This morning I asked Travis if he thought Eliot had sinned yet in the three months he’s been alive. The conversation that followed was much more detailed than what I had in mind.
After a few minutes of deep, philosophy-packed banter, I closed my mouth and looked down at the computer screen. I just wanted a simple answer.
For the almost-four years Trav and I have been married, I have known his ways of speaking and have admired how he communicates with those he loves, even those he barely knows; he just has a way with people, a way with words.
Yet in my own home, in our daily living, I take for granted and even reject this beautiful gift. He thinks and processes and then teaches me things that I never would have known or realized had I not married him. He teaches me.
As he grabbed his bible, put on his favorite old school Abercrombie sweater with the elbow patches, and suavely stuck his pipe in his mouth, I watched him walk outside to spend some time alone.
Eliot sleeps in his little swing now, slowly rocking back and forth as the Pandora station plays in the background. Whatever answer I was expecting this morning doesn’t really matter right now.
At this moment I see that I have an incredible little boy, and an incredible man by my side to watch him grow. No doubt clouds my mind; he will teach him marvelous things, including the gift of philosophizing, and perhaps one day, how to properly pack a pipe. What a lucky boy, what a lucky wife.