Adventures in the Mundane

James and I went to get the oil changed and a maintenance check-up on the car this morning. The timing wasn't ideal, since the past several days I've been struggling a bit with feeling distracted in my attentions for the boy -- on Saturday it was cleaning snake cages, on Sunday a monumental day of cooking and baking, and yesterday with some boring old laundry. While my cleaning habits have certainly never been described as "anal," too often I worry that five minutes spent doing dishes is five minutes with my toddler son that I'll never have back. This is irrational, of course -- I have the gift of an abundance of quality time with my son and it is healthy for him to play by himself for periods. (Spying on him when he thinks he's unattended is a treat as well -- Becky found him repeatedly imitating the "slide" sound in one of his audio books and this morning I found him cooing and making train sounds while pulling his Thomas locomotive around the room.) Nonetheless, my penchant for hyperbole and dramatics wins out and, despite a clean kitchen, I'm retroactively saddened by each minute spent in distraction. So, I worried this morning would be another drag-the-boy-along-for-what-daddy-wants-to-do affair, me placating him with grapes while in some protracted discussion with the mechanics about the health of our station wagon. It was not. Rather, James sat patiently on the counter for the two minutes (total) it took to check in and pay out; the duration of the morning was spent on a leisurely and sunny walk, chasing Canada geese and norther pintails at the nearby park, and chasing each other around the maze of playground equipment. The birds, as tall as him and certainly faster on their feet, were unafraid of his advances: rather than unanimously take wing in fear, they casually strolled off. When they were finally trapped between the water and the advancing menace, they flocked off with a fury of beating wings. James asked for "more, more" repeatedly, even after I explained that it is impossible for me to coax the birds back, just as I cannot conjure more fire trucks or predict train schedules. Oh, the failures of a father. Being out of the house, away from work, and outside on a sunny early-spring morning was the perfect and unpredicted recipe for quality time, a fortuitous encounter like a snow day or getting stopped by a train on your way somewhere you don't want to go. James has taught me much about surprises and making the best of a moment, any moment.