Pick somebody: my mom.
Quality: I lose track of time with her in the best way.
My favourite time spent with my mom has always been spent just talking. It doesn’t matter where.
Her in the driver’s seat, me riding shotgun; and later on, me in the driver’s seat and my mom riding shotgun.
In this country, or thousands of miles away on a little tropical, middle-of-nowhere island.
At a McDonald’s at 3am, or at a 3rd story apartment kitchen table at 3am.
My father was always shaking his head and saying “Go to bed, you have to be up in 2 hours!” “You done with that paper? Time for bed.” Then came the resigned words as this became a habit, “Don’t stay up too late..”
After being away from my mom for 3 months (quite the eternity for us) we got back into full swing last night, talking about life and love and trials and faith and direction. I could’ve sworn we were only chatting for 30 minutes but according to the clock, we were talking for 4 hours. I’ve forgotten how much I crave the time we lose together.
We like to give new, slightly different meaning to “burning the midnight oil.”
Oh my poor father. (;