Lion and Magic Boy

Some days it feels like I’m waiting a lot.

Right now I am waiting for Nathaniel to finish drawing microscopic pictures of things the Phoenicians did around the border of his I-am-a-Phoenician diary-entry paper (due tomorrow) so he will go to bed and I can get on with the rest of my evening. I think he has used every color of colored pencil he owns, drawing the shells the Phoenicians ground up to make purple dye, and stacks of money from the riches the Phoenicians had from all that purple dye. I wish I was a Phoenician. Then I would have a son who did not stay up late doing homework and drawing the Big Dipper (to show the awesome navigation powers of the Phoenicians) across the top of his paper. No, if I was a Phoenician I would have a son who went to bed early because he arose with the sun.

In fact, if I was a Phoenician I might not be much of a blogger, actually. In which case I would likely be weaving or something.

Sleeping, hopefully.

So, other things I wait for:

1. For Eric to decide he is ready to get out of the tub. Shivering with cold, blue feet, those are not reasons to get out of the tub. Sometimes I hurry things along by letting all the water out of the tub, and he sits there until every last drop has drained away and then imperiously demands a towel.

2. For the water in my shower to get hot. Important things like this should not take nearly so long, in my opinion. Hot water is a must.

3. For the people in this house to remember to use their indoor voices.

4. For the cat (the black one) to remember he doesn’t need to use his claws when he’s on my lap and decides he needs to change position a few millimeters.

5. Inspiration.

I wrote a post earlier today about spanking (there’s a segue here somewhere) at Strollerderby, and was reminded of some of my own experiences with that as a child. Needless to say, they weren’t pleasant. I think it was the waiting that was the worst part: waiting alone in my room, having been banished there during dinner; waiting for what was to come; and then, finally, waiting for it to be over.

I wonder if that isn’t one little piece of why waiting is so hard for me sometimes now. Part of me wants just to get to it, to get there, to hurry up and be done. I know the outcome, or a part of me does, so why wait?