A Moment of Weakness

We got to daycare / school without any fuss, but once inside, I slowly starting losing grip. Kids don’t follow time concepts. To them, everything is playtime—time as we know it is illusory. I am not condoning this, I think it’s great and 90% of the time I am onboard and can support that ideology. The problem with that though, is it goes against the social norms and expectations grain—sometimes, abiding by that means you’re bending if not breaking the rules.

For instance, we’re all expected to be at work for a certain time, and end at a relative one (at least as a general rule). For some, there’s flexibility to that rule generally speaking, that’s the hard rule. Not being on time, a lack of punctuality, tardiness—will get you in trouble.

I personally am in a privileged position to have a very flexible schedule. I am fortunate and grateful to have the ability to take a very casual and nonchalant approach in the morning. More often than not, we are the sloths; slowly, but surely, we will get from point A to B. The tortoise wins the race for us. This has been a secret ingredient to keeping a calm and cool + collected attitude, which has resulted in *mostly* stress free mornings. Being on a rigid schedule in the morning with kids, is hard and stressful. Why? Because as already attested to, concepts of time are not kid friendly. Kids like need to take their time, and well, as parents, the science says we should encourage autonomy. And so that we do. Autonomy requires what? Time.

So what happened this morning? I guess, one out of a hundred or so times, I get irked by the innate "lambineux"-ness of kids, it can feel like watching paint dry. That feeling where the extreme slowness to do even the most basic of things has you yearning to chew your finger nails or scratch the itch of some equivalent compulsion.

At odds with seemingly most if not all other sibling included families at our daycare, as opposed to waiting outside, Zoé (our oldest daughter), follows us in. At first, I guess by suspecting a protocol thing, I went against my instinct and uncomfortably asked her to wait outside. After 2–3 times of feeling really uneasy about that though, I had her follow us instead—it feels irresponsible not to (at least to me).

I only mention Zoé tagging along vs. not to give context. Honestly, despite it being the right call two years ago and probably still now (at 5 years old), the "tagging along" is sometimes a source of frustration. As much of a sweetheart as she is, she’s insistant on helping Jade (our youngest daughter, 2 years old) do just about everything. And, as you might suspect, Jade insists on not getting any help, she wants to do it herself. Naturally, this creates friction—minor bickering, constant negotiating (who will ring the doorbell, who will carry school bag A and school bag B, who will dress and undress who, etc).

Getting into the school, is easy and routine, no fuss. The slowness frustration though starts in the dressing room, the « casier / vestiaire ». Today, they negotiated one shoe each, which they eventually managed to do, but at a torturing turtle’s pace. Once finally undressed and redressed, we make our way to the next stop—the washroom, to wash Jade’s hands.

The hand washing process, is always a bit cringing. For some reason, despite me calmly repeating with each pump "ok, that's enough", one if not both of them, will repeatedly press the soap pump no less than 10 times. Despite the soap having landed on the counter and being there for the taking, it takes another seemingly really long time to actually swipe it up. Instead, Jade is looking in the mirror as her hands hover in and out of the water, she has a half grin half smile on her face, a sort of dazed and confused look. All the while, Zoé is equally trying to encourage Jade to "take the soap" (usually by interrupting me, many times). At this point, I guess I’m feeling "restless", or mildly frazzled maybe.

I eventually move in to help her find the soap, and repeat to her "take the soap, .. and wash your hands please". Zoé, meanwhile, is practically glued / gripped to my leg for reasons unknown. She is trying to help but honestly is just in the way. I tell her "Zoé, thank you for the paper [brown hand drying paper] but please, hand it over I will take it from here", a proposal she does not surrender to without a few repeated pleas, each one with an increased firmness in voice tonality / pitch.

We eventually successfully wash her hands, a 45 second task that takes us about 5 minutes. At this point, I am feeling frustrated.

Next up, the "bye have a nice day I love you" step.

