I have come to one enormous conclusion about my child
recently. In particular I have
discovered his biggest flaw. Now I know
as a mom, I’m not supposed to dish on my child’s faults. It should be hard for me to even admit that
he has a flaw. But he does…and it’s
huge.
My child has absolutely no sense of urgency. Yes, he is a child prodigy in moseying.
It’s true. It’s like
he doesn’t have anywhere in particular that he has to be. It is the only
explanation for his ceaseless dawdling.
There are days when I am so frustrated by the snails pace with which we
get things accomplished that I can feel myself going from 0 to psycho and
losing my cool with a kid that has no idea what I’m ranting about. He is, after all, doing what I asked. It’s not like I ever said these tasks had a
time limit.
The kid turns brushing his teeth into a ten-minute
negotiation on the amount of toothpaste that is acceptable on the tip of the
brush.
In the time it takes for him to find and put on his
shoes alone, I could have defrosted that chicken I forgot to lay out the night
before.
We spend more time talking about having to go to the
bathroom than just going. How this child
has not exploded from waiting too long is beyond me.
And getting out of the car…don’t get me started. Oh, well, never mind…get me started. He exits my vehicle with the same urgency of a
man being forced to leave a sports bar in the middle of a play-off game.
Why I could probably embroider a couch cover if I could
redirect all the energy I use up finding creative and non-psycho, anti spirit
crushing, child affirming ways to say, “HURRY THE HELL UP.” (Because hurry the hell up is what I’m actually
thinking) Well, at the very least, I
could manage to do something with that chicken that I now have defrosted from Shoegate
2012.
In frustration the other day, I found myself saying,
“Samuel! The tortoise just passed
us.” “Huh?” He only briefly looked up
from the fruit roll-up box he was determined to “fake read” from top to bottom
(I mean the organic whole grain, grass fed, gluten free, soy based, real fruit
snack, biodegradable box…obvy) before even entertaining the idea of removing
his seat belt to begin the 40-years-in-the-desert-type trek
from my car.
I don’t understand him.
Where is his sense of urgency?
Does he not get that when I decide to hit the snooze button
three times too many and wake him up by raving about how we’re already 15
minutes late and he needs to hurry that that means really hurry? You mean he doesn’t stop and think, “I know
mom needed that extra 21 minutes of sleep and now we’re running a few minutes
late, but that’s okay, because I’ll help her out by picking out my clothes and
getting dressed myself before she even gets done putting on her make up.”
It’s like he has no boss, taking note of when he gets to
work.
No iCal burdened with multiplying tasks that have to be
completed before his energy runs out.
It’s like he has no bills to pay, or responsibilities, or
even a basic understanding of time and how hurried life can and needs to be.
It’s like he’s a…child.
That kid just might be on to something.
If you need me, I’ll be in the backseat of my car “fake
reading” one of my 50 cookbooks because perhaps we could all stand to slow our pace down a bit.
I said "a bit."
I said "a bit."
