"What do you lose track of time doing?"
This is the question my friend Candace asked, one of those launching questions that we are given from time to time, the ones that are to the mind as the sawzall was to the pumpkins at that power-tool pumpkin-carving party I went to.
ZZZZZZt! Open up.
I was thinking about this yesterday as I watched M carry the Fox up the stairs from the basement, kicking and screaming bloody murder because he didn’t want to leave the shop for lunch and nap. I have two-year-old who loves tools. He gets lost in the moment of drilling, screwdrivering and sanding. This is M’s gift to the Fox, maybe the most precious gift a parent can give past the love: the experience of losing track of time.
I can see it when it happens to him; I recognize the look on his face like it was a mirror. His little jaw is loose, his lips are slightly pursed, like he was about to give the clamp and sandpaper a big wet kiss and then forgot halfway there. I know that feeling. That is how I feel when I draw, when I garden, and when the writing is good.
So today, when the Fox wakes up, we are going to go pick up some sassy new art supplies. His preschool teacher said he is one of the kids who wants to do art as long as possible. I felt a little bad when I heard this, partly because I felt like I should already know this and also because… Well, not to get too pointy about this, but I have been avoiding messes a little too much. It’s easy to do this, to get so overwhelmed by the exploding spaghetti nature of toddlerhood that I opt for the low-mess activities. C’mon. Let’s do one more puzzle. Let’s read one more book…
When what we really need to do is lose track of time together. Not him losing track of time and me checking my watch every two minutes (how long until nap time?) Not me losing track of time cleaning the cabinets, while he finds matches and knives in order to draw my attention back to him. Together. That, my friend, is today’s quest.
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