My four-year-old burst out of his room, toothpaste smeared across his shirt, and his sneakers mismatched on his feet. My younger son followed closely behind, his hair and shirt damp.
“What’s going on?” I asked, feeling a mix of irritation and confusion.
We were already running behind schedule, and now it seemed we’d be even later. A knot tightened in my stomach. “What have you done?”
My four-year-old, blissfully unaware of my frustration, replied, “I went potty, got dressed, and brushed my teeth!” He bounced with joy.
He had accomplished all these tasks independently, without any reminders from me. This was what I had been encouraging him to do for ages. This was a positive development. In fact, it was a wonderful milestone.
“Breathe, Emily. Just breathe,” I reminded myself. (No, I don’t have a pet. I was addressing my own racing thoughts.) It was essential for me to steady myself, and quickly. I recalled a friend’s post on social media:
“Mia came to me, all excited and proud, and then she broke a brand-new crayon in two. ‘Mia!’ I exclaimed, ‘Why did you break that crayon?!’ She looked at me wide-eyed, her former joy fading, and then she burst into tears, saying between sobs, ‘I just wanted to show you how strong I was!’”
Mia’s crayon incident struck a chord. Hadn’t I learned something from that moment?
My son wasn’t trying to make us late; he was simply trying to be independent. In fact, he had even taken the time to style his little brother’s hair, which explained the wetness.
“Breathe,” I thought again. I took a deep breath, and the tightness in my stomach began to ease.
Changing his shoes was easy enough. And let’s be honest, his shirt would likely end up dirtier as the day went on anyway. This wasn’t a major crisis; in fact, it was a great day.
The truth was, we weren’t running late because of him. We were running late because I had three little ones to manage. We were running late because I hadn’t woken everyone up early enough. We were running late because I had just finished making lunches and filling water bottles. Life happens. And as if on cue, life happened again: my toddler squatted, his face turning red as he grunted.
Now we were really late.
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Summary
In a hectic morning filled with chaos, a mother reflects on how her four-year-old’s independent actions, though frustrating at first, ultimately highlight milestones in his development. She realizes the importance of patience and understanding in parenting, learning to embrace the messiness of life.