Posted by: Modern Mom | January 9, 2014

The Sloth and the Hummingbird

No, this is not the title of an Aesop’s Fable. It’s the animal personalities I have chosen to represent my children. Now, before you judge and say something like, “OMG she’s comparing her children to animals! What kind of mother does that?” This one. They are animals. Come to my house at dinner time some day. You’ll see. Animals.

My firstborn, bless him, is the hummingbird. He’s like me. Flighty, quick-moving, easily distracted, cant’ sit in one place too long or he’ll die. That happens to hummingbirds, right? He’s all over the place. Anyway… He drives me crazy. Probably because he’s like me. Funny how that works.

He talks constantly. I mean, constantly. Nobody else can get a word in. It’s all this energy he has. He just buzzes with it. Sometimes it’s really cute and endearing and other times it’s simply exhausting just keeping up. I suppose my issue with the talking is that I used to do all the talking and now I hardly get to say two words. Hm. I’m guessing that’s why I blog. *wink*

The energy comes out in other ways, too. Sometimes he just can’t contain the crazy anymore and just busts out some crazy, spastic dance moves at random. Often accompanied by bursts of extremely loud noise or singing. That’s hilarious… most of the time. Not like, in the bank line. I’m pretty sure the old lady at the teller’s counter hates us. She doesn’t even give us stickers anymore. She probably sees us coming and thinks, “Oh no, it’s that mom.” Yep.

Not all aspects drive me crazy, though. If I say it’s time to go, he’s busily putting his shoes and coat on and out the door. Atta kid. I love that. And when he decides he’s motivated enough to be helpful, he’s extremely helpful. Sometimes I run out of things for him to help with. Pretty sweet. But once he’s lost interest, he flits off to something else and good luck getting him back. Oh well. I’ll take what I can get.

Then there’s my sloth. Ah, sweet boy. I think he thinks the meaning of “hurry up” is, take your time, get there eventually, smell the roses on the way. He is the reason we are ever late. Me and the hummingbird are always ready on time. This one, he’s more like his daddy. They both drive me nuts.

When I say it’s time to go, my little sloth finds something interesting to do that has nothing to do with getting ready to go. The words trigger something in his brain that slows his movements to the point of appearing to be in a slow motion film. (My other son is time-lapse, in case you were wondering. But now I’m mixing metaphors.) He slips into energy-saving mode and moves like, well, a sloth.

My sloth strolls when we go for walks. Who is this kid? He’s three. He acts like he’s 73 sometimes.  My hummingbird sprints. I, being as old and tired as I am, no longer sprint. I’m somewhere closer to a stroll. Maybe an amble.

He is exceptionally slow at getting ready for bed. I think this may be by design. I can’t prove that, however. He insists that I help him get ready. (Seriously, this has to stop. He’s 3 and a half.) And, even though I’m helping him, it still seems to take an exorbitant amount of time. He finds little distractions. He pushes his arm ever-so-slowly into his sleeve. He’s quite uncooperative, actually. And, not being a slow-paced person myself, it’s frustrating. My husband, also of the sloth variety, handles this much better than I do.

He has taught me how to slow down, though, and that I’m very thankful for. He takes time to stop and smell the roses. He’s my snuggler where my oldest can’t be bothered to take the time. So, between the two of these extremes, I have to find an appropriate balance. I think God did that for a reason. I needed to have both of them to teach me things about myself (hummingbird) and learn how to take it easy and slow down so I don’t just speed by everything in my rush for the finish.


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