56. In the moment

What I love about Katie is her ability to live in the moment. We can be running from a bomb that is about to explode and have seconds to live and she can stop, distracted by a paper clip on the floor. It is paper clip that has been in that exact location for 6 weeks and she has ignored it everyday she has walked by it. But at the time when I am on a tight time schedule and desperately trying to get her help in moving from point A to point B she becomes completely lost in her own world and unable to transition back to ours. The paper clip is all that exists.

In the moment she has no memory of the past: she doesn't recall that Daddy just asked her to go to bed, or that Mommy said no more make-up, or that her teacher gave her a chance to catch up on homework, or that she cried at her last piano lesson because her instructor was