There’s this lie we tell ourselves as dads.
That we’ll make it up later.
Later when work slows down. Later when things aren’t so chaotic. Later when we’re less tired, less distracted, less… everything.
But here’s the thing I’ve started realizing lately—especially with Kayden running around like a tornado and Madison just starting to figure out the world.
Later doesn’t exist.
What does exist? Ten minutes.
Ten random, unplanned, messy minutes.
The kind where you’re sitting on the floor building something that looks nothing like the picture on the box. Or when your kid asks you a question that makes zero sense but you answer it like it’s the most important thing you’ve ever been asked.
Those are the moments.
Not Disneyland. Not the big trips. Not the “perfect dad” days you imagine in your head.
It’s the random Tuesday night when you’re exhausted and still choose to sit down and be present anyway.
And yeah… sometimes I don’t.
Sometimes I grab my phone. Sometimes I say “in a minute” one too many times.
But when I don’t—when I actually show up, even for ten minutes—it hits different.
Because to them, it’s not ten minutes.
It’s everything.
And one day, it’ll be the thing they remember.