The older I get, the less time I have to stop and sniff the proverbial flowers. Every day, every week, every month seems a little busier and rushes by more quickly than the last. It must an aging phenomenom because I remember my parents complaining about the very same problem.
A couple of years ago, while taking my son to preschool, I became so frustrated with how slowly he was walking. He had to stop and splash in the puddles, test out the ice, scrunch the grass, and partake in every obstacle that crossed our path. I kept saying "hurry up, walk faster" until another parent, noting my apparent lack of patience, said with a smile "I wish I still wanted to test the ice." This light hearted, yet very pointed comment brought me up short and it was a little easier to wait for my son after that. Even now, I wish I still had the fascination with the world that my son has. I wish I could see things with new eyes and appreciate them for their instrinsic worth and uniqueness. For now, I will have to settle with admiring my son. Kissing his squishy cheeks is far more satisfying than any flower I have ever caught the scent of.