Molasses

The speed at which Sprout headed toward the toilet stood in direct opposition to the urgency in her voice when she said she needed to use the potty. Her movements were painfully lethargic.

“I’m moving in slooooow motion,” Sprout said to me. There was a mischievous smile directly underneath the brunette curls of hair that has spilled down over her eyes. She didn’t care that we were in a hurry.

The expression “like molasses on a cold day” often pops into my mind when it comes to my daughter. No matter what Sprout is doing, she does it with painstaking methodical deliberation. Even when there is urgency to her action, like the potty or needed to spit toothpaste into the sink, she is at a snail’s pace. This flies in the face of the ultra-fast, always running late, trying to herd cats pace of day-to-day life in our house.

Naturally, this drives me crazy. Sprout knows this drives me crazy, which is why she is sometimes slow on purpose. When an already slow child decides to be even slower, the result can be excruciating. Moving like a glacier she will carefully pull her shirt over her head, all the while smiling at me. “I’m slooooow,” she says in a voice that sounds like a cartoon turtle.

There are times when I am flummoxed that this child can be three years-old. She seems way too smart and way too manipulative. On those mornings when both kids have school and WonderWife™ is feeding them breakfast and preparing lunches and I’m working on getting them ready for the day and Sprout is operating at the speed of a dial up computer trying to download a movie, I have to fight back the urge to throttle. I try reasoning instead. In some cases, I’m not above begging. But it’s no use, she’s slow even when she’s not doing it on purpose.

Meanwhile, the Bean buzzes around like a caffeinated hummingbird.

These are my mornings. These are my children. This is my life.