Funny, enough... my husband, Jared, was out tonight playing music with friends. Upon his return, we caught up. Beren, our son, was in the tub. Jared had had a good time. As we talked about his music, I conned him into combing his fingers through my knotty hair, a treat that I really love.
Shortly after he had detangled most of my hair, he picked up his library book and began to read. I felt a pang of selfishness. We had this time together while Beren was in the tub. "Don't you want to spend this time with me?" I thought. I held my thoughts inside, in a way I would not have done five, ten, eighteen years ago.
"He's reading. He likes reading. He doesn't get too much free time. Just like me," I thought. "I'll write, then."
I opened my laptop, waited for the flicker of electronic light, and logged in. Jared looked up from his book, "What's up?" he said.
"Nothing. Just going to write. Why? What's up? Wanna hang out?" I asked.
"Nah. It's ok. You should write. I want to read what you write," he said.
"Ok," I replied. And, I wrote.