"Do you need a pen or a pencil, Mommy?" Aidan eagerly asked.
I shook my head and absently muttered, "No, Honey," keeping my eyes on the math worksheets that my son was avoiding.
He tried again. "Do you need a pen or a pencil, Mommy?"
And again I kept staring at the work before us and dismissed him. "No thank you, Sweetie. Let's get this math done."
And then I looked up. Standing before me, grinning widely, Aidan had a pen and pencil balancing on each ear, reporter style. He didn't really want to give me a pen or a pencil. He just wanted me to look. He just wanted me to smile.
It's true that I don't always need a pen or a pencil. But I do always need to look. For it's only in the looking that I find the smile.