I visit the bus stop 3 times a day. Most days we are in a hurry or it is cold (read: anything below 40*--yes, I am a wimp) so we take the car. But it has been such nice weather (65* one day!) that lately Apollo and I have forsaken the car and walked to the bus stop.
Apollo has no sense of time or urgency and will gladly take a half hour to walk the .25 miles. He picks up sticks, chases cats, balances on landscaping railroad ties.
"Hurry, the bus will be there," I urge him. He ignores me. At this point we've only gotten as far as next door.
"If you don't hurry, the bus will leave and you won't get to go to school," I finally threaten him. That finally works and he takes off running. I run slightly behind him, in case he slows down or stops--which he doesn't. He runs the whole way at full throttle. Part of me is very impressed and am already dreaming of high school cross country meets.
But now we are at the corner and he sits down on the curb to rest. "Wow, you are so fast," I say to him.
"Yeah," he replies, "you slow."
Then he proceeds to get up and demonstrate: "You need to use your arms more, like this" and he runs in slow motion and points to his elbow "you see?"
Then he continues, "You need to move your legs like this:" and again he runs in slow motion only this time he kicks his bottom with his feet.
"Now you try" he commands and we commence running 1m races--from this crack in the asphalt to that one. Only he always takes off slightly before he says "go" and it is hard to make up ground in a 1m race, so he usually wins. Until he throws a race. "Good job, Mom, you won," he says, slightly patronizingly. "Thanks, cheater," I point out.
Finally, the bus comes.
When I walk to pick him up 3 hours later, we amble home slowly. This time I let him pick up sticks, chase squirrels, jump off ledges.
I can't wait for spring.
Apollo has no sense of time or urgency and will gladly take a half hour to walk the .25 miles. He picks up sticks, chases cats, balances on landscaping railroad ties.
"Hurry, the bus will be there," I urge him. He ignores me. At this point we've only gotten as far as next door.
"If you don't hurry, the bus will leave and you won't get to go to school," I finally threaten him. That finally works and he takes off running. I run slightly behind him, in case he slows down or stops--which he doesn't. He runs the whole way at full throttle. Part of me is very impressed and am already dreaming of high school cross country meets.
But now we are at the corner and he sits down on the curb to rest. "Wow, you are so fast," I say to him.
"Yeah," he replies, "you slow."
Then he proceeds to get up and demonstrate: "You need to use your arms more, like this" and he runs in slow motion and points to his elbow "you see?"
Then he continues, "You need to move your legs like this:" and again he runs in slow motion only this time he kicks his bottom with his feet.
"Now you try" he commands and we commence running 1m races--from this crack in the asphalt to that one. Only he always takes off slightly before he says "go" and it is hard to make up ground in a 1m race, so he usually wins. Until he throws a race. "Good job, Mom, you won," he says, slightly patronizingly. "Thanks, cheater," I point out.
Finally, the bus comes.
When I walk to pick him up 3 hours later, we amble home slowly. This time I let him pick up sticks, chase squirrels, jump off ledges.
I can't wait for spring.
this sounds just like a short story in a book or magazine- it's adorable.
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