10 minutes

For ten minutes every week, I sit with the boys and have warm drinks and treats. We wait in line, we wait for our drinks. We get our lids and our straws and our napkins and search for our seat. Do we sit inside or outside? What's the weather like? How are we dressed? Jameson, please be patient, your drink will be ready soon.




And then we sit together. For ten minutes, I watch them devour a bagel or a doughnut and I watch them drink their specially chosen drink. I watch them bargain for a sip of each other's drinks, even when they are identical.



For ten minutes, we watch other people and see familiar faces from weeks past. For ten minuets, we slow down. For ten minutes, I hear stories of the week gone by and hear plans for the next week.

For ten minutes, I sip my espresso or tea and discreetly study every little bit about them. I look at their faces, at their eyes, and at their shape. I listen to their voices. By next week, they will have grown up just a little bit more.

Some days, we sit outside and our time extends beyond ten minutes. We watch the wind blowing the trees, we watch the people going by. The boys get up and climb on rocks or jump around to get out their endless energy.

Sometimes sitting still for ten minutes pushes our limits, with a little boy who can't seem to sit still that long. Sometimes we have other tasks calling us, soccer games or birthday parties or other obligations. Sometimes, we are rushed.

But mostly, we sit together, eating our snacks, savoring our drinks, reconnecting.

For these ten minutes, I wait all week.