I tell Zoé "ok give your sister a hug and kiss, say bye". They proceed by bear hugging one another, and giving one another all sorts of hugs and kisses. I have no problem with that, obviously, the problem is their relentlessness about it and their inability to hear my voice when I say "ok [pause], ok [pause], that’s good / enough" after about the 5th and eventually 10th time alluding to "move it along". I eventually have to lean in with a soft smile to unglue them because they are too giddy and lethargic to do so on their own.

I give Jade her kiss and hug, tell her "byeee—have a nice day—I love you!". I do this as her and Zoé are still connected at the waist (and still giddier than ever). Eventually, I am one foot out the door inviting Zoé to join me, the longer we dally the higher the risk of the drop off hysteria. Eventually, now *quite* frustrated (feeling that tightness in one’s chest when he/she is stressed), Zoé parades her way out swaying her arms low to the ground still giddying. I manage to close the door behind us, but almost simultaneously, I see Jade’s little face and raised arms pressed against the door glass with the dreaded look of hysteria (oh boy, here we go). Since I was still holding the door handle (not yet at the point of no return), I gently reopen the door and sympathetically ask her what’s wrong but she is inconsolable, beyond herself—there is no voice of reason at this point.

I feel flustered. I feel the heat in my face as I try to remain calm and collected to de-escalate the situation. Zoé, meanwhile, half concerned and half still giddy, is gripped to my arm or at least pressed to my body seemingly dangling off my arm. The feeling I am experiencing is "I need space to deal with what feels like a mini crisis".

I tell Zoé sternly, "Zoé, [long pause in speech] please—I need space. Please just wait over there. Or, wait just outside the door please".

The sheer panic and hysteria "drop-offs" used to happen a lot with Zoé, but with Jade, they’re rare. I’m reminded of the torturous feelings and emotions it causes, to walk away from your child who is inconsolable. The limp body and arms outstretched attempt to evade the caretakers hold as she does her best to tame the situation. I try to console Jade of course, but she isn’t having it. The only thing to do, against all instincts, is to slowly turn around and walk away, as you swallow that big lump in your throat. Eventually you have to let the daycare provider(s) console her—going back will only make matters worse. My heart swells in pain, I am momentarily gut wrenched.

The story ends with me rushing the drop off with Zoé, and Zoé asking me why I am rushing—she’s mildly upset, that I am frustrated. Fortunately, this kind of morning is exceptional for us. I explain to Zoé why I’m rushing, why I’m frustated and a bit dissapointed. I feel guilty to have behaved / be behaving this way, but my emotions and feelings are getting the best of me and I can’t help myself in that very moment.

I finally get back to the car, close the door and take in the silence with a few deep breathes. I am experiencing feelings of embarassment and shame to name a couple. Generally speaking, I feel like a big old turd. I failed to keep my composure and comfort my girls, we said goodbye not in the best of terms.

I was *not* my best self, not my finest moment. It’s ok though—shake it off, I tell myself.

I remind myself that after years of continued and renewed practice, I am wise enough to know that these things happen *to all of us*. As mindful as I am, and as practicing of mindfulness + equanimity + continuous exercise + everything similar and in between, none of us are perfect—we all have our moments of weakness. It’s the recognition, and the vow to be even just a little bit better next time, that’s important. Sorry Jade-e-poo, and Zoé polowski—I can’t wait to see you soon and smother you both with big hugs and kisses and tickles until you beg me to stop! And when you do, I won’t—a little loving kindness wrath of your own medicine.

<3

The moral of the story? Try your best, to remain calm and patient and unphased by the small stuff, the silly things. But at the same time, be cognizant that you’re only human and as a human, no matter who you are—you too will from time to time fall short of being your best self. When that happens, reflect, forgive, and forget.

Don’t beat yourself up, don’t dwell. Instead, learn from your mistakes. We become wiser and better every time we take the time to actively pause, reflect, and acknowledge our past missteps, with humble humility and honesty.