Why I Allow My Son to Arrive Late to School

home insemination Kit

Being late is not in my nature. I’m the person who shows up early to every event, ready to help set up or welcome guests. My grandmother always said, “Five minutes early is on time,” and I took that to heart. But then came along my little guy, Max, who turned my punctuality on its head.

Max arrived a week late and took his sweet time entering the world after two hours of labor. As he grew, he spent countless mornings captivated by the smallest things—a shiny pebble, a puddle, or a stack of building blocks—when he was supposed to be getting ready for school. This tendency to linger challenged my structured ways.

His slow but steady pace was partly due to developmental delays. As a toddler and preschooler, Max had regular appointments with speech, occupational, and physical therapists, making our lives a whirlwind of appointments and activities. To help him thrive, I meticulously structured our days around his needs. I laid out clothes, prepped snacks, and even built in “dawdle time.” Despite my efforts, “Hurry up!” became my mantra, and I often found myself carrying him out the door to our next appointment.

After years of my anxious nudging, I hoped Max would eventually embrace my sense of time. But that didn’t happen. By third grade, his leisurely pace resulted in academic hurdles. Teachers soon discovered that Max’s brain processes information differently than most of his peers. Organizing thoughts and actions was a challenge, and dawdling seemed to be part of who he is.

With this understanding, I realized it was time to change my parenting style. However, the thought of allowing him to navigate life at his own pace, even if it meant being late, made me uneasy. No matter how his brain was wired, I believed he needed to learn time management.

So, I took the reins as usual. Max’s fourth-grade mornings became a repetitive cycle of commands: “Get dressed. Eat breakfast. Grab your backpack. Don’t leave your friends waiting!” My attempts to hurry him turned into threats, and soon our home felt like a battlefield, leading to frustration for both of us.

When I returned to work, my responsibilities multiplied, and I became more accepting of the fact that Max was growing up and becoming more independent. I realized that, while he has special needs, he didn’t rely on me the same way anymore. I decided to embrace a new approach: I let him be late for school.

One morning, I told Max, “We’re leaving at 7:45. You have until then to get ready.” At 7:40, he was still in bed. I calmly announced, “Your brother and I are leaving in five minutes; just lock the door behind you.” Our neighbors came by to walk to school, and we left without him. I glanced back, but there was no sign of Max.

As we walked the three blocks, I started to feel anxious. But when I turned around, there he was, strolling down the sidewalk, dressed and ready, with a big smile on his face. We exchanged a sweet moment as he nuzzled his head against me and said, “I love you, Mom.” “I love you too, buddy. Have a great day.” To my surprise, nobody was late.

Fast forward a few months, and our mornings have become more relaxed, even if they’re still slower. Max has learned to manage his own time and often arrives at school before the bell rings. His teacher has implemented accommodations that cater to his needs, and she believes he’s thriving. As I focus on nurturing Max’s natural rhythm, I’m reminded that these changes take time, just like everything else in parenting.

If you’re interested in more about parenting and home insemination, check out this resource. And for those considering their own journey, I highly recommend checking out this article for expert advice. For pregnancy-related insights, March of Dimes offers fantastic resources.

In summary, allowing Max to arrive late to school has transformed our mornings and helped him develop independence. Embracing his unique pace has fostered a more peaceful home environment. Sometimes, it’s all about letting go and allowing our kids to find their own rhythm.