Posted by peskypippi | Posted in Advice, Childhood, Childrearing, Children, Family, Kids, Life Lessons, Memories, Mothering, Parenting | Posted on 15-06-2012
Tags: activities, children, hurry, kids, priorities, sports, summer, time
You know you’re too busy when…your child doesn’t have time to poop because you are rushing from activity to activity.
That’s when you know that you have too much going on. And that’s when you know you have turned into PSYCHO MOM.
School. Playdates. Doctor appointments. Extra curricular activities. Sports. Lessons.
When is enough enough?
It is enough when your child gets home from school, goes upstairs to poop, but you stop him mid-poop and yell, “HURRY UP! GET YOUR PIANO BOOKS! WE’RE GONNA BE LATE FOR YOUR PIANO LESSON!”
Do we want to speed through childhood and life? So much that we can’t even go to the bathroom?
This week was my breaking point. It is now time to reassess. And maybe not sign up for that extra summer camp.
Am I turning into the type of mother who over schedules her children? One of those psycho Moms that I find annoying? The kind whose children are so busy, they don’t have any down time to simply lie in the shade to discover that grass blades indeed make great whistles?
Summer is upon us. We need to drop something. Lower expectations. Something.
I used to believe in only one activity per child at a time. Then one activity turned into two. But does swim lessons count as an activity or is it a necessity? I care and want my children to be well-rounded and interesting and active. But I also want them to be happy. Are they happy when they are rushing from activity to activity? Their distressed faces tell me otherwise.
With three kids, there’s soccer, piano lessons, gymnastics, art class, horseback riding, football. Three kids multiplied by x number of activities. Now we’ve got an algebra problem. And I suck at math.
As a child, sure I had lessons–tennis, ballet, gymnastics, swimming, horseback riding, even drama and cooking class–but I also remember having lots of free time. Idle time. Play time.
Run-through-the-streets-to-chase-after-the-ice-cream-truck time. Time to loll with my friends in the shade and pick blades of grass to turn them into whistles.
Fast forward a few decades and now I’m yelling at my child to hurry up while he’s pooping? Yikes.
I don’t want to be THAT kind of Mom. I want my children to be happy. And have plenty of time for pooping and whistling.
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