Eileen Loveman Daily Posting

"Come on! Let's go! We'll be late!"

Such were the words invariably yelled towards my mother's direction everytime we had to go shopping for school clothes.  Or any kind of shopping for anything, for that matter.

Always in a hurry; always yelling.  Always frustrated.  Anyone who is a parent knows the worst thing to come across during the day is a frustrated teenage girl.

It's a wonder I didn't end up with an ulcer or a nervous breakdown. Or give one to anyone else.

An internal clock ticking the minutes away in my mind, I was forever planning and scheduling. Every minute that got away, was another minute wasted.

"Will you slow down?" she would reply calmly.

"What is the hurry? The clothes/makeup/jewelery will still be there when we get there..." she'd say smiling, substituting whatever material object I just HAD to have at that moment.

Slowly and deliberately she would meander down to the kitchen. Standing at the stove she would make herself her morning tea, while the face of her apoplectic daughter twitched and watched, trying to sit quietly. Every cell in my body exploded with impatience.

I was always racing, my heart pounding with excitment at the thought of having something to do and somewhere to go.

It was a characteristic that overcame any other in my personality. As I got older, it was clear this nervous energy could be used as an accelerant, a means to distinguish my self from my peers. If you wanted something done quickly, give to me. I was a voracious reader, and this was light years before the internet. If you needed something researched, give it to me and I would find it quickly.

If you wanted something organized, however, give it to someone else. That took too much time.

As the years went by and children became part of the landscape, I began to notice something. I was missing out on the best part of having children - watching them grow.

It is a slow process that pays no mind to schedules, routines or deadlines. Along the same lines as watching paint dry and pots boil, it didn't take long for me to raise up my head and look behind.

I realized I had to stop moving so quickly and let them catch up with me.

Gone were the lists of people to visit, places to go, tasks to accomplish. The floor wasn't washed every other day, and the furniture became so dusty you could write your request for dinner across the dining room buffet.

I began telling them made up stories, and each adventure added another character as the years went by, as another child entered the family.

It was the best time of my life, and I shake my head from side to side when I think of how I very nearly missed it all.

"Come on, Mom! Lets's go! We'll be late!" my twenty-something daughter yelled to me on an afternoon, not much different from this one. She had been in the car with it running in the driveway, alerting me to the time.

"I'm coming..."  I answered softly, smiling as I shut off the computer.

"The makeup/jewelery/clothes will still be there when we get there. What's your hurry?"

I looked around at my sparkling kitchen, for now I have more time to do less. I take a picture in my mind of the matching dishclothes and placemats so part of the landscape now. The refrigerator boasts of colorful pictures drawn by the hands of my loving grandchildren, as well as the neighbor's children.

"I'm coming" I repeated with just a wisp of sadness, closing the front door behind me. 

"What's your hurry?"