Sweet and Slow
It was poignant to observe myself through the movements of another. Interesting because I saw in him, everything of me, just more clearly, more compassionately.
Herb was the parent in charge this morning. He kindly woke early to make the kids breakfast, help with lunches, while I woke early to get to work. I was in the home working, so it was almost as if I was a silent observer to the morning’s movement and transitions. I worked, but at the same time watched and felt as the girls woke, sounds filled the house. Laughter. Conversation. At times arguments and negotiations. Children have their own sweet and slow pace. I saw it clearly in contrast to the timeliness, at times the rush, we feel as adults.
As time began slipping away, I could see the urgency grow for the girls to be ready, breakfast eaten, shoes on. However, they seemed lost in their sweet cadence. Urgency almost had no place in their world. As an observer, it was beautiful, though as the parent in charge, I could equally sense and understand the frustration.
The sweet and slow cadence became harried and edgy.
I was so beautifully reminded this morning that I do not want to take the luxury of time away from my girls too soon. Sure timeliness is a critical skill in day to day life, and I do want them to be ready for school on time. So perhaps for now that means that I, we, wake them earlier so that they have the space to linger, to laugh, to cry, to day dream as they eat their breakfast. I don’t want to rush them away from their imaginations and their simple curiosities. This quality of being and inquiring is essential to a life well and fully lived. If I rush them too soon, the magic they experience and know will fade. As a parent, I want the mystery and the magic to be alive for my girls for as long as they are willing to be with it. A lifetime perhaps.