It's about time

In a fleeting moment of desire for convenience, I picked up a box of microwave popcorn at the store last week. Yes, I know, it's a direct slap in the face of all that I've been spouting this past year. But honestly, the supreme ease of quelling Ethan's cries for a before bed snack with a flick of my wrist and a go grab a bag out of the pantry suddenly over came me and the purchase was made. Sinking into the couch with the book I've been trying to start/finish for 2 weeks and Ethan's plea begins. But oh yes, I have a trick up my sleeve. Boy! I mean Eth! Get a bag out of the pantry and pop that puppy in the microwave! You my son are golden in 2.5 minutes. And that's when it starts...But mom, I don't want that one! Let's make it ourselves, it's soooooooo much better, I don't care if it takes longer. And there you have it. Out of the mouths of babes, err well, 1st graders. I've tried instilling this past year, that faster isn't always better, weaning off McDonald's and KFC. Baking bread every.single.week. Growing a monster garden that this year threatens to take over the neighborhood. Hunting down an air-popper! It all worked. yay me... So why does the siren call of convenience still get it's moment of glory? I think the one thing I haven't been able to wrap my brain around is time. When I was working (I'm so tired of starting sentences with that, I now vow to never use it again) the entire day was laid out in time slots. Every second was a valuable commodity to be doled out frugally. If I do this, then I can't do that. Kids, as every parent knows, don't grasp the concept of time. So it takes us 8 more minutes to make regular popcorn, they go to bed 8 minutes later, and????? Somehow this seems like such a huge deal, some nights more than others. What parent hasn't screamed uncontrollably at their toddler literally stopping to smell the roses when we want them to keep walking to the store/school/car/church? When honestly we would be what? 5 minutes late? 10? Would Ethan crumble to a sobbing mass on the sidewalk in front of his classroom door if we weren't waiting there 15 minutes prior to last bell? No, he would either walk himself home and see us jumping in puddles, or wait on the playground with a plethora of his friends, ultimately he would be fine. I'm the one that ends up in the angry, slobbering, bald, mass! The perception of time as a commodity, something to be hoarded like a clock watching Scrooge gets ingrained young. When do they pick up on it? I'm actually moving on to my second hand the number of times my kids have calmed my nerves with their simple reasoning. It's OK mom, we can walk. It's OK mom, it just takes a second. I thought I was supposed to teach them everything.