I understand the struggle of getting dressed while Mickey Mouse Clubhouse is on, I really do, because when we had cable (ah the good ‘ol days) it was physically impossible for me to get out of the house on time if Keeping Up With the Kardashian's was on. It’s just not possible. You can’t look away. Which is why I totally get why, after asking Dawson three times to get dressed, he’s standing in front of the TV in his underwear, holding his shirt in one hand, his boy-parts in the other, completely transfixed on how Goofy and Donald are going to bake a cake in time for Daisy’s birthday. It was a stressful episode, (spoiler alert: they bake the cake just in time) Getting dressed shouldn’t take 20 minutes, but it can. And it does.
Then there is the teeth brushing. Which is an Olympic event in itself. I’m holding Sawyer, attempting to squeeze bubble gum toothpaste onto a Paw Patrol toothbrush, when I remember that HE wanted to do the toothpaste and now it’s the end of the world. And when the teeth do finally get brushed, there is always spit or water or toothpaste on the shirt that took 20 minutes to find and put on and I’ll be damned if we’re gonna go through the process of finding another shirt. He’ll be fine. Other kids at school probably have toothpaste on their shirt too, right?
Then there’s the getting in the car. It’s me juggling Sawyer and the keys and my tea (which is optional but it’s my one thing that makes me feel like a human and I want my tea!) and his backpack and the diaper bag. And the scientific process that goes into which door to open first to get the car running and getting Sawyer in while making sure Dawson doesn’t get kidnapped or hit by a car, etc. Why, for the love of everything sacred, does it take so long for him to get in the car?
Because he found a stick. He chased a bird. He wanted to talk about how the exhaust coming out of the pipes is like a rocket ship. And he wants to rearrange the Disney Annual Pass Holder magnets on the car. And he wants to tell me the letters on my license plate. Again. And now Sawyer is crying and I just want to go and I plead “Come onnnnn……!” in a tone that is meaner and more annoyed than I’d ever let anyone else use with my kid without punching them in the face. And he gets in, and I know I have a choice: Buckle him in and hope he forgets his new found independence and that he can do it “all by himself” or let him do it and be sitting in the driveway, watching him try, while Sawyer screams, for 28 more hours. He eventually gets buckled, but it’s rarely without making a scene.
And then we get to school. We are so close. It’s like running a marathon and you finally see the finish line and you’re trying your best to get there, but everything starts to happen in slow motion. He lets you unbuckle him (Hallelujah) but instead of opening his door and getting out like a normal person (which he can’t do because of the kid locks you put there for his protection but you wish he would anyway,) he climbs into the front seat, bumping Sawyer’s car seat and waking him up, pushes the button for the Hazard lights, sits down in the sea and says “Mommy pretend that I’m driving and…”
“Dawson Come ONNNNNNN guy!” I say like a three year old “Let’s GOOOOOO….” I plead, waving my arms in the universal way that signals “let’s get this thing MOVING, people!”
He sighs and jumps out, and we walk into school He hugs me and kisses me and runs to play, and I take a deep breath as I turn off the hazards and head for home. And then I remember the article. And I feel guilty and want to turn around and play pretend and (pretend to) care more about the sticks he found.
Because he’s never going to be three and a half again. Today was the last day he will ever be this young. Tomorrow he will be older. And one day I’ll buckle him in and it’ll be the last time I ever do it for him. And one day I’ll take him somewhere and it’ll be the last time he needs me to take him somewhere because he will be able to do it “all by himself.”
So Monday morning came along, and I made a commitment not to rush him. If I needed to be on time, it was my responsibility as the adult and the parent to factor in his three-year old-ness into my plans. I got up earlier, used my time wiser, and didn’t say “Hurry up, let’s go, come on” or any other phrase that made him move faster. If I needed to move on to the next thing, I gave him a heads up (after this song we’re going to do shoes and socks!) I, as the adult, thought a few steps ahead and was proactive in preventing the issues that caused so much stress and tension in the morning, like “let’s take your shirt off while we brush your teeth.” When we got outside, I listened as the showed me how to break a stick with your foot, and giggled with him as we looked at our distorted reflections in the car. We got in, and although he struggled with his buckle, he did it and he was so proud of himself. It made my heart soar to see the sense of accomplishment in his face. He felt confident and independent and demonstrated the resilience and determination we try so hard to instill in him. If I would have said “No Dawson, let me do it, we have to go,” I would have missed that special moment. And he would have too. When I dropped him off at school, I was happy. He was happy.
Tuesday through Friday went off without a hitch. I didn’t realize that mornings were so hard because I wasn’t doing enough to make them easy. I am the one who decides when we get up when the TV goes off and on, and when we leave. I made a few changes in our morning routine, and I made an effort to let him be three. To enjoy his questions and the priceless time we have together. It took a little more effort on my part, but making small adjustments in my schedule and in my attitude made a big difference for him. I changed how I talked to him, which changed how he felt and how he talked to me.
The weekends were a little harder because we had more time together, not just the mornings. But I had a few days of practice under my belt and only once when he was channeling his inner snail and coming down the stairs at the world’s slowest speed, did I slip and say “Dawson LET’S GO!” But other than that, each day got easier and I felt like we had a relaxed and stress-free weekend.
Sawyer was getting fussy and we were quite a walk away from our car today, but Dawson insisted on walking like a crab down the entire length of the beach. He was laughing so hard, and squealing when the waves would get close to him. Normally I would have said “Guy, please get up and walk normally. Sawyer’s crying and we have to get back to our car.” But instead, I sh-sh-shed Sawyer a little more and let my silly little crab be three. It’s gonna be over in a blink, and I have to remember to enjoy every moment. Even the moments that seem like they take forever.
I don’t want him to feel like I’m rushing him all the time. He’s only been here for three years, so everything is still so new to him. People didn’t rush me through being three, and he deserves the same. He deserves to laugh at distorted reflections and pretend to drive and break sticks and watch cartoons with his hands in his pants like we all used to do without someone barking at him to do it faster.
His life will have plenty of deadlines and timelines and reasons to rush. Instead of exposing him to all of that so early, I choose to be intentional about letting him take his time, and my time, to explore and play and be silly. Time flies fast enough as it is, I don’t need to rush it along any faster.
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