One of my best friends in high school was from Spain. So, whenever I’d get all pissy about something, he’d let me know that “Patience is a beer chew.” It’s a mantra that I’ve taken with me (over the many, many, sadly many more years since high school), but still struggle to live by.
(I should also note that over the years I’ve thought that maybe it wasn’t Jorge’s Spanish accent that was destroying “virtue,” but instead, he was just telling me something deeper: Patience is a beer. Chew. Lose your patience? Have a drink and a burger. And, it’ll all be good. If only it were that easy.)
While waiting for my number to be called at the DMV last week (the ultimate test of patience), I managed to stay calm. I couldn’t believe some of the questions that were being asked and, for a moment, I actually felt badly for the DMV workers. For a fleeting (albeit misguided) moment I sympathized with their plight. This ended as soon as my number was called.
It turns out that, despite being told I had all the right information and all the right forms, I was missing something detailed in the fine print. I stayed calm. I wondered if it were a fix that could be made on the spot. No. I needed to call Sacramento and have them remove some silly designation in my file (a designation, by the way, that could be fixed by the very form I had in my hand).
“So, I have to wait another week for this paperwork to be processed in Sacramento only to have you process it here? Am I getting that right?” Without even looking up she said, “Yesnext!” (This was one word, like Longisland.) Beer chew or not – my patience was shot. “Please don’t ‘yesnext’ me. I don’t believe we’re done.” Turns out we were done.
Since K-Man’s arrival, my patience has morphed. On the one hand, I have WAY MORE patience than I’d ever think possible, but on the other hand, I have none for situations that used to not bother me at all. It leads me to believe that, perhaps, I have a set amount of patience and since K-Man is using up 99% of it - it’s easy for me to run out and get bent out of shape over things like too much mustard, or driving slowly on the freeway. (And, don’t even THINK about not waving if I let you merge in front of me. I’ll go road rage on you in an instant.)
Patience, perspective and parenting are all so intertwined (so is putting, for that matter, but that’s an altogether different post). Patience, like perspective, is often easy to come by, but keeping it is difficult. And perspective is what often leads to us having more patience. The better our perspective, the better our tolerance for the idiot who can’t remember to put avocado on a turkey and avocado sandwich. How effing hard is that, anyway. COME ON! (Sorry, sorry. I’m back.) But, as soon as my perspective goes, I find my patience is right on its heels.
I’m so keenly aware of when I’ve lost my patience with K-Man, and I think it’s only natural for any parent to ultimately run out of patience with their kids. Hell, I’m 40 and I know that I’m still testing my parents’ patience. So, when he’s just discovering the wonders of “cause and effect,” of course K-Man is going to test my patience. And, of course, he’ll figure out when I have patience and when I don’t. It’s up to both of us to make sure that when he crosses that line that the lesson is learned appropriately (I guess).
In the meantime, I’ll just keep humming the mantra, “Patience is a beer chew. Patience is a beer chew. Patience is a beer chew.” Now I’m thirsty.
(I should also note that over the years I’ve thought that maybe it wasn’t Jorge’s Spanish accent that was destroying “virtue,” but instead, he was just telling me something deeper: Patience is a beer. Chew. Lose your patience? Have a drink and a burger. And, it’ll all be good. If only it were that easy.)
While waiting for my number to be called at the DMV last week (the ultimate test of patience), I managed to stay calm. I couldn’t believe some of the questions that were being asked and, for a moment, I actually felt badly for the DMV workers. For a fleeting (albeit misguided) moment I sympathized with their plight. This ended as soon as my number was called.
It turns out that, despite being told I had all the right information and all the right forms, I was missing something detailed in the fine print. I stayed calm. I wondered if it were a fix that could be made on the spot. No. I needed to call Sacramento and have them remove some silly designation in my file (a designation, by the way, that could be fixed by the very form I had in my hand).
“So, I have to wait another week for this paperwork to be processed in Sacramento only to have you process it here? Am I getting that right?” Without even looking up she said, “Yesnext!” (This was one word, like Longisland.) Beer chew or not – my patience was shot. “Please don’t ‘yesnext’ me. I don’t believe we’re done.” Turns out we were done.
Since K-Man’s arrival, my patience has morphed. On the one hand, I have WAY MORE patience than I’d ever think possible, but on the other hand, I have none for situations that used to not bother me at all. It leads me to believe that, perhaps, I have a set amount of patience and since K-Man is using up 99% of it - it’s easy for me to run out and get bent out of shape over things like too much mustard, or driving slowly on the freeway. (And, don’t even THINK about not waving if I let you merge in front of me. I’ll go road rage on you in an instant.)
Patience, perspective and parenting are all so intertwined (so is putting, for that matter, but that’s an altogether different post). Patience, like perspective, is often easy to come by, but keeping it is difficult. And perspective is what often leads to us having more patience. The better our perspective, the better our tolerance for the idiot who can’t remember to put avocado on a turkey and avocado sandwich. How effing hard is that, anyway. COME ON! (Sorry, sorry. I’m back.) But, as soon as my perspective goes, I find my patience is right on its heels.
I’m so keenly aware of when I’ve lost my patience with K-Man, and I think it’s only natural for any parent to ultimately run out of patience with their kids. Hell, I’m 40 and I know that I’m still testing my parents’ patience. So, when he’s just discovering the wonders of “cause and effect,” of course K-Man is going to test my patience. And, of course, he’ll figure out when I have patience and when I don’t. It’s up to both of us to make sure that when he crosses that line that the lesson is learned appropriately (I guess).
In the meantime, I’ll just keep humming the mantra, “Patience is a beer chew. Patience is a beer chew. Patience is a beer chew.” Now I’m thirsty.