We All Needed to Get Outside

I was angry this weekend.

Not about anything in particular.

Just angry.

And I don't entirely know why.

Friday night was actually good.

I forgot to cook again, which has become an unfortunate recurring theme while work, school, the kids' school, and everything else fight over the same limited number of hours.

Thankfully, Kati had made chili on Wednesday.

And everyone knows chili is better the second day.

So dinner was handled.

Later, I got online and played games with friends. We had fun. I didn't stay up ridiculously late.

I went to bed at a reasonable time.

By every measure, Saturday should have started fine.

It did not.

Saturday morning was cold.

Wet.

Rainy.

Again.

We sat down for our lesson with the kids, and they wanted absolutely nothing to do with it.

Distracted.

Sluggish.

Talking.

Not focusing.

And I lost my temper.

Not my finest parenting moment.

The immediate result was an extremely efficient, slightly military-inspired cleaning operation in which four children discovered they were capable of cleaning an entire house remarkably quickly when properly motivated.

Rooms were picked up.

Beds were made.

Things were put away.

Turns out they can do it.

Fascinating.

But eventually everybody settled down.

Including me.

And we talked.

I explained how much time I had put into preparing the lesson and why their complete lack of attention had frustrated me.

Then I started asking questions.

And somewhere in that conversation, something important happened.

I realized they weren't the only problem.

The lesson was too long.

More specifically, the entire Apostles' Creed study I had built was too long.

So we changed it.

We spent part of Saturday reworking the schedule, consolidating things, tightening the lessons, and making the whole thing fit us better.

By the end, everybody felt better about it.

The kids had needed to focus.

Dad had needed to listen.

Both things could be true.

Unfortunately, what we really needed was to get outside.

That wasn't happening.

Baseball practice was canceled.

David was crushed.

He wanted to play.

He wanted to throw.

He wanted to do something with all the energy trapped inside him.

But it was cold, wet, and raining.

So Saturday remained an inside day.

And by Saturday night, every child in my house appeared to be powered by a small nuclear reactor.

They weren't fighting.

They weren't being bad.

They were just...

Everywhere.

Two weeks of lousy weather will apparently do that to a house full of children.

It might do it to their father too.

Sunday finally gave us a little room.

We made it to church on time.

I know.

Miracles still happen.

Afterward, Kati stayed around talking and enjoying fellowship while the kids had snacks.

Asher and I walked down to the post office.

Just the two of us.

Nothing special.

A dad and his eight-year-old walking down the road to check the mail.

But it reminded me of doing the same thing when I was a kid.

Walking to the mailbox.

Walking to the post office.

Those little errands that didn't feel important then but somehow become memories decades later.

Maybe Asher won't remember our walk.

Maybe he will.

I know I will.

Then the weather held.

Which meant baseball.

Finally.

We piled into the van and headed to the field.

David's team had a rough game.

Really rough.

Thirteen to four in the bottom of the fourth.

He only got one plate appearance.

Four balls.

Walk.

Then he stole second.

Then third.

He came racing home on the next play, although the run didn't count because the third out happened at first.

David did not care.

He came off that field with a gigantic smile on his face.

He had played baseball.

That was enough.

Honestly, I think he needed it more than he needed the run.

The rest of the kids were less interested in baseball.

They wanted to run.

Climb.

Play.

Move.

Anything except sit still.

I got frustrated about that too.

My rule has always been simple: when your brother is on the field, we watch your brother.

If he's sitting in the dugout for an inning, go play.

Have fun.

But when he's out there, we're there for him.

Yesterday, that became a battle.

So starting next week, anybody who doesn't want to go to baseball can stay home.

I'm going to watch my son play baseball.

Not referee the playground.

Last night, David slept incredibly well.

Better than he has in quite a while.

Funny what happens when a kid finally gets to run.

And now it's Monday.

Zoey was already doing school before eight this morning.

Jacob has a sore leg that we're keeping an eye on.

I have two assignments left before these classes are officially finished.

Next week, I start another class, but only one this time.

Work is going to be ridiculous because I'm done at noon Thursday.

Then we pick up the kids, come home, dump the school stuff, load everything else, and head out to set up tents.

Thursday night, we're camping.

Outside.

After the last couple of weeks, that feels appropriate.

I still don't entirely know why I was so angry this weekend.

I wasn't horribly sleep deprived.

Nothing catastrophic happened.

The kids weren't awful.

Life is actually pretty good.

I think maybe the previous week just took more out of me than I realized.

And maybe two weeks of rain, school, deadlines, work, schedules, and being stuck inside had all of us carrying around a little more pressure than usual.

The kids showed it by bouncing off the walls.

David showed it by desperately wanting a baseball.

Maybe I showed it by getting angry at everything.

Different people.

Same house.

Same rain.

Same need for somewhere to put all that energy.

Sunday, the clouds gave us a break.

Asher and I walked to the post office.

David ran the bases.

The kids played.

And for a little while, everybody had somewhere to go.

Maybe that was what we needed.

Sometimes frustration isn't really about the thing happening in front of you. Saturday morning, I thought I was angry because the kids weren't paying attention. Part of me was. But I was also worn down from the week, they were tired of being trapped inside, and the lesson itself needed work. Once everybody settled down enough to listen, including me, we made it better. Then Sunday gave us something simpler: a walk, a baseball field, and a little room to move. I spend a lot of time trying to figure out what my kids need. Every once in a while, it's worth remembering that Dad might need some of the same things.

Much love.

Stay safe.

Wash your damn hands.

And I will see you, next time.