How much of our days are spent waiting? Right now I am waiting on laundry to finish drying so I can place another load into the washer so I can go upstairs to bed. Earlier, Shelby was waiting for me to come home from running an errand so she could go up to bed. Earlier still, the littles were excitedly waiting for Scott to wake up so we could decorate the house for Christmas.
In a family of 10, it seems someone is always waiting for something. Frequently, it's the bathroom.
But lately (and today especially) I have found myself spending a lot of my energy encouraging, admonishing, cajoling, and bellowing at Dawson to use his "waiting time" better. He is the king of time wasting followed by my all-time-least-favorite-excuse for miscellaneous items not yet accomplished: I didn't have time. To which he usually receives his all-time-least-favorite-retort back from me: Are you kidding me?
What exactly happens at the age of 13 to that teen-age boy brain? Was he invaded by some sort of alien force which sucks away all the training we have laboriously worked to instill over the years? It is some sort of hormone wash that coats the neurons, causing major black outs in common sense from time to time? And if so, is this like electricity where they have rolling black outs so there will still be glimmers of hope here and there? Is this a permanent phenomenon or a temporary one?
I don't have any idea.
What I do know is this: I love that kid like crazy. And I will persevere on the faith that eventually all the years of effort into molding a decent, hardworking, respectable, gentleman of a man will come flooding back into his consciousness and I will look into his eyes and say: There you are Dawson. I knew you'd come back.
In a family of 10, it seems someone is always waiting for something. Frequently, it's the bathroom.
But lately (and today especially) I have found myself spending a lot of my energy encouraging, admonishing, cajoling, and bellowing at Dawson to use his "waiting time" better. He is the king of time wasting followed by my all-time-least-favorite-excuse for miscellaneous items not yet accomplished: I didn't have time. To which he usually receives his all-time-least-favorite-retort back from me: Are you kidding me?
What exactly happens at the age of 13 to that teen-age boy brain? Was he invaded by some sort of alien force which sucks away all the training we have laboriously worked to instill over the years? It is some sort of hormone wash that coats the neurons, causing major black outs in common sense from time to time? And if so, is this like electricity where they have rolling black outs so there will still be glimmers of hope here and there? Is this a permanent phenomenon or a temporary one?
I don't have any idea.
What I do know is this: I love that kid like crazy. And I will persevere on the faith that eventually all the years of effort into molding a decent, hardworking, respectable, gentleman of a man will come flooding back into his consciousness and I will look into his eyes and say: There you are Dawson. I knew you'd come back.
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