What a Day

The weekend disappeared faster than I think any of us were ready for.

But...

We survived.

More importantly, Jacob is officially ten.

Two whole digits.

Friday ended with preparations.

Snacks.

Laundry.

A monitor mounted in the van.

Secret destinations programmed into the GPS.

Four kids who knew we were leaving ridiculously early Saturday morning and absolutely nothing useful beyond that.

There were plans.

Very detailed plans.

Naturally...

We called a few audibles.

Breakfast was the first.

We had something else in mind.

But after Jacob asked approximately seventeen times if we could go to Waffle House...

It was his birthday.

Waffle House it was.

Then we got back on the road.

And finally corrected one of the more significant failures of my parenting career.

I introduced my children to The Goonies.

I've seen that movie enough times that I didn't need to watch the screen.

I was driving anyway.

Instead, I listened.

I knew when something was coming.

I knew the funny parts.

I knew the moments that had fascinated me when I was a kid.

And there is something amazing about knowing exactly what's about to happen...

Then waiting to hear your children experience it for the first time.

Silence.

Complete silence.

Four kids completely absorbed in what was happening behind me.

Then laughter.

More silence.

More laughter.

Reactions from the back of the van at exactly the moments I was waiting for.

And when the movie ended...

Cheers.

They loved it.

Absolutely loved it.

There are some strange privileges that come with being a parent.

One of them is getting second first-times.

You get to introduce your children to something you've known for decades.

For you, it's familiar.

You know every beat.

Every joke.

Every turn.

But then you experience it through them.

And somehow...

It becomes new again.

Eventually, we reached the real destination.

The Greensboro Science Center.

Jacob had no idea where we were going until we were there.

And once we got inside...

Four hours disappeared.

We explored.

Stopped.

Read.

Watched.

Asked questions.

Took little breaks.

Then explored some more.

There is something magical about watching your child find something that completely fascinates them.

Eyes wide.

Mouth slightly open.

Everything else disappearing for a moment while their brain tries to take in whatever is sitting in front of them.

And somewhere along the way, the exhibit stops being the most interesting thing in the room.

You start watching the face.

That's one of my favorite parts of being Dad.

I don't need to understand everything that captures their imagination.

I don't even need to be particularly interested in it myself.

I just love watching that moment happen.

The moment when curiosity takes over.

Somewhere in all of that, Jacob came over and wrapped his arms around me.

A huge hug.

"This is the best birthday ever."

I don't know that there's a response to that.

Not one that adequately explains what happens inside a dad when his kid says those words.

Pride.

Joy.

Relief.

Happiness.

All of it at once.

We had spent weeks planning this day.

Wondering if he'd like it.

Hoping we'd picked the right things.

Trying to build an adventure around the kid we know and love.

And there was my answer.

He said it twice on Saturday.

Both times with a hug.

Both times I believed him.

Eventually, four hours of scientific discovery caught up with us.

We piled back into the van and headed toward dinner.

David was asleep within moments.

We stopped at a little 1950s-style diner.

High-backed booth.

Round table.

Everyone squeezed in together.

Food arrived.

We talked about the day.

And David put his head down on the table...

And slept.

Not for a minute.

For most of dinner.

I haven't watched that kid sleep at a restaurant table since he was probably one or two years old.

Apparently four hours of scientific discovery has side effects.

Eventually, we loaded everyone back into the van.

This time we needed something familiar.

Something quieter.

Something that would bring the energy down as we headed home.

Disney's Robin Hood.

One of Jacob's favorites for years.

Adventure on the way there.

Comfort on the way home.

That felt about right.

By the time we finally pulled into the driveway, everyone was done.

We unloaded.

Got everyone inside.

Hugs.

Kisses.

One more round of happy birthday wishes.

And I think every kid in the house was asleep within about ten minutes.

That is what I call a successful birthday.

I stayed up a little longer.

I got to spend some time playing games with friends.

Laughing.

Talking.

Commiserating about life.

A little time to decompress after a day that had been full from before sunrise until well after sunset.

Then eventually...

Sleep.

Sunday morning came faster than expected.

We got up.

Got everyone moving.

And somehow made it to church on time.

I'm counting that as another victory.

Then home.

Brunch.

The boys and I got most of the house picked up.

Afterward, they disappeared into the computer lab to relax.

And Zoey went to work.

Cupcakes.

Two dozen of them.

That's always been her thing.

Ever since she was tall enough to reach the counter and turn a spoon, she has loved making cakes and cupcakes for people's birthdays.

It's one of the ways she says she loves you.

She doesn't need to announce it.

She just goes into the kitchen.

Measures.

Mixes.

Bakes.

Decorates.

Then eventually appears with something she made for you.

Yesterday, it was for her brother.

When the cupcakes were ready, we did presents.

Then cupcakes.

More laughing.

More birthday.

A quieter continuation of the adventure from the day before.

Then Jacob found me again.

Another huge hug.

"Best birthday ever."

Three times.

Twice Saturday.

Once Sunday.

Apparently he wanted to make sure the message got through.

It did.

There are plenty of things I've accomplished in my life that I'm proud of.

But standing there with my ten-year-old wrapped around me, knowing we'd given him a weekend he felt that strongly about?

That's pretty hard to beat.

And then Sunday evening did something incredibly rude.

It reminded us that Monday existed.

So here we are.

Zoey is beginning her third week of school at home.

David and Jacob are beginning their second full week.

Asher begins his first full week.

And the classes I confidently believed started last Monday...

Actually start today.

Everybody is officially in motion.

Work is waiting.

Meetings are waiting.

School is waiting.

Assignments.

Homework.

Schedules.

Dinner.

Laundry.

All the ordinary things that make up the weeks between the adventures.

Normally, Monday morning is when I look forward.

What's coming?

What needs to happen?

Where do I need to focus?

What does this week require from me?

I can see all of that this morning.

I know what's waiting.

And after this weekend, I got some recovery I desperately needed.

I'll need it.

But a pretty big part of me is still somewhere on the highway.

Driving.

Listening.

Waiting for the next part of The Goonies that I know is coming.

Then hearing four kids discover it for the first time.

Another part of me is still walking through the science center.

Except I'm not looking at the exhibits anymore.

I'm looking at their faces.

And another part is sitting in a little diner around a round table, trying not to laugh too loudly at my twelve-year-old sleeping face-down beside his dinner.

Maybe that's why weekends like this matter.

Not because everything went according to plan.

It didn't.

Not because we checked everything off some perfect birthday itinerary.

We didn't.

Because three times, my son wrapped his arms around me and told me it was the best birthday ever.

That's the score that matters.

We can't stay inside days like Saturday.

Monday always comes.

But we can carry something back.

A laugh.

A story.

A new favorite movie.

A cupcake made by a sister for her brother.

A kid's face when something completely captures his imagination.

A twelve-year-old so thoroughly exhausted by having fun that he can no longer remain conscious at a restaurant.

A hug from a ten-year-old who wants to make absolutely certain Dad understands how happy he is.

Those things don't disappear because Monday arrived.

They happened.

They're ours now.

Maybe that's part of why we make memories intentionally in the first place.

Saturday isn't just for Saturday.

Sometimes...

Monday needs Saturday too.

So I'll start the classes.

I'll answer the emails.

I'll attend the meetings.

We'll do homework.

We'll figure out dinner.

Life will resume doing what life does.

But I'm holding onto a little bit of the weekend.

Enough wonder to make the ordinary things feel a little lighter.

Enough laughter to carry into another week.

Enough adventure to remind us that another one will eventually come.

And three hugs I'll probably hold onto for a very long time.

After all...

Goonies never say die.

And Saturday?

Golly.

What a day.

The best days don't have to stay with us because everything went according to plan. Sometimes the audibles become part of the story. What matters is that we were there for it. We laughed together, discovered something new, watched someone we love become completely fascinated, and went home tired in the best possible way. Every once in a while, we're lucky enough to have someone we love tell us exactly what the day meant to them. When that happens, listen. Monday will always ask us to return to normal life, but normal life feels a little different when we bring some of that joy back with us. Maybe that's one of the reasons we need adventures in the first place. They give us something worth carrying home.

Much love.

Stay safe.

Wash your damn hands.

And I will see you, next time.