10/10/2025
For the past couple of months, Hemingway and I have had our own little Friday morning ritual — breakfast together, just the two of us, before heading to the babysitter. No matter how hectic the week’s been or what I have to do that day, that one hour has become sacred. On the surface, it’s just breakfast, but it’s turned into one of the sweetest rhythms of our week.
For her, it’s not really about the food… although the girl loves her biscuits and gravy. It’s about being together. It’s about her learning that no matter how busy life gets, there’s always a time when Dad slows down just for her. She watches everything — how I talk to the staff, say “thank you,” put my phone down, and really see her. She’s learning what love looks like when it’s present, patient, and real.
She won’t remember the exact mornings — the spilled orange juice, the gravy faces, sneaking a sip of sweet tea— but I hope she carries the feeling of them. The comfort of knowing she mattered enough for time to stop. What started as a quick breakfast stop has turned into something bigger: a tiny weekly reminder that life’s best moments are rarely fancy… they’re found somewhere between a plate of biscuits and the sound of a little girl giggling across the table.
