Sometimes I worry that when my kids look back on their lives, the only thing they are going to remember is me telling them to hurry up. That’s partly the Hubs fault and partly their fault*. I try to be punctual, but I’m married to a man who keeps his own internal clock and that clock? It’s always broken so we’re constantly late to things. Add in the fact that 2 and 4 year olds aren’t the quickest of individuals (unless they are running away from you in the grocery store) and I’m constantly yelling things like “Get a move on!” or “The bus is leaving- get on or stay home!” or “Pay attention and keep up, please!”
For the most part, I have an internal time table in my head. We need to be out the door by 7:45 for school. We need to leave school by 8:10 to get home and get to work on time. Dinner is at 6. The Bean’s bedtime starts at 7, Scorch’s at 7:30. And when those time lines start slipping? That’s when my shoulders start getting more tense and I start in with the hurrying up.
I’m trying to break that habit now as I’m getting sick of hearing myself saying the same things over and over. Some timelines are non-negotiable. We need to get to school on time so I can get to work on time- period. But dinner time? Does anyone really care if dinner is on the table 10 minutes late so we can spend more time enjoying the nicer weather? Nope. And bedtime- does a 15 minute slip matter in the grand scheme of things if that slip allows me to get in extra hugs or share another Superhero story with the kids. Those are the memories I want my kids to keep with them, not the nagging mom ones.
So tonight, I grabbed those extra hugs, I sang another song to Bean and I explained exactly how Anakin became Darth Vader to Scorch. It was a great night.
*I, of course, am always on time. Except this morning when I decided that instead of setting the alarm, I’d rely on Scorch (my very early riser) to get me out bed. Fool proof- except he slept in and we didn’t get out of bed until 7:27 this morning. Whoops.