Time

Yesterday morning, at about 11:00 AM, the three of us went to Zingerman's for our weekly weekend outing to a coffee shop. We shared bagels and cream cheese, chatted with the people at tables nearby, and did our best to navigate the deli's crowded seating area with a high chair and diaper bag. Brian had a brewed coffee, I had a latte, and Maia had her water cup (the non-sippy variety), which she now can drink from confidently and securely, like a grown up.

One person at a table nearby: "I wish that my parents had taken me to Zingerman's when I was a kid!"

I'm writing down this memory not because it was anything particularly remarkable or unusual, but rather to keep track of one of the things that matters most to the three of us: time. Ordinary, unremarkable time. We've made it a habit to carve out of the busy weeks these little moments for ourselves, when we go to a cafe or take a walk around the block with the dogs, or go play in the kids' area at the downtown library. We have these habits that I really treasure, and soon we'll return to another central one: the Farmer's Market on Saturday mornings.

Maia is growing up into a toddler a bit more every day. Today, she and I walked around the Kerrytown area of downtown; she held onto just one of my fingers and talked as she walked, pointing out things that she was noticing and identifying things by name when she could (car, ball, dog, and Mama). Our little baby was walking and talking her way through our time together this morning. One of those things that I heard over and over again as a new parent is how quickly the time passes, and how much I'll treasure ordinary moments. I wasn't skeptical of this because I did hear it so often, but it was a difficult concept to grasp (for me, who's not particularly meditative or Zen about life).

Now, I understand. I have this feeling of wanting to hold on to time, to grab it and stretch it out and make it last longer. And I realize that our family's habits are part of that effort. I recognize that when we take time to breathe and relax and talk with Maia about the world over a coffee or as we walk around the block, we're pausing the clock for a moment.

Someday I'll be back at work full-time. Someday Maia will be in Kindergarten. Someday this time we have together will be lost, and I suspect that it will be an absence that I feel profoundly, deeply, down to my core.