On one unplugged morning, my boys and I went to see a string quartet play – a special concert put on twice a month for the preschool and under set.
My boys loved it. Each in their own way, of course. My eldest, Ewan, a serious introverted little guy, stood close to the stage. He watched the instruments being played. He listened to the music. He took it all in.
My youngest, Xander, a gregarious boisterous toddler engaged with the music in an entirely different way. He moved. He danced. He ran around.
And then he went to grab his brother, taking him by the hand, to dance with him.
Tears came to my eyes, literally, watching my boys dancing together and I found myself fumbling for the only camera I had with me. Wanting, desperately, to capture the moment.
I reached into my bag and pulled out my iPhone. I swiped at it, trying to get the camera to turn on. But it was off, all the way off. Unplugged hours be darned, I pushed the power button and waited, impatiently as the phone – my camera – came back to life.
I snapped a few pictures and promptly turned it back off.
Despite being a photo nut, compulsively documenting the big and small moments in our lives, this was the first time in nearly two weeks that I plugged back in to capture a moment during our unplugged mornings.
What I’ve found, instead of capturing the moments from our mornings, I’ve been living them. Really living them. There are no interruptions in the action as I fumble for a camera. There are no moments where we lose our flow, because I haven’t broken it.
These mornings are a good rest for me, and for them. These unplugged mornings are a reminder that some times are still special. Some times are just between us. Some times are not meant to be shared. Some times are fleeting.
And in those special, fleeting moments, I’ve found that I am so very thankful that I am where I am, when I am, savoring the moment I am in.