The Turtle Brigade
One of the things that drives me crazy about my five year old daughter is that she’s really slow. Not slow in mind, but slow in action. She finds exceptionally clever ways to delay routine tasks like putting on shoes or getting in the car. You’ll often find me standing at the front door frustrated and shouting, “You’re making us the Turtle Brigade again!”
One of the deepest sources of my sadness is the inability to ask mom about her years of heavy parenting. Since I can’t ask her, I usually turn to the stories about mom that other people wrote on index cards at her funeral for wisdom. I recently flipped through The Cards and found this from a friend:
“I have many memories from high school at her house waiting for Erica as she finished getting ready to go out. I never minded – because these were the times I got to have ‘heart-to-hearts’ with Mrs. Neubert. She always spoke to us as if we were adults and she was one of the kids at the same time. When it was finally time to leave I always had the un-teenager thought, “I wish Erica’s mom were coming out with us.” The funny thing is I can vividly remember these chats, but I couldn’t begin to tell you about any of the things we did afterwards.” – R.
Damn it. Not only did I create the Turtle Brigade, I am the founding member. Well played, fate. Well played, mom.
So my lessons are clear:
- If you’ve ever waited for me, I’m sorry.
- My children are just holding up a mirror. When I get frustrated with them, I’m really getting frustrated with myself.
- The spaces of waiting time are often disguised as the best parts of the conversation.
I just need to be patient. In about ten years, I get to be that cool mom who almost gets asked to tag along with the teens.