I have a kiddo who hates to be rushed. It absolutely sets her off. I, on the other hand, lack patience.

My constant state of functioning tends to be rushed. I am not very good at sitting still. There is always so much to do. School-work, house-work, work-work. Then there is work to still have a social life and feel like you are contributing to posterity in some way, shape or form. Oh, and every now and then, take a shower. But I also understand that time is precious and I would prefer not to spend it fussing about things that strike me as trivial.

The Worst?

For us, getting out of the house tends to be the worst, though.

Getting all persons ready in weather-appropriate (hopefully matching and also clean) garb, hair and teeth brushed and with as few tear-streaked faces as possible seems to be a challenge.

My youngest daughter has strong opinions on fashion and is almost as stubborn as her mother. She is far more emotional, though, and when she starts to cry, I swear she can smell my fear. My eldest couldn’t care less about fashion, to the point that it paralyzes her to attempt to choose her own outfit. Heaven forbid they team up and her younger sister attempts to step in and make fashion decisions. Although I love her spunk and creativity, I am starting to wonder if she is color blind.

Give Me Patience…

We were headed out the other day and I hollered up the stairs for my daughter – who notoriously gets distracted and can spend 15 minutes solid contemplating toothpaste.

“Come on, baby! We have to go!”

“Why, mommy? Are we late?”

“Well, no…not this time, I guess.” (Although, this is a fair assessment on her part – it is not uncommon.)

“Then why do we always have to hurry?”

I forget sometimes that my daughters are 5 and 6.

I mean, I don’t really forget — I was there. And that is literally the first thing people ask you whenever you tell them you have kids. How old are they?

What I mean is, I forget sometimes that they are still on chapter one and I have moved on to chapter 20. I have lived some life. I’ve developed coping skills and emotional intelligence, however marginal. I have spent some time with people, and do my best to try to understand them. I understand time.

And sometimes that’s what gets me in trouble.

I am reading a book right now; it’s through Audible. I don’t have time for much else as the majority of my spare time is spent reading children’s books to my girls. Anyway, it’s kicking my butt. When I’m in a hurry, I don’t feel peaceful, I don’t feel patient, I don’t feel kind. I don’t feel loving, I don’t feel gentle, I don’t feel self-controlled.

Those Around Me?

They don’t, either.

I am sure there is an appropriate place for hustle. And certainly, we have changed the world around us to accommodate our hustle. However, I do want to teach my girls to be peaceful, patient, kind, loving and self-controlled people by the time they get to chapter 20. I want them to be able to sort out the trivial and be able to prioritize in order to balance hustle and the rest.

But I know that patience starts with me.

And isn’t that really the hardest part about parenting?


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Rochelle is a desert-rat from Arizona who kept moving north until she hit Colorado Springs; good luck getting her to leave now. She wasted no time snagging her husband under the pretense of athleticism and outdoorsy-ness. Among other things, eleven years of marriage has yielded two beautiful daughters, Harper and Quinn. Momming these super-sassy littles is her biggest adventure yet, and provides for some serious writing material. Rochelle works out of the home also, and has a diverse background in public relations, social work, student advising, youth ministry and pyrotechnics. She is presently finishing up her MBA and is juggling all of it fairly well for a person with little to no hand-eye-coordination. She is a firm believer that it takes a village to raise a child and she is beyond grateful for hers.