Pacing and Patience

Sometimes I find the pace of parenting little ones to be incredibly frustrating.  They run when you want them to walk and waddle when you want them to hustle.  Last weekend I had an experience that I found beyond irritating, both because of how it went and because of my reaction to it.

I have been trying to get Spike motivated to ride his big wheel since he got it last year.  But the kid just sees no reason to learn to pedal.  Even seeing other big kids fly down the sidewalk last summer didn't peak his interest.

Sunday seemed like the perfect day to give it a go once again.  It was sunny, above 80*, and Spike was finally responding to my encouragement to give it a try.  It started out as one of those fun hallmark moments, with me giving him a push and cheering him on as he kept his feet on the pedals and made a little progress, laughing all the way.  But at the farthest point from our house, he decided he was done.

"Come on, Isaac.  Keep practicing!  You were doing it!  Pretty soon you're going to be flying down the sidewalk, pedaling faster than I can even run!"  But no.  He just wanted to walk.  He was too hot.  He was too tired.  He had 1,000 random but very pressing questions that he needed to ask me.

He eventually sat on the bike again, but he walked his feet along side of him instead of trying to pedal.  I'll bet it took us five times as long to get home as it did to get to the end of the street.  I just had no patience for his lack of enthusiasm and I was frustrated with myself for being frustrated with him.

Monday I started out crabby again, just tired of all the non-parenting tasks I have to do -- like washing dishes, checking email, doing laundry, writing in my prayer journal, taking a shower -- having to be interrupted eight times before I'm done.  I had little motivation to teach or entertain the boys.

Thank God (for a truly do think it is a gift from Him) they really were quite easy despite my mood.  That afternoon, while Isaac was at school, Anders played in the back yard and obeyed the rules (1. Stay where I can see you and 2. Keep the sand in the sandbox) so well that I was able to wash dishes and make dinner while watching him from the kitchen window.  He practiced hitting the ball off the T over and over again, he collected pine cones in a bucket, he handed me a button through the window about 80 times.  The couple times that he went too far, I'd say, "Stay where I can see you, bud," and he'd go, "Okay, Mom!" and come right back.  Amazing. 

Just when I think I can't take the day in, day out monotony anymore, the sun peaks through the clouds, both literally and figuratively, and my patience is restored.