Foxe and Batman
The other night I was coming out of a nasty migraine. The kind that leaves you slow and thin-skinned. My daughters were at a bachelorette party with their future sister-in-law. I wasn’t totally sure where a couple of my sons were. My wife was helping lead a women’s study at church. And I was home with my youngest, the two-year-old, Foxe.
I had projects I wanted to work on. Things I’m behind on. Things I’m trying to move into their next stage. But I didn’t have it in me, and Foxe doesn’t allow divided attention. The kid will get into everything, and he has become an expert at using chairs to reach new dangers.
So I let it go. Turned on an old episode of Batman from the ’90s. He climbed into my lap, settled in, and watched it with me. We watched three episodes, about an hour. He enjoyed it. I enjoyed it. The house was quiet in that rare way that feels like a gift. It was good.
The projects can wait. This is the project. Building a home with my wife. Being with my kids. These small, ordinary moments are what a life is mostly made of. What could be better.
Brilliant piece on the counter-intutive nature of productivity. The tension between 'getting things done' and being present is somthing I wrestle with constantly, especially when my brain's foggy from exhaustion. I've had those evenings where I let the laptop stay closed and just sat with my nephew watching cartoons, and those ended up being the memories that stuck way longer than any deliverable would have.
What a lovely post.