11 months since I last wrote here. That says everything and nothing.
I came home this afternoon and informed my teen: If we’re going skating, we need to go in a few minutes. He looked up from his tiny screen placed just a few centimeters beyond his plate full of crumbs. He was finishing off a piece of toast. Swear to god my child lives off toast, butter and baloney.
Let’s not go, he said. We’re moving and…
There’s just this week and next week and then it’s done, I said.
I know, but …
I can tell he’s weighing the pros and cons. And I’m doing the same. I could easily bag it, and say, let’s focus on moving but part of me still wants to go skating anyway. Just to say we did it, we were out, we took a mental break from moving.
I’m ready to give in, to stay home and hunker down with more logistical tasks. We’re up, milling around in the entrance thinking maybe no, but maybe yes.
I’ll go move the car. I’m parked illegally. I’ll just go move the car.
Alright let’s go.
Really? You want to go? Ok, then, let’s go.
We grab our jackets and the bag of skates and helmets and mittens and gloves and left. Final check of the pockets for the correct assortment of keys and IDs, we head downstairs, jump in the car. We’re on our way. We park and walk towards the U-Bahn. He starts to chatter. He’s full of questions and commentary and also wants to hold my hand. We haven’t seen each other all day. We arrive on the platform just before the next train is ready to leave. It’s about a 10 minute ride to the rink. Once we’re seated and settled, my teen goes quiet. Five stops in I look over and notice his eyelids becoming very heavy. He’s falling asleep!
I can hardly remember the last time I was able to witness my young boy nodding off. Today was my chance.
Of course he only had the benefit of a few short winks and then it was time to get out. For a moment I could forget all about moving and instead savor the joy of being moved.