I was irritated. Dan was sitting at the kitchen table, scanning his iPad and chatting me up about something from the day before. The clocked ticked away on the stove, every change in number was one more chance to be late. A sudden realization while tossing sandwiches in lunch boxes sent me reeling.
“Nick! Are your clothes on?”
“No! My hungary!”
A deep breath and a final zip of the last lunch made. Another number changed. Dan jumped, “I didn’t even realize he wasn’t dressed!”
A rush to find toddler sized clothes, socks, and shoes. Another number changed.
Our arms loaded and full of our usual Springfield day things, we made our way out the door. Two more trips back inside for forgotten things and the car finally starts. Even Tyler recognizes the many changes in numbers. Regardless, the day must go on.
We’re stuck in this place, Dan and I, this place of children and chores and to do lists and late nights and piles of laundry and trash and schedules. Not stuck in the negative way, like stuck on the side of an icy road. Stuck in the other way, a good way. Sometimes we wish for time to pass more quickly, sometimes we want it slower. But for at least a while, we’re going to be stuck in this place full of everything else but us. This place where we let a few extra numbers change on the stove clock because it means a few extra minutes of each other, minutes that are hard to come by right now. I’m so glad I was there to hear what he had to say this morning and those numbers, they were well spent.