Car Tired

The weekend was a flash.

Friday night was late and fun.

World of Warcraft with friends.

Laughing harder than I have in a while.

Exactly the kind of reset I needed.

Then Saturday came early.

Very early.

Up and on the road to Richmond for Zoey’s violin rehearsal.

Two-hour drive.

Coffee doing its best.

Out of necessity, I ended up on door duty, letting students in while rehearsal was underway.

Not exactly the role I expected.

But through the doors, I could still hear Zoey playing.

Still a little shaky.

Still nervous.

But she has a month left before the recital.

And she’s getting better.

Then it was across town to visit my mom before Mother’s Day.

Small fixes around the house.

Good conversation.

The kind of visit that reminds you why making time matters.

Then back across town again for Zoey’s first in-person violin lesson in months.

While she and my wife were there, I took the boys to a local store to grab a few things we needed at home.

We had about an hour to kill.

I passed this one guy in the store a few times.

Then in the cereal aisle he stopped, asked my name, and introduced himself.

Halfway through the handshake it clicked.

One of my manager’s husbands.

A guy I’ve had the privilege of meeting a few times, but known of for years.

Quick conversation.

Good catch-up.

Small world.

Then back across town again to pick up Zoey and my wife.

Quick dinner stop.

Tried Shake Shack for the first time.

Good.

But In-N-Out still wins.

During dinner, David started complaining about his ear hurting.

Red. Painful.

And unfortunately, the same ear he’d finally started using an earbud in again after a long break.

I told him to lay off the earbud and we’d check it when we got home.

More than two hours later, we finally made it back.

And all the kids were what I call car tired.

There’s a special kind of exhaustion kids hit after too much travel.

They’re fine right up until the moment the seatbelt comes off.

Then suddenly walking ten feet into the house becomes an impossible burden.

Moaning. Bargaining. Complaining.

Like they just crossed the Oregon Trail barefoot.

And then, magically, they recover the second something exciting happens.

The kids crashed.

I settled in to play some Core Keeper with friends.

Ready to laugh, relax, and finally be home.

About an hour into it, I heard my wife yell from down the hall.

David had gotten sick.

Everywhere.

Living room. Kitchen. Hallway.

Even the shower after he tried to clean up.

At that point, it was pretty clear this was no longer about the earbud.

A few hours later, Asher started coughing.

And basically didn’t stop until morning.

Meanwhile, unknown to us at the time, Zoey had apparently decided midnight to 8 AM was a perfectly reasonable time to be on her phone.

So no, we did not make it to church Sunday morning.

Instead, I took the kids to grab breakfast for Mother’s Day while my wife rested.

Zoey slept the entire drive there and back.

Then walked inside, curled up on the couch, and slept another eight hours.

David tried pushing through it.

Asher was happiest when he could just sit still.

Jacob was tired from the travel, but mostly himself.

Mother’s Day became a quiet recovery day.

My wife resting.

Kids cleaning when they could.

Me directing traffic and trying to keep things moving.

Dinner together.

Then The Love Bug before bed.

And now it’s Monday.

The older two have less than two weeks of school left.

David is home sick today, and somehow still hoping he’ll make it to baseball tonight.

At this point it’s probably going to be a battle between his health and the weather.

Again.

Work already feels like something I’m gripping with one hand while juggling everything else with the other.

School.

Kids in my office.

Cleaning house.

Preparing for a room shuffle.

Watching the calendar race toward summer break.

Trying to stay ahead of baseball, weather, sickness, and life all at once.

We’ll see what we see.

Life rarely slows down all at once. Usually it stumbles. One small thing becomes another, plans shift, exhaustion stacks up, and suddenly the weekend is gone before you can fully process it. But somewhere inside all of that are the moments that actually matter. Hearing your daughter play through a closed door. Watching your kids crash after a long day because they felt safe enough to finally stop moving. Sitting around a family movie while everyone quietly recovers. None of it looked like the plan. But it was still life, fully lived.

This is a grounded moment where sometimes survival mode and meaningful moments happen at the exact same time.

Much love. Stay safe. Wash your damn hands. I’ll see you Wednesday.