A week ago I was standing at my kitchen sink, washing the dishes, when my five-year old son, Spencer, looked up at me from the kitchen table and said, “You’re always in a rush, Mom.”

It was one of those moments when you know you have to choose one of two paths: Path Number One would have involved acting as though Spencer was simply confused, and, in a tone of parental superiority, illustrating my opinion that I was not in a rush with a definition of what “rushing” means and examples of instances during which I was not rushing.  I’ll admit it: I felt a strong urge to follow Path Number One.

But then I looked into Spencer’s eyes.  He wasn’t being bratty or difficult.  His intent was not to wound or manipulate or to make me feel guilty.  He was just calling it like he saw it, so I had to recognize that he was expressing his own truth.  Which led me to Path Number Two.

“Okay,” I admitted to myself.  ”I am often in a rush.  Rushing is not good, for Spencer or for me, and I will stop it right now. I will I will I will.”  I turned off the sink, wrested myself away from that magnetic pile of dirty dishes, and went and sat next to Spencer at the kitchen table.  I smiled.  I willed patience, attention, and affability onto my expression.  I looked Spencer right in the eyes, and gushed, “Now I’m not rushing.”

“You’re still rushing” he said.

I stood up.  I jumped up and down a few times, shaking out my arms and legs and neck, just like an athlete “loosening up” before the big game.  I then laid myself down, on the kitchen floor, arms and legs akimbo, yogi-savasena style, and took a long and serious breath, replete with calm and non-harried intentions, charged with stringent serenity.

“Now,” I said slowly, “Now, I am not rushing.”

Without missing a beat, Spencer laid down on the kitchen floor next to me.  He took his own deep breath, turned his beautiful little head towards mine, and said, “You still look like you’re rushing, Mom.”

And then I had to look away from him, because my eyes were welling up with tears, because I knew he was right, and because what I really wanted to do right then was stand at the kitchen sink and finish washing the dishes.

♥

Why did I have such a compulsive and joyless desire to finish the dishes?

Why am I constantly checking my e-mail, instant message, text, and facebook accounts?

Why did I recently begin obsessing about my ex-boyfriend, ask my prince-of-a-current boyfriend to move out, but keep dating me, and why do I lately so often worry that my food contains small insects, decide that it really doesn’t but then, having lost my appetite, throw it away and instead eat a bowl of plain Cheerios in milk?

Why am I finally noticing that noise that keeps me from hearing my own voice, the noise I generate myself, and why am I unable to quiet it?

Why would I rather do the dishes than sit with my son?

Why would I rather watch TV than have sex with my loving boyfriend?

Why do I need to move faster and faster and faster, when I have not the first idea of where I am going?

Who is timing me?  Where is it so important I get to so quickly?  Why am I in such a rush?

SMFD