Is That a Lot?

To have no concept—of time, of money—it’s a magical state. I can barely remember it myself. Like Marty McFly’s family photo: still there, but fading fast.

“I got a gumball. It was twenty-five dollars,” Evelyn said, dead serious.

“Twenty-five dollars?” I asked. She’d just returned from the bank’s gumball machine—the holy grail for a five-year-old—updating me on her latest achievement.

She shrugged. “Is that a lot?”

No concept. Not even a flicker of awareness that twenty-five bucks for a gumball is, at best, criminal.

And honestly? I kind of envy her.

When I was a kid, Monopoly made perfect sense: buy up the railroads, stack hotels, crush the competition. That was the dream. But the real world? Mortgages. Overtime. Shelling out $300 to spray poison in your crawl space. None of that was included on the board.

Still—twenty-five dollars for gum? I remember when it was a penny. A single cent. And the best part? I could charge it to the cabin at Twin Lakes, where my cousin and I spent summer weeks with our families.

That was real magic: fill a tiny brown paper sack with candy, walk up to the counter like a boss, say the cabin number, and leave. No parent looming. No wallet. Just pure, uninhibited purchasing power. That was grown-up land—without the burden of a bank account subtracting on the back end.

Now I’ve got a five-year-old tossing out “twenty-five dollars” like it’s pocket lint.

Inflation is bad, sure. But this? This isn’t inflation. This is just… being five.

And then there’s time. Her grandparents are visiting in October— two plus months away. But a five-year-old’s brain can’t hold onto “October.” She doesn’t even grasp what “three days from now” means. Christmas? She brings it up in March—and every month after—like it’s next week. I try to explain, then give up and say, “No.”

“It’ll be a while,” I offer. Or, “Watch for it to get less hot outside.”

She doesn’t have a concept. And it’s strange, negotiating my world of deadlines and budgets with her total absence of them. It’s this funny little dance we do—timeless in one sense, but with the clock always ticking in the background for me.

I yearn for that unknowing, and do what I can to stay in the haze of a Saturday morning. The next thing, then the next—no rush, just being inside the moment’s wide, open arms.

And you know what? We’re doing a pretty good job.

Life’s pace is often set to hers these days—especially now, with me working three hours ahead of Pacific time and not starting until noon. Unlike the old run-and-gun of morning chaos—meltdowns, racing to get out the door, our family time rarely gets cut short anymore. Sometimes we have somewhere to be, but more often, we’re watching hummingbirds. Or noticing a scarlet snake curling around a stick as we remove it from the pool filter. Or planting a butterfly garden—like today, with five different varieties of milkweed, each one a promise of more color and movement on the property.

She’s got no concept. And I love her gentle reminders of it.

Love, Jaclynn