Then one fateful day, things changed. We'd just picked my older
daughter up from kindergarten and were getting out of the car. Not going
fast enough for her liking, my older daughter said to her little
sister, "You are so slow." And when she crossed her arms and let out an
exasperated sigh, I saw myself -- and it was a gut-wrenching sight.
I was a bully who pushed and pressured and hurried a small child who simply wanted to enjoy life.
My eyes were opened; I saw with clarity the damage my hurried existence was doing to both of my children.
Although my voice trembled, I looked into my small child's eyes and
said, "I am so sorry I have been making you hurry. I love that you take
your time, and I want to be more like you."
Both my daughters looked equally surprised by my painful admission,
but my younger daughter's face held the unmistakable glow of validation
and acceptance.
"I promise to be more patient from now on," I said as I hugged my
curly-haired child who was now beaming at her mother's newfound promise.
It was pretty easy to banish "hurry up" from my vocabulary. What was
not so easy was acquiring the patience to wait on my leisurely child.
To help us both, I began giving her a little more time to prepare if we
had to go somewhere.
When my daughter and I took walks or went to the store, I allowed her to
set the pace. And when she stopped to admire something, I would push
thoughts of my agenda out of my head and simply observe her. I witnessed
expressions on her face that I'd never seen before. I studied dimples
on her hands and the way her eyes crinkled up when she smiled. I saw the
way other people responded to her stopping to take time to talk to
them. I saw the way she spotted the interesting bugs and pretty flowers.
She was a Noticer, and I quickly learned that The Noticers of the world
are rare and beautiful gifts. That's when I finally realized she was a
gift to my frenzied soul.
My promise to slow down was made almost three years ago, at the same time I began my journey to let go of daily distraction
and grasp what matters in life. And living at a slower pace still takes
a concerted effort. My younger daughter is my living reminder of why I
must keep trying. In fact, the other day, she reminded me once again.
The two of us had taken a bike ride to a sno-cone shack while on
vacation. After purchasing a cool treat for my daughter, she sat down at
a picnic table delightedly admiring the icy tower she held in her hand.
Suddenly a look of worry came across her face. "Do I have to rush, Mama?"
I could have cried. Perhaps the scars of a hurried life don't ever completely disappear, I thought sadly.
As my child looked up at me waiting to know if she could take her
time, I knew I had a choice. I could sit there in sorrow thinking about
the number of times I rushed my child through life... or I could
celebrate the fact that today I'm trying to do thing differently.
I chose to live in today.
"You don't have to rush. Just take your time," I said gently. Her whole face instantly brightened and her shoulders relaxed.
And so we sat side-by-side talking about things that
ukulele-playing-6-year-olds talk about. There were even moments when we
sat in silence just smiling at each other and admiring the sights and
sounds around us.
I thought my child was going to eat the whole darn thing -- but when
she got to the last bite, she held out a spoonful of ice crystals and
sweet juice for me. "I saved the last bite for you, Mama," my daughter
said proudly.
As I let the icy goodness quench my thirst, I realized I just got the deal of a lifetime.
I gave my child a little time... and in return, she gave me her last
bite and reminded me that things taste sweeter and love comes easier
when you stop rushing through life.
-- via Maile
Saturday, August 10, 2013
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