The government shutdown ends in our home tomorrow. Mary returns to base. The rhythms will shift again. Wakeups will begin earlier. Commutes will resume. The quiet, in-between time we’ve shared will tuck itself back behind duty.
And while I’m relieved—for our family, for our country, for the return of a paycheck—I’m also mourning a little.
Because I’ve loved having her home.
Not in the dramatic, movie-score kind of way. In the ordinary, invisible kind of way. The way you love someone’s presence in the rhythm of your day. The way it feels when they’re simply there—in the morning shuffle, the school drop-off line, the mid-day errand, the shared glance in the grocery aisle. For these few months, we’ve done all of it together. And I had forgotten how rare, how beautiful, that is.
The first morning she came with me to take Jett to school, she got emotional. I could see it in her eyes. For me, that’s my favorite part of the day—being Dada, doing the drop-off, holding Jett’s tiny hand while she still lets me. But doing it together? That was a whole different kind of magic.
Since then, we’ve been side by side. Pickups, drop-offs, volunteering, lunch breaks. We’ve run errands and stolen minutes. We’ve remembered what it feels like to just be with your best friend. Not in a scheduled “date night” kind of way—but in the casual flow of a life lived side-by-side.
And now it ends. But something doesn’t.
Because here’s the truth: it’s not that the time was given—it’s that we let ourselves take it. And that’s the part that can still stay open.
So this is just a little reminder—for anyone out there who loves someone:
Take a moment.
Sit still with them.
Pick them up from work.
Drive nowhere together.
Share the school run if you can.
Eat lunch without scrolling.
You don’t need a shutdown to slow down.
Sometimes the most magickal thing in the world is doing something ordinary with the one you love—when you’re both actually there for it.
Don’t wait for the world to stop.
Pause anyway.
Together.