It’s a lovely autumn afternoon here in Colorado and I’m working: the kids are with Mom for a few days, as is our regular weekday schedule.
Imagine my surprise then when fifteen minutes ago my cellphone rings and it’s my older daughter, A-.
“Hi Daddy. Can you come and pick us up?”
“Um, what? Where’s mama?”
“I dunno. We’ve been standing here in the cold for ten minutes and I can’t get ahold of her on the phone…”
“Oh. Then why don’t you walk home? It’s not far.”
“I don’t want to do that because what if mommy shows up and can’t find us?”
“Leave a note? No, just kidding. Um, I’m stuck in the middle of something and can’t come get you, sweetie.”
“are you sure?”
“Yes. But do this: if she doesn’t show up in 10 minutes or so, call me again?”
“Okay, I’ll do… oh… oh, here she is! Bye daddy!”
Not a big deal by any means to be ten minutes late picking up your kids at school, but this kind of phone call really throws my day’s rhythm off, somehow.
Of course, almost 90 minutes earlier my 5yo had called “just to say hi, I dunno”. Just wanted to hear my voice. Those calls? Those are heart-warmers, and make me feel at least six inches taller.