While he practices climbing up the stairsand going down again for the tenth time today.

While I stand beside her as she misses the connection on the buckles of her car seat over and over before she finally gets it right.

While I listen as he tells a never-ending, seemingly plotless story.

While she takes ten minutes to pick out a pair of shoes, even though we are running five minutes late.

While he sounds out a word letter by letter from our last book of the night.

I want to step in, to do it for them myself, to be done with it, to move on already.

I also want to have patience, to be loving, to be dispensable one day – as much as a mother can be – because they are able to problem solve on their own.

I stop myself from interrupting their process. I breathe in and out. This is God’s time, I say. This is their time, I say. One and the same, I remember.