This
Thursday, we woke up to glorious sunshine after a rainstorm
overnight. The perfect conditions for a puddle hunt! I wrapped Toddler up in a fleece, puddle suit and wellies and myself in a big
coat and wellies and we went for a little walk to a very country-like
road not far from our house. "Pudda huntin!" Toddler repeated over and over. We haven't been for many walks without the
pushchair recently, and it made me realise something.
I'm too
impatient.
Or rather,
I'm still too impatient. I
knew I used to be – for all of those years I commuted to work, I
would dodge around my fellow pedestrians who were just going too darn
slow for me. I would get wound up at work about the time it took to
get responses to e-mails, sitting on hold on the phone, waiting for
other colleagues to do something so I could get on with what I needed
to do. Because working life is so frantic, so busy, I felt like there
was not a moment to lose. I rushed through my days, weeks, months and
they disappeared without me even noticing.
And
then I became a mum. Five months into my maternity leave the
opportunity to take voluntary redundancy came up, and I decided that
a little bit more time off with my daughter would be nice so I took
it. She's nearly two now and I'm still a stay at home mum, having
decided that that is the best place for me right now. So I thought
that I'd slowed down, wound down from the pace of working life. But
as I walked along the street with my daughter, I realised I'm still
like a coiled spring. I was impatient to get to the puddles, whereas Toddler just wanted to look at what else she could see on the way. As
we walked I made myself calm down and notice things I'd normally rush
past, because she was noticing them too.
"Butterfly!"
she cried, going past the spot where, six weeks ago, we saw a
butterfly lying flat on the ground. She remembers it every time we go
past.
"Listen, what can you hear?" I said as I heard the clip-clop of
horses' hooves coming up a path nearby. She froze and stared as the
horses trotted past us.
"Number
1!" she shouted, as she spotted a tile on somebody's wall.
"Somebody else's number 1!"
"Triangle,"
she said, pointing at a manhole cover. (Actually, she said, "tida,"
but I understood her!) "Rectangle," again pointing at
another cover. Who knew a puddle hunt could turn into a Maths lesson?
And,
for a bit of balance, some literacy. "Sssss!" she hissed
pointing at the letter S on a street sign. She tried some other
letters, but struggled as they were capitals and she's used to lower
case. Still, that street sign kept her entertained for about 3
minutes!
It's
a cliche, but sometimes children teach us as much as we teach them.
In a busy, rushed, impatient world, I have been blessed with the
opportunity to experience the world at a toddler's pace again. Now is
the time to slow down.
(We did make it to the puddles, by the way! And she rushed around trying to splash in every one. OK, maybe a toddler's pace isn't always that slow!)
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