Last night we had dinner with a friend and her family at a burger joint close to home. It was a beautiful day, just gorgeous. The kind of day that Texas tosses our way from time to time to apologize for what happens from June to September.
Because it was so beautiful and because dinner was so close, I asked Kyle if he'd like to walk, and he said he would. He's at the age where walking a half mile without being carried can be totally doable or totally impossible, depending on the day, but he was being such a delight, I decided to put some faith in our adventure.
So, we set off. We don't have sidewalks between our house and the main area of town, so he had to hold my hand, of course, but he didn't complain. He held on tight.
He happily chatted the entire time, about the grass and cars and his shoes and watching Yo Gabba Gabba later that night, if he was good at dinner. Then, he kicked some rocks and told me to kick some, too. When I did, he laughed and said, "You kick the rocks very, very good!"
My heart started filling up, as it does in these moments, and I kept looking down at his blond messy head of hair and thinking, "Pause. Please pause this life right here."
I asked him what he wanted on his burger: cheese, mustard, ketchup, pickles? Do you want fries, too, buds? He stopped, looked up at me, and said, "Mommy! Oh no! I don't have any money! Will you buy me my burger?"
I laughed so hard, squeezed his hand, and said, "Of course, kid. I'll buy you a burger."
(I have no idea where this came from. We don't make Kyle cough up his own money for his meals despite how full his piggy bank can get.)
I thought about pulling my phone out and trying to snap a picture of this perfect 15-minute walk, this perfect conversation with my hilarious little guy, my best bud, my son. But something inside me whispered, forget the phone, just keep holding his hand.
So I did.