We had an evening out.


Mommy’s milk in the fridge and I’m squeezing into clothes hopeful with a moment to touch up my face and at least my hair’s been brushed.

We struggle to remember the last time though it wasn’t too long ago.

And HH made the decision: just dinner.

Instead of rushing through a meal to catch a movie, we make the most of our evening by aiming to do less. We sit long at the table and thoughts and fears and feelings and how-are-yous have a good chance to unfurl…

Like our newborn’s tiny fists, so constantly clenched they collect lint and grubbiness and need to be unfurled and scrubbed at bathtime, so our hearts need this quiet unfurling, as we share an appetizer and talk about our children. I savour my main and we talk about our future.

Going slow to enjoy a great steak, going slow to enjoy a great evening, is going slow to enjoy a great moment that now is but won’t be tomorrow. We look up at the stars for a bit. We listen to the ocean for a while.

We talk.

We talk about being generous with our gifts.

We talk about the older one, still cheery and sweet, but also newly dramatic and occasionally fretful — longing for attention.

And I remark to the Hubs over a sweet little creme brulee — this was the best way. Not rushing to do more, but enjoying this. He already knew and that was why he made the plan.

And we think about each other, and the older one with needs and we know: this is how he spells love. And isn’t this is how we all spell love.

Sometimes my hurried heart needs reminding:

The future isn’t here yet. You only get one chance at right now.

Quality is often a much better goal than quantity.

There will always be laundry and dishes. Take the time to be still. Savour this moment.

For house guests and strangers, friends and family, spouses and children alike, we are better off trying to spell love generously, with the only thing we can never get more of. And love is so often best spelled T-I-M-E.