Snail Pace for All


Tuesday was day two of me being the only adult at home with the boys. BoySsssss. Still love that plural s. For half of the day, Ryan wore boots on the wrong feet ... boots that I put on him. Well, I've always had problems telling my left from my right. 

We were going to go to story time, and I was very proud of myself for everyone being dressed and ready to go at the right time for us to walk there and make it in time.  We went to get the stroller in the garage, but there was no stroller. Oops! I had put the stroller in the car, and Chris had taken the car to work. Ever so confident from my self-esteem boosting ability to have everyone dressed, I decided that we would still walk to story time. Ha!

Have you ever tried to walk anywhere with a toddler with a short amount of time on the clock? It took me until the fifth time in two sidewalk blocks that we stopped to pick up a leaf with his mittened hands to close the book on making it to story time. He can stand while everyone else sits next week.
The kindest lady that I had just briefly met at a dinner pulled over to give me an umbrella since it was slightly drizzling, and she didn't know if it was going to rain hard soon. South Bend is super nice.




With an hour until we would meet Chris at the Basilica, we just walked with no purpose at all except to go at a toddler pace, as snail pace of a pace it is. There were no hurry ups, no come ons. It was my favorite part of the day, and I'm pretty sure it was Ryan's, too. He was just as content to roam from one end of the sidewalk to the next in search of nonexistent 'corns (those grow on oak trees not maple trees, Sweetie), to climb stairs leading to nowhere and to lift his beanie back that was not blocking his view at all so he could tip his head back, furrow his brow and search for curls (squirrels) in the tree. 

It really is nice to know among the daily napocalypses and periodic aggressive adjusting to being a sibling that makes me pull out my hair (and it really can't afford to be pulled on account of the pending postpartum hair loss ...), Ryan is happy to go at a snail pace. He isn't telling me to hurry up and be a perfect mom. Conor certainly isn't.  They just want me to be their mom. I don't have to become a wonder mom to two over night. 

But I do have to be able to carry two at a time after ten blocks.

How was Conor dealing with the toddler pace? Just fine, indeed.