I’m pretty much a zero to sixty kinda girl. I don’t like delays. I don’t like dillydallying. I don’t even like slow and steady.
This morning, I took the boys on a snowshoe. We made it to the trailhead, I strapped them both in, and then we started to hike single file onto the trail.
When I snowshoe by myself I don’t really meander. I want it to be a workout. I clip along like I have somewhere to be – even if I don’t, but snowshoeing with the boys is quite different. For one their legs are shorter. For two, their senses take more in. So the tempo –it’s slow.
We made it through the trail, and I knew the trip home was going to try my patience. They were both tired. Ready to be done, but we had to follow the trail all the way back to get home. Since the day was fairly warm, I already had my handful with our hats and mittens that we were all too warm to be wearing. I strapped them back in, and we started home.
About five strides in, Oli fell the ground in tears. “I’m toooo tiiiired.”
The trip back was very slow.
But we made it. I promised mac and cheese for lunch, even a smidgen of ice-cream and cookies before lunch. I praised Bronson like it was a miracle that he was not wailing with each step, and I took deep breaths before telling Oli over and over to stand back up and keep going. After carrying him as awkwardly as you’d imagine, I set him back down, and the boys both finished the snowshoe with resolve and – amazingly – no more complaints.
There are many times that I’ve had to acknowledge that my aversion to slow is a real hinderance as a parent. Kids aren’t born with acceleration in their step. They are rarely on a mission, and when they are doing something new, the pace will be sluggish. I’ve got to learn to live in that time. If I don’t slow my pace, I can’t come alongside them and cheer them to the end. And as usual, at their pace, I saw so much more than I would at my own.