The trick, I think, is learning to notice the season you're in before it becomes one you're looking back on.

Much love. Stay safe. Wash your damn hands. I'll see some of you on stream tomorrow, and the rest of you back here Friday.