Seasons of Love

If I'm relying on stats from "Rent," and there really are 525,600 minutes in a year, then I can say with some measure of confidence that at least 99% of those minutes in the last year have been well-spent. I think a lot of people view time differently once they become parents, and in a really morbid sense, I imagine it is a lot like experiencing grave illness. You just don't know how much time you've got left...and so you savor the moments you're given, you take a picture with your Canon or with your mind's eye, and all the things that once vexed you seem frivolous and you see as a complete interruption of the time you would rather be spending in front of a highchair with a sucktopus reluctantly strapped in, the tray laden with Eggo waffle crumbs and a sticky larvae of grape jelly and cornflakes, and you are trying mightily to recall the verse to "My mother gave me a penny...to go and buy a (?) uh...a henny (?) but I didn't buy a henny..." because these theatrics are what magically make the food go down, and you ARE Mary Freaking Poppins. And it is amazing. Too bad these moments can't be bottled and stored on a shelf for twelve years until the person sitting across from you at dinner is no longer in a high chair but is maintaining what appears to be the third day of a solo campaign for the Advancement of Silence as a reaction to you for having the audacity to come inside the school gym WEARING WINDPANTS to find her after coming to pick her up and waiting twenty minutes in the parking lot.

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She's such a good little helper now...

Soon ::sniff:: she'll be off and running away from me, though....