They Say It's A Virtue

I have never been a patient person.

Now, I don't like thinking of myself as the kind of person who rushes over everyone to get through the door first, or who shouts "spit it out!" when someone is having a hard time getting to the point. I would hate to think that, in traffic, I'm the one with my hand on the horn.

I'm not. Usually.

Over the years I have developed a kind of restraint.

I especially don't want to be the kind of person who is impatient with my children. They are children. They are learning. And they need time to be able to stand on their own feet before they run.

I'm not talking about things like putting shoes on the mat, or forgetting to close the refrigerator door. Hello, those are just manners. I'm the mom, and I can point those out immediately with a little reproachfulness in my voice.

It's the other things.

This summer, I asked the boys to do 4 homework pages a day. 4 pages. Of math.

On one hand, that's a lot.

On the other hand, it's only 4 pages.

Nate spent 3 hours doing those 4 pages today.

He got most of the questions correct. It isn't that he's having trouble with the actual math. It's just that he spend most of  his time either banging his fist on the table, singing to the ceiling, or moaning "It's not fair! I'm BAD at MATH!" The whole reason I make then do things like this is so that they learn how to use their brains, how to think through a problem. When kids are young, I think they don't always do this naturally. They want you to help them. That's code for 'they want you to tell them the answer.'

While Nate was doing this, I was cooking and folding laundry and generally wishing I had a stick to poke through one of our brains, because I was sure we wouldn't both survive it.

I feel this way often when practicing piano. All of the boys do the same thing. I open the book to what they are supposed to play. Usually it's a silly piece called something like "Summer Wind" or "Grandmother's Lace." The boy will sit down, stand up, sit down. Then he'll just sit, staring at the music. Then he will take a deep breath, and place his hands above the keys.

Then he will look up, squinting at the printed notes, just to make sure they haven't changed. He looks down. He moves his hands to the correct keys. He looks up. He looks down. He moves his hands up a few notes. Then down too many notes. Then he looks up at the music again. He looks down. He takes a deep breath. He shakes his head really fast. He finally picks a note to play. He plays it with the wrong finger.

"Nate, use your two."

"Aahhhhhghhhh!" he yells, slipping his behind off the chair and onto the floor.

And the whole process begins again.