Down the Hall

Today is quiet.

Which feels a little strange.

My work week ended unexpectedly on Wednesday night when yesterday didn't quite line up the way we planned.

That's a conversation for another day.

Today, however, was always supposed to be mine.

A Friday off.

The last Friday before everything changes again.

David and Jacob start school next week.

We're in the final push now.

Checking lists.

Picking up the last few things.

Adjusting schedules.

Trying to squeeze whatever summer we can out of the days that remain.

The boys seem resigned to it.

Ready, I think.

Maybe.

We'll find out next week.

Asher still has a little more time.

His school year will be different.

So will my wife's.

Not that long ago, she was homeschooling all four of our children.

Then Zoey and David went to school.

This year, David and Jacob will head out the door while Zoey works through her freshman year online.

That leaves Mom and Asher.

One-on-one.

A large part of me is cheering for that.

I think it might be exactly what Asher needs.

Honestly...

I think it might be exactly what my wife needs too.

A chance to slow things down.

To focus.

To discover what school looks like when there aren't four different children needing four different things at the same time.

After Wednesday's post, maybe I should have realized that sooner.

And then there's Zoey.

There really isn't another way to say it.

That girl is on fire.

We're two weeks into her freshman year and she is consistently finishing her work ahead of schedule.

No late nights trying to catch up.

No constant stress.

No fighting through a day that doesn't fit the way she learns.

She gets up.

Makes herself comfortable.

Sits down.

And goes to work.

Yesterday was the exception.

She hadn't slept well Wednesday night.

When she finally talked to us about it, we learned that her brain had been running through school.

Things she wanted to finish.

Things she wanted to accomplish.

Not bad thoughts.

Not fear.

The floodgates had simply opened.

She was excited.

Maybe a little too excited to turn her brain off.

So yesterday became a day for sleep.

Today she had a couple of things left to finish for the week.

Less than an hour later...

Done.

I am insanely proud of her.

We worried about this year.

She had a lot of fun at school last year.

She made friends.

She experienced something completely different after years of learning at home.

Bringing her back home, even through an accredited online high school, came with questions.

Were we making the right choice?

Would she miss the classroom?

Would she miss being around everyone?

Would this actually work?

Two weeks in, she keeps answering us.

Yes.

This works.

There are fewer distractions.

If something gets confusing, she can pause.

She can rewind.

She can hear it again.

And perhaps most importantly...

She can read it.

Closed captioning seems like such a little thing until you need it.

We take hearing for granted.

For Zoey, even with hearing aids, things can get lost.

We saw that last year.

It wasn't the school's fault.

It wasn't her teachers.

It wasn't the other students.

It was simply an environment she had never needed to navigate before.

A classroom full of voices, movement, sound, and everything else that comes with school.

Now she can control the environment.

And she is thriving.

Every once in a while during my workday, I get up from my desk.

Maybe I need coffee.

Maybe I need to stretch.

Maybe I just need a few minutes away from whatever problem is sitting on my monitors.

I walk down the hall.

And I look through the doorway of the kids' computer room.

There she is.

Wrapped in a blanket.

Cup of tea nearby.

Cat sitting in the window.

A lesson playing on the screen.

Notebook open.

Taking notes.

Working.

Learning.

She looks so grown up.

And somehow...

Still so small.

I don't know how both of those things can be true at the same time.

But apparently that's parenting.

Last night, while we were talking about school and trying to help her get some rest, my wife pointed something out.

At the pace Zoey is moving right now, she could finish the classes she's taking before Thanksgiving.

Not the semester.

The year.

So we talked about what comes next.

How we could structure things.

What she could take afterward.

How we could let her keep moving without turning something she loves into another race toward a finish line.

She liked the plan.

So did we.

We'll see where it goes.

For now, I'm just enjoying watching her discover what she's capable of.

I'm approaching a finish line of my own.

Last night I submitted the final podcast project for my Sociology class.

Twenty minutes looking at Fight Club through the eyes of a sociologist.

I'm incredibly happy with the work.

The recording?

Not quite as much.

Something has changed in my audio setup.

I'm not sure what yet.

The equipment has been faithfully doing its job for about seven years, so today I'll spend some time figuring out whether something simply needs adjusting or whether an old friend is finally telling me it's ready to retire.

I'm hoping for the inexpensive answer.

We'll see.

Next week closes this term.

Anthropology.

Sociology.

Two classes that somehow intertwined in ways I never expected.

One taught me to look differently at cultures and the people whose lives we sometimes try to understand from the outside.

The other taught me to take something familiar, even a movie I've watched before, and discover how completely it changes when viewed through another lens.

These have easily been my favorite classes I've taken in college.

Ever.

The five remaining classes have a difficult act to follow.

Then, after submitting the podcast last night, I checked my school email.

Apparently I have been nominated to join another honor society.

My second at this college.

I'm not doing this for letters after my name.

I'm not doing it for something to hang on a wall.

I'm doing it because someday I want to be able to point backward.

To the degree.

To the work.

To the honor societies.

To the nights when I was exhausted and did the assignment anyway.

And tell my children:

You can do this too.

There is a much longer story buried inside that.

Probably one for early next year.

For today, I'll admit something that doesn't always come easily.

I'm proud of myself.

A little.

That's enough.

There are still five classes left.

So, being me...

Head down.

Keep moving.

But maybe that's another reason I've been thinking about that doorway.

Because I'm watching Zoey discover what she's capable of at almost the same time I'm discovering a few things about myself.

David and Jacob are about to walk into another new environment.

Asher and Mom are about to discover what their days look like together.

Everyone is moving.

Everyone is changing.

Everyone is finding the places where they can grow.

Even me.

There are changes coming outside of school too.

Big ones.

I've been quietly working on what streaming and social media will look like for me next year.

There's a lot happening behind the scenes.

A lot still to build.

A lot I'm ridiculously excited about.

I'm not ready to tell that story yet.

But I can feel something shifting.

Maybe these classes have gotten to me.

Because I keep thinking about lenses.

About perspective.

About how changing the way we look at something can change what we're capable of seeing.

And maybe, while preparing for a shift in what I do, I'm changing a little of how I see myself too.

We'll come back to that.

For now...

It's Friday.

The last one before the boys start school.

This weekend is for resting.

Preparing.

Staying out of the heat.

Being together.

Squeezing a little more life out of summer before the alarms start ringing earlier next week.

And sometime today, I'll probably walk down the hall again.

I'll glance through that doorway.

There will be my daughter.

Tea.

Blanket.

Cat in the window.

Learning.

Growing.

Looking impossibly older than she did yesterday.

And still somehow small enough that I want to stand in the doorway and watch for another minute.

Time is doing what time does.

I can't stop it.

I don't think I'd want to.

But every once in a while...

I can notice.

There are seasons when growth announces itself with milestones, ceremonies, new jobs, birthdays, or first days of school. Most of the time, though, I think we notice it in much smaller ways. Someone suddenly handles something they used to struggle with. A child finds an environment where they flourish. We accomplish something that once seemed far beyond us. Nothing dramatic happens. We simply look at someone we love, or occasionally at ourselves, and realize something has changed. We don't get to slow time down, but we can pay attention while it's passing.

Much love.

Stay safe.

Wash your damn hands.

And I will see you, next time.