The taxes are due soon. I can’t find the last receipt that needs to be verified, listed, and attached. Towels need folding, and the floor is in desperate need of a sweep. And a mop. This pile of miscellany in my office must find a home or be tossed in the trash. The pantry is bare, and the fridge will match it after one more meal.
My to-do list includes bills to be paid, books to be written, dust to be chased, windows to be washed, and stacks of other things that keep marching along through my brain. They rattle. They call. They insist on my attention.
But, all these things must wait.
Because Reid Holden came to visit after lunch. He is all of one year old, and he has learned to say, “ball.” He sits on Grandpa’s lap and tosses the ball to me with such aim I see the majors in his future. He holds his tiny hand at a cockeyed angle and giggles when I toss the ball back. It lands in Grandpa’s lap, and Reid scoops it up like a prize. He giggles again, showing his best tooth and his snapping eyes.
Then, he tosses the ball again. And again. And again.
We all smile. Reid, his mama, Grandpa, and me. So many things needed doing today. Some of them were necessary. But none of them were anywhere near being as important as playing ball with our baby.
Let’s do it again tomorrow, shall we?