Five Minutes Of Fun

In the playground recently, I told my son “five more minutes.” We left half an hour later. The sun was shining. Simply being there, watching him and doing nothing in particular was fine.

As a little girl, five more minutes of swimming felt really, really long. Only a few years later, five minutes went by in a flash.

Perhaps my mother’s five minutes were like mine. Maybe that one time she relaxed for a moment and thought, “to hell with it, she’s having fun. We’ll have a sandwich tonight instead of vegetables.” Maybe those five minutes were actually thirty. These are the kind of things you discover once you’re a parent yourself. There are no absolute truths. There never were.