Out of the mouths of babes . .

My three-year-old daughter discovered her water gun under the kitchen sink last night. Of course I was trying to accomplish multiple things at the time—grill the burgers, clear away my work things, set the table, make the salad, load the lunch dishes into the dishwasher, etc. So I told her she’d have to wait to get the toy out until we were headed to the pool.  I turned to get something from the fridge, and when I turned back around—you guessed it- she was holding the water gun in her cute little hands.


 

“Cassie, please put that back,” I scolded, “I told you we’d take it out when we’re ready to go the pool. You’ll have to be patient.”

Her little shoulders slumped as she turned back toward the cabinet. Then I saw her straighten as she turned to me and said (with authority), “Well, mom, you know I don’t like to wait.”

I don’t like to wait either—never have—but I find myself doing it often.  I thought it was bad when I was young, yet it seems I spend more and more time waiting as I get older.

I wait with all three kids at the doctor’s office, the dentist, and I’ve spent countless hours in the pick-up line at school. I wait for the twins to use the potty so we can leave for dinner, and at the restaurant I wait anxiously for the server to bring their food. And of course I always manage to pick the slowest line at the grocery store, the toll booth, airport security- you name it. If you’re ever getting in line at Wal-Mart and you see me standing there, take my advice and opt for the next open lane.

As she stood there in all of her adorable-ness, I decided not to share this with her. But I did make her put the watergun away.





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