Roger Warner Cares for Quiet Sundays

With a great bubba boy comes great responsibility. And some wisdom. And grey hair. And bags under the eyes. And a general lack of time.

Gerry and I realised earlier this month that of all the wonderful things in front of us, time isn’t going to be one of them. We also realised that we spend a fair amount of money trying to create more of it: by getting our groceries delivered and the like.

Talking it over we also realised that we tend to attach a high value to those things that have us make time. We book a dinner a week or two ahead, I dash back from work, we eat, we talk. I buy a book that makes me think in a different way about things, I take stuff on board, I change my outlook.

The value in this stuff isn’t really the quality of the food or the words on the page. We can cook better at home and figure out new ideas ourselves. Nope, the value is in the time we dedicate to them. The sad truth is that we’ve found ourselves needing a reservation or a hardcover (we have a fetish) in order to devote time to ourselves and one another.

Isn’t that odd? We bribe ourselves in order to gain our own attention – and if we’re not spending time and effort in this way then, what….?

I’m beginning to realise why families force one another to sit at the table for dinner. Without routines things just slip on by and we drift.

Boy, what goes around comes around – Lucas is going to love us when he’s fifteen. We are truly all our parents.