Slow

Take one.

Yesterday Ben and I went on a walk in the river valley.  I wanted to check out the changing leaves for a photo shoot.  As we left the house, I called to Boris, “we won’t be long” and headed out the door.  We drove down to the dog park close to our home and began to walk.  “Come on Ben!” I called as he crouched down to pick up and examine some rocks.  “Hurry up!” I cried as he stood still, watching the leaves fall from the trees.  I sat on a bench and watched him run back and forth, picking up a handful of rocks then throwing them into the pond.  “Two more minutes, then we have to head back home.”  

Here I was, outside on a beautiful Saturday morning with my curious little boy and I felt rushed, as if I should be somewhere else, doing something more productive.  I was fully conscious of the fact that there was nothing really urgent to get home to but I still could not let go and fully enjoy the moment with him.  

Then I began to wonder, if I feel rushed, does he?  Because the thing is, it wasn’t just yesterday morning that I felt that sense of urgency, that tense feeling in my body.  I feel like that most of the time.  I feel like I’m always running back home to feed someone or put someone down for a nap or throw in a load of laundry.  Even though I’m home with my children, I still feel like I’m hurrying them through their day.  One of the biggest reasons I chose to stay home with them was so that I didn’t feel like I was running a marathon each day just trying to get them fed and dressed and to daycare and so on.  I wanted to truly enjoy their childhood, to take it slow and to let them be kids.  It’s the reason I only sign Ben up for one activity at a time, so we aren’t always on the go, so that we can lay around all day in our pajamas if we want to.  So then why do I still feel like we’re running a race?

Does everyone feel this way or is it just me?  Do our children feel hurried?  Is that why they throw themselves to the ground in frustration when you tell them to stop playing and put on their shoes right now or dig their heels into the ground at bedtime?  Is it because we’re moving too fast, doing too much, expecting more than they are capable of?

Take two.

This morning, Ben and I went on another walk in the river valley.  I promised myself I would bite my tongue, that I wouldn’t say “come on” or “let’s go” or “hurry up” a million times.  I promised I would move at his pace.  I kept having to remind myself that although it would only take me 10 minutes to walk to the end of the path and back it takes a two and a half year old a lot longer.  And that that’s okay.  I brought my camera along because I can get lost behind the lens in the same way he can as he walks along that gravel path.  It was hard, but every time I felt the need to rush him back home I took a few deep breaths and watched Ben enjoy himself in the sunshine.  Because truthfully, he could teach me a thing or two about taking it slow and about being present in the moment.