It has been a challenging morning. Since I’m home, Jack naturally assumes that all my focus will be on him; and he acts accordingly. He is like any little boy who wants mommy’s attention 24-7.

Perhaps unlike any little boy, Jack gets unduly anxious if I am not focused on him 24-7 when I’m home. If I sit down with my journal, or my paintbrush, or a class video, I have about five minutes’ peace. Then the questions begin.

“Whatcha doing?” Jack wants to know, coming over to the table as I’m trying to paint a wave. When I explain, he says, “You can’t paint. You’re not him.” He is referring to the person in the YouTube video that I’m watching, who is explaining how to paint waves. I ignore the remark and put brush to canvas again.

Ten seconds later, Jack is back. “You’re supposed to be doing your school.” he says, a familiar edge to his voice. “Don’t waste your time playing around.” I make some noise to show him I’m listening. I keep painting.

Then Jack amps up the drama. He starts rummaging through some of his things and unearths three “gold coins”. They are Sacajawea dollar coins, but he thinks they’re real gold. Now he has a crisis on his hands because he ‘only’ has three.

Where, he demands, did the rest go?  He knows he had more. There is only one possible answer.

“Somebody stole them.” he declares, as he slumps on the bed, the picture of dejection. “You need to help me right now. My coins have disappeared!”

I put the brush down with a sigh. “No one stole them, dear. You put them with the rest of your coins. They’re right up here.” I point to Jack’s latest hiding place. He is not reassured.

“Show me.” he demands. I get the box down and hand it to him. Then I sit down to paint some more. But my concentration has been broken, and I can no longer focus. I give up and put my paints away.

But Jack, for the moment, is happy because he has my full attention. He sits on the bed, looking through “all of my gold and silver” and showing me each coin multiple times. “Look at all this gold.” he says, holding up a handful of coins. And then a second handful. “Look at all this silver.”

All the “gold” coins are Sacajawea dollars. All the “silver” coins are half dollars or ‘silver’ dollars. They have no real value beyond their denomination. Fortunately, I bite my tongue before I tell him that.

The coins, to Jack, are priceless treasures, treasures that can someday buy us a ‘real home up on the hill’. They are to be hidden away and zealously guarded so no one can steal them. They are the means by which we will have our freedom. They allow him the freedom to dream.

Maybe there’s a lesson in that. Maybe instead of seeing them as coins with little value, I should see them as Jack sees them. Maybe, instead of taking a practical view, I should view everything as treasure.

It is something worth thinking about. Especially now, when Jack senses my attention has wandered and he’s insisting I look at his coins again. My time with Jack should be treasured, not lamented. I will have plenty of me time later.