twenty-one seconds

This morning as we were rushing out the door – we’re always rushing out the door – the littlest cried, “I don’t have my hat!” She was already buckled in so I darted back inside to grab it. It was in my bathroom, of course, because who doesn’t leave their hat in someone else’s bathroom? As I was coming back out, my big girl shouted, “Can you get my Amelia Earhart hat?” Ugh! She didn’t even say please. (She’s going to be Amelia Earhart for a school presentation in the spring and we’re grabbing bits and pieces of costume as we go along).

One of my biggest parenting goals is to teach my children to be self-sufficient while also having enough self-confidence to ask for help when they get stuck and really can’t do it on their own. Dancing around the details of exactly how to do that, I often find myself tripping over my own feet. It’s a major struggle for me as a mother, and I get so incredibly frustrated with them about it. So when she called out to me, my initial reaction dripped with bitter extract de annoyance. I caught myself just before I screamed at her to get it herself. Then I decided that maybe I should just pretend that I never heard her. If she went in to get it, it would take forever. If I went back in, it’d probably take half as long but still…we were late! Late, I tell you! But, ya know…we’re always late, I thought to myself. So as my foot hit the last step, I turned sharply and dashed back up the stairs.

It took me twenty-one seconds to run up the stairs, grab the hat, and come back down. Twenty-one seconds. I know because I counted. And with each second I realized that we were going to be late anyway, so what would twenty-one seconds matter? Or thirty-one? Or even ninety-one or more? We’re not talking about a life or death situation here. Just preschool drop-off.

I hit my arm on the car door as I jumped into my seat, mumbled a bad word, and tossed the hat back to her. She smiled and said thanks. As I drove I started thinking about how many times I’ve asked people to do things that I’m perfectly capable of doing myself, of how many times I’ve quickly tossed out a, “Hey! Could you grab my (phone, drink, book, etc.)?” It doesn’t mean that I’m not self-sufficient. It doesn’t mean that I’m rude and lazy. It’s just something we do for the ones we love.  And I want to teach my children that, too. Maybe the dance is beginning to get just a little bit easier.

(P.S. She didn’t even wear the damn hat).