"Just a few more minutes…please Mommy!"
Although my own children were grown, I turned instinctively toward the little voice. A boy, no more than four, was trailing his mother in a department store, looking longingly at remote control toys. With chubby cheeks and wispy blond hair, he trotted behind her. His boots caught my eye—bright, shiny, Kermit-the-Frog green, new and a bit too big, perfect for the rainy season.
He stopped at a mirror display, admiring his boots with a grin until his mother called. Dressed in a suit, she clicked her heels on the tile, tossing items into her cart as they headed to checkout. I smiled, wondering if she'd just picked him up from daycare after a busy workday. It reminded me of my own hectic days juggling a career and young children—days I now missed.
Leaving the store, I saw a panorama: rain had slowed to a drizzle, creating puddles in the parking lot. Children made beelines for the puddles, only to be scolded and pulled away by their mothers. All except one—the green-booted boy.
He was happily splashing in the largest puddle, oblivious to the rain and crowd, his hair plastered to his head and a huge smile on his face. His mother? She put up her umbrella, adjusted her packages, and simply waited. Not scolding. Not rushing. Just watching.
When she fished her keys from her purse, the boy paused mid-splash. "Just a few more minutes? Please Mommy?" he begged. She hesitated, then smiled. "Okay!" she said, adjusting her packages again. By the time I drove away, they were walking to their car, smiling and talking.
How much time did those "few more minutes" take? Probably five. Not much in a busy day. What a contrast to the other families. Those minutes spoke volumes to the boy about his value to his mother. Nothing was so pressing it couldn't wait for him to try out his new boots—a major event for any four-year-old.
How many times had my children begged for "just a few more minutes"? Had I smiled and waited, or had I scolded?
Just a few more minutes of giggling in the bathtub. So what if bedtime was late?
Just a few more minutes of rocking a sleepy toddler. So what if toys littered the floor?
Just a few more minutes of playing catch. So what if dinner was delayed?
Just a few more minutes of playing dolls. So what if work waited?
Just a few more minutes of catching fireflies. So what if a TV show was on?
Just a few more minutes with them before they grew up and left. So what if career goals were delayed?
Just a few more minutes. Everything I've read about time management for working mothers is summed up in one image: that young mother under her umbrella, arms full, smiling her assent to a wet, green-booted boy who asked the universal question, "Just a few more minutes?"