My son is slowly killing me!
It’s true. And he’s doing it with one simple little phrase “hold on, one sec!”
With that one little phrase the boy truly feels the time continuum comes to screeching halt.
Parents slow to a grind. Soccer games, swimming lessons, school, homework…everything that he should be helping to arrive to on-time is slammed with a huge “pause” button and shelved for kick-ass things like shuffling through eight-foot-high stacks of Pokemon cards, SpongeBob, and burying his sister in pillows.
Of course if I were being truthfully honest I’d take a portion of the blame. After all, I am the dumb-ass that waited until it was time to go before I ask the boy to stop what he’s doing, stand, put on a coat, and walk out of the large rectangular door.
No, I clearly must secretly enjoy the pain and still go by adult time rather than children time.
Instead I say, “OK, grab your shoes and coat and let’s go!”
Son: “Hold on, one sec daddy.”
He then immediately throws on the jittery, jerky, fast-moving motions like he’s going as fast as he can to finish what he’s doing so he can leave as per my request.
His eyes are darting all over the room like he’s trying to locate his shoes and coat, but in reality in his tiny little brain he’s thinking, “OK, if I stand here long enough looking like I might implode he’ll leave to go get my shoes for me giving me enough time to finish watching SpongeBob while I give the dog Macy’s favorite dolly to chew on while we’re gone!”
Me: “Grayson, seriously…you’re shoes are right next to you. Put them on your feet and let’s go!”
Grayson: “OK daddy…one sec!”
This is when he quickly runs up the stairs.
Me: “Oh my god!!! Where in the world are you going son?!!”
He then throws on the fake urgent mumbled voice knowing damn good and well I can’t hear a word he’s saying and that I’ll be way too lazy to go up the stairs after him.
Me: “Dude!!!!! I’m going to carry you out the door in one second!!”
He then comes running down the stairs with absolutely nothing in his hands, blows by me, and heads to the table to start shuffling through his Pokemon cards.
Which makes sense because in his mind time has literally stopped. The bitching and stomping his old man is doing is not really happening. The clock hasn’t moved one second.
He dropped the “hold on, one sec” so he’s got all the time in the world.
Meanwhile the blood has rushed to my head leaving my fingers numb, a gray hair pops to the surface of my massive head, and my heart is pounding out of my chest as I try like hell to keep my cool.
This is the point in which I shock the hell out of him by breaking his little time stopping trick, grab him by the back of his shirt and physically move him towards his shoes and the door.
Which is always met with, “OK DADDY!!! I was just about to get my shoes….geeeze!!!”
And now, I’m an asshole, the worst father ever, and in his mind, the poster-child for lack of patience.
Tomorrow I think I’ll wake him up at 5 a.m. to start getting him ready for the 8 a.m. start-of-school bell.
Think he’ll learn his lesson then?
Yeah, me either.