First Day of Summer

It is finally a cool Friday morning.

And after the last few weeks, I noticed it immediately.

The air.

The breeze.

The feeling that maybe, just maybe, the house is finally starting to come back to life.

I spent the last two days off work.

Sick.

I would like to say that has not been common, but honestly, this year has felt plagued with illness.

I suppose this is what happens when you mix kids going to school for the first time with a family that homeschooled for ten years.

Turns out public school comes with a curriculum and bonus content.

My wife is still recovering.

Better.

But not running full.

David is mostly back.

The younger kids seem to be bouncing back too.

But this has been a long three weeks.

A very long three weeks.

Today is about catching up.

Because leadership has a way of reminding you that work does not stop.

It waits.

Semi-patiently.

Stacking things in neat little piles for your return.

Even over the last two days, I still ended up on conference calls and dealing with payroll issues.

Life has a funny way of reminding you that the machine keeps moving.

And honestly?

I’m still sick.

Still coughing.

Still tired.

Still feeling like somebody replaced half my blood with cold medicine and fog.

I probably should take today off too.

People would tell me to.

My body is certainly voting for it.

But I think I’m well enough to work today.

I hope.

Half speed would be a blessing.

But there are people to help.

Things to do.

Things that need my attention.

So back at it.

Carefully.

One meeting at a time.

One cup of coffee at a time.

But today is important for another reason too.

Today is the first full day of summer vacation.

Having homeschooled as long as we have, we always ran year-round.

Little lessons.

Little chunks.

Quiet progress wherever we could find it.

Get ahead where possible.

Stay moving.

But this year I made a commitment to my wife.

The rest of the family is on summer break.

Real summer break.

Will there still be reading?

Absolutely.

Lessons learned?

Always.

That is just who we are.

But no workbooks.

No assignments.

No tests.

No alarms chasing everyone out the door.

Not for a while.

Me?

I’m deep into this degree.

And my next real break from classes is Christmas.

That is a future problem.

I have more thoughts on all of that.

But those can wait.

The thing that made me smile this morning was simple.

The kids did not have to get up.

No showers.

No rushed breakfasts.

No backpacks.

No out-the-door by 7:30.

But here it was.

7:30.

And they were already up.

Eating breakfast.

Watching TV.

Talking.

Existing together.

They’ll sleep when they want to.

Kids somehow always find a way.

This weekend is Memorial Day.

And we’ll be finding ways to remind the kids why that matters.

Driving by memorials.

Special prayers.

Quiet conversations.

They already know the difference between Armed Services Day, Veterans Day, and Memorial Day.

They know this weekend is different.

Somber.

Intentional.

They’ve seen pictures of friends I had that did not make it home when I did.

They know some of their names.

They know this weekend belongs to people who paid the ultimate price.

Parents.

Children.

Spouses.

Friends.

Entire futures left behind.

Not just remembered in name.

Remembered in who they were.

This weekend always carries weight.

A few quiet drinks outside in the dark.

Tipping out some to my fellow Cavalrymen dismounted at Fiddlers’ Green.

Speaking to people that now only answer back as voices on the wind.

Fitting, in a way.

And this weekend also starts the busy season around here.

Our little area changes.

The population swells by tens of thousands every weekend.

People arriving to vacation.

Relax.

Escape.

Everything changes for a few months.

The roads.

The stores.

The pace.

We always joke about leaving.

Heading north.

Maybe a little west.

Threats of the Badlands.

Middle-of-nowhere Montana.

One of these summers we'll do it.

Leave the surge behind.

Find someplace quiet.

Cool air.

Wide open spaces.

Somewhere to stretch out for a weekend.

Or a week.

Maybe two.

Cleaning house today.

Swimming tomorrow.

Maybe church.

The family is off.

But work and school continue for me.

My schedule does not really change.

And somewhere in the weeks ahead:

Kids rearranging rooms.

A new gaming PC arriving.

Baseball still finding ways to exist.

Small adventures.

Big memories.

Sleep when I can.

Laughter whenever possible.

There are seasons where life feels like survival. You count medicine doses, school days, baseball games, and hours of sleep. Then there are moments where you realize something quietly shifted. A cool morning. Kids eating breakfast without being rushed. Summer arriving not with fireworks or big announcements, but with permission to finally breathe a little. And maybe that is the strange balance of life. Carrying gratitude and grief together. Looking forward while still remembering.

This is a grounded moment where sometimes summer begins quietly.

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