This morning while getting Claire dressed…”Hurry, Claire. It’s time for breakfast.”
Getting out of the car at Claire’s school…”Come on! We don’t want to be late.”
Climbing into the car after school…”Get in your car seat fast. Let’s go.”
While playing Concentration together…”Quickly, Claire. It’s your turn.”
Walking home from the park, “Claire, hurry. Walk a little faster.”
How many times each day do I rush her along? How many times is she told to hurry?
Is this the message she’s receiving? Hurry! Life is a rush! Can’t be late. We’ve got somewhere to be!
It’s not the worst message. I’m not rejecting her or putting her down or making her feel like she’s not enough. But that’s not what I want her to think life is. It shouldn’t always be a rush. It shouldn’t always be hurrying onto the next thing. Life is so much more than that.
Yes, getting to school on time is important. Honestly, without me pushing her along, my pokey little puppy would never make it. It’s great to teach her responsibility and the value of punctuality. But really, Shannon? When we’re playing Concentration? Why? Why do I feel the need to make her rush through it? Why am I in such a hurry? Before I know it the days of Concentration will be gone and I’ll be wishing for those moments on the carpet together, watching her plan her next move. It goes by too quickly as it is. Why try to speed things up? More than she needs to pick up the pace, I need to slow down.
So when she dawdles on the way home from the park – collecting sparkly rocks in her pockets, gazing into the sky in search of the airplane she hears, hopping carefully over each crack in the sidewalk – I’ll try to slow down enough to allow the joy in her eyes become the joy in mine.