Voices
type of child.
When I needed to be out the
door, she was taking her sweet
time picking out a purse and a
glittery crown.
When I needed to be somewhere five minutes ago, she insisted on buckling her stuffed
animal into a car seat.
When I needed to grab a quick
lunch at Subway, she’d stop to
speak to the elderly woman who
looked like her grandma.
When I had 30 minutes to
get in a run, she wanted me
to stop the stroller and pet every
dog we passed.
When I had a full agenda that
started at 6:00 a.m., she asked
to crack the eggs and stir them
ever so gently.
My carefree child was a gift to
my Type A, task-driven nature —
but I didn’t see it. Oh no, when you
live life distracted, you have tunnel vision — only looking ahead
to what’s next on the agenda. And
anything that cannot be checked off
the list is a waste of time.
Whenever my child caused me
to deviate from my master schedule, I thought to myself, “We don’t
have time for this.” Consequently,
the two words I most commonly
spoke to my little lover of life
RACHEL MACY
STAFFORD
HUFFINGTON
08.25.13
were: “Hurry up.”
I started my sentences with it.
Hurry up, we’re gonna be late. I
ended sentences with it. We’re going to miss everything if you don’t
hurry up. I started my day with it.
Hurry up and eat your breakfast.
I ended my day with it. Hurry up
and brush your teeth.
And although the words “hurry
up” did little if nothing to increase my child’s speed, I said
them anyway. Maybe even more
than the words, “I love you.”
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.’”
The truth hurts, but the truth
heals... and brings me closer to
the parent I want to be.
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