Personal experience: how I live in a megalopolis with a child speed
It takes 30 minutes to kindergarten. The road from the garden to the house is an hour and a half. The route is the same, but here is the speed ... Forward, we fly at mom's speed. Busy, hurrying, planning, optimizing. Run. There is no time to distract, entertainment, conversations. Even in conversations.
Because in order not to just hear the voice of the child in the morning bustle of the noisy city, but to disassemble what the child said, it is necessary to sit down, leaning up to his level, listen. And this is a decrease in speed, loss of working time.
I hold it hard for my hand, because one he will go much slower. And we fly. Sasha got used to her mother's speed, got used to silently, without whims to end the garden. But he knows that we have everything is honest, and back we will go with the speed of Sasha. The speed of Sasha - it means looking at butterflies over dandelions, ants, attacking caterpillar on the sidewalk. Note the leafling, unexpectedly grown on the city lawn. Pin, fallen and already fired apple. Riding in a thin dirty snowman first snow. Watching the rare brands of cars in parking lots and much more, which is capable of noticeing a child who does not drag your mother's hand.Once, having come for a sash in the garden, I found him in the sandbox. He enthusiastically demonstrated to me a big stone, holding it with two hands. - Mom, imagine, we dug, dug and found treasure! Look what kind of treasure we dug! I evaluating the find in my hands. It seems more kilogram ... - What a hefty! Long digged? - Yes! Finally so long! Sasha with invaluable trophy in his hands cheerfully walked in the direction of the teacher to ask. - Do you drag this cobblestone home? She was inquired. She inquired. "Yes, of course." How else? Not every day of the treasure are located. And then Sasha finds a stick. Past of such a stick, a normal boy will not pass. Long, fat, comfortably falls into the hand. That's the dilemma. The stone is too big to carry it with one hand. And if you wear a stone with two hands, there is nothing to keep stick. Sasha attracts a stone from the roadside and measures the stick to the puddle depth. Then knocks a stick along the metal hedge. Then jumps a few minutes, leaning on a stick.
Puts stick, takes a stone. Pensive face. As if listens to the inner sensations. Will he play with a stick? Is it ready to part with her? Not ready. Retrieves the stone, attracts it somewhere the armpit, holding the forearm. When Sasha bends behind the stick, the stone falls. After a few attempts, Sashka still manage to take into hand and stone, and stick. True, the stick lies on the clumsy spread elbows, ready to slip away at any time.
I hold myself from the temptation to help the child and incur a stone. This is his decision, his choice, his burden. Let it learn not to take over more than it can carry. I only support a stick when we go across the road so that the fallen stick does not create a difficult road situation. The fallen stick Sasha will warmly want to raise, and with a stone in his hands it is not so easy to implement ... And after the intersection, the right welch begins. In the right wetting width in the width of the foot. Correct Blurry separates the sidewalk not from the roadway, but from the lawn, and therefore, it is safe to walk on it. The correct extension is seductively towers above the level of the sidewalk.
The next 200 meters of our route to the house Sasha always passes through the Blank. And not only Sasha. I also like to walk on the right wipers since childhood. When you go on the grease for your child, it is much easier to move with its speed.And then Sasha notices pigeons. They bathe in the fountain at the restaurant. Sasha lowers a stone with a stick on the ground. And Ironically notes: "Builders thought that the fountain was built, and the bath for pigeons turned out!" And immediately enthusiastically: "Watch these pigeons are so funny!"
I try to understand that the funny Sasha saw in those pigeons. "Funny pigeons" are grown chicks. Slightly less adult birds, more fussy, with tile necks. I explain to Sasha, that this is no longer chicks, but not yet adult birds. "BUT! I understood! They are as arseny! " - Bridically noticed Sasha. Well, yes, teenage birds. And I gladly note the presence of an analogy in Sashkin thinking. We bring home trophies: cobblestone and stick. The road to home this time took one hour forty minutes. But this is the valuable time I lived with the speed of the child. To live with the speed of a child - it means to have time to notice the color of the sky, the smells of streets and your own emotions. You wish to wonder and enjoy simple things. Good to realize that life is beautiful.
