When we were at the beach and precariously attempting to navigate the two blocks to the restrooms, I had a strange moment of observational clarity. I was feeling frustrated with little T.Puzzle because he was lollygagging behind and then to slow matters even more, one of his crocs slipped from his foot.
“My croc!” he yelled, and then proceeded to take an eternity to retrieve it and place it back on his foot. Once the croc was correctly placed he determinedly rose red-faced from the sand and swiftly marched (and I mean MARCHED) to catch up with me. As I watched his arms and legs pump forward I felt admiration and a pause of understanding. If I were three years old in this big, big world I bet that I would hit a few bumps and meltdowns as I made my way, too.
In this moment I saw little T.Puzzle’s stubborn streak as a gift because I know that once we channel it for good, he will make his own way. Then I will have an even harder parenting task than anything I have faced thus far.
I will have to let him.