Five Minutes

After a day filled with
potty breaks,
potty victory celebrations,
slightly sick kids,
debating over ‘one more bite’,
stuck inside because of the rain…
I have five minutes.

Five minutes to sit back and close my eyes.

Five minutes to imagine my next knitting project (I’m currently between, which is always a tough spot to be in).

Five minutes to sit on the couch and read a few pages of Wicked, the book I’m currently reading.

Five minutes where I can take a mental vacation to New York City, and I swear I can smell the hot dogs cooking at the street vendor as I walk down the street, surrounded by people, all going about their business, all looking like they are in vastly different businesses, but all in the city that I love.

Five minutes to drink–and enjoy–some chocolate milk and say a prayer of gratitude for Nesquik and for sometimes not having to share.

Five minutes to listen to my husband bathing the children and hear them all giggling in delight.

Five minutes just for me, where I can enjoy what I have, what I am, what I have created, and what I will create.

Thank you, God, for five minutes.

9 responses to “Five Minutes

  1. Thanks, Kullervo and Katie!

    So far, I find Wicked to be… fantastical. I’m plugging through, but I’m not in love with it yet. But, Katie–it doesn’t surprise me even a little that you would love NYC.

    And Kullervo’s not lying–if you ever make it up for a Sunday, go to the Harlem Ward. The absolute best people in the world go there.

  2. Actually, my family hails from New Jersey, so that neck of the woods is where my roots are. I only lived there till I was about 5, but I’ve still got some relatives out there. My dearest sweetest gramma is buried in the Dover NJ cemetery. We try to make it out every couple years or so. Until we’re rich. And then we’ll go at least twice a year and whenever something exciting opens on Broadway. 🙂

    Last time we went to NYC, we stayed at a Harlem apartment we rented off Craig’s List. We didn’t want to pay a taxi to take us from the airport, so we took the subway and rolled our luggage about 10 blocks to where we were staying. We got TONS of crazy looks, especially because we were carrying our little girl (about 9 months at the time) in a huge backpack. One big black guy came up to us and said, “What country are you all from?”

    And we said, “Utah.”

    And he said, “Where’s that? Europe?”

    It was pretty funny.

  3. When we moved to Harlem, we had a similar experience! Our flight landed, and we had to pick up our keys near Times Square. So, we popped up from the subway with two suitcases and a carryon each… and our ENORMOUS cat. Our stuff was so heavy, I stood on a corner and waited while Kullervo got the keys, then we boarded another train up the 116th Street.

    BTW, I’m also a NJ transplant. 😀

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