Time

Have I ever mentioned just how much I look forward to picking the Monkey up each night? At exactly 6 p.m. each night our car pulls into the babysitter’s driveway and I practically leap from the car and hustle up the stairs to knock at the door.
Why?

Because after the babysitter opens the door and we step inside her house, we’re greeted by laughter and smiles as the Monkey runs across the room to wrap our legs in a bear hug before lifting his arms and declaring “bo-bo” — his attempt at “powh-powh”, Cantonese for “up” or “carry me.”

Once in my arms, we share hugs and kisses while we hear about his day — how he ate, how he napped, if he said anything new, etc. Most times I’m distracted by a tiny hand pressing into my cheek and a little voice whispering “Ma-Ma” reverently into my ear.

Then we’re off, heading home, and pointing at trees, cars, clouds, and birds the entire way. Once we’re inside the doorway, the game changes.

We wrestle on the carpet. We play chase along our hallways and hide behind open doors. We watch the Hamster Dance Song and Gummy Bear videos on YouTube. We crawl through colored tubes. We push a small driver around the neighborhood or house in his red buggy. He eats dinner. We wipe yogurt from the walls. We watch the cat eat shredded cheese from the floor. We splash in the bath, slather on lotion, and slide into pajamas. We snuggle on the couch, in the glider, and on the bed before giving him a bottle and putting him to sleep with a bottle, nuzzle, and a kiss.

The Monkey is usually bonking or in bed by 7:30 p.m. In that short hour-and-a-half, we try to squeeze in as much fun, as much snuggles, and as much quality time as we possibly can. Its the reality of being a working parent.

Its why we treasure the weekends.

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