It's Saturday night and I'm curled up on the couch with Wifey. The kids are tucked in. I'm waiting for the chai tea to finish brewing.
In my lap, I'm reading a book on planned giving. It's less of a book and more of a tome. One that could hold a small child down in a wind storm. It's all about wills, bequests, taxation benefits and so on.
Our mutual silence is punctuated with questions like, "Who do you want to leave the dining room table to?" and "How much do you think we're going to need in life insurance to cover the kids if we die?" and "I want to leave some money to charity X, you good with that?"
As I'm learning about how to help people leave their own legacy through a charitable gift, we're getting ready to create our long overdue wills. Once we get the insurance in place, the massive paperwork we've been slowly picking through will finally be complete.
In Wifey's lap she's reading a stack of articles from the Harvard Business Review and some other magazines on human resources management. My favourite so far was the sarcastic article on the symptoms of a bad boss.
It's Saturday night. This is comfortable. I don't think I've ever felt more grown-up in my entire life.