I'm the kind of person who skips to the conversation when reading a book.
“What time are we leaving tomorrow?” Hannah innocently asked.
I sighed. I hate being the one who always has to make these decisions, like what time we’re leaving.
Sometimes I don’t mind, like when I know exactly what time we need to leave. I’ll tell the kids something like, “We’re going to aim for 6:45, but we absolutely need to be pulling out of the driveway at 7:00 to get there on time.” The window of time concept seems to work pretty well.
Yesterday, when Hannah asked, I didn’t feel like making the decision. Holiday time can just feel overwhelming to me.
“What time are we leaving?” she asked again when I didn’t respond.
“9:17,” I said.
“Okay.” She smiled back at me. “So we should aim for 9:15 so we can leave on time, right?”
It was my turn to smile. I love the way she takes things in stride, not even acknowledging the ridiculousness of choosing such a weird time.
Later in the day Elliot asked me what time we were leaving.
“9:17,” I said, watching to see his reaction.
“What time do you want me to wake you up?” I then asked him.
“8:47,” he said, without missing a beat.
I love my family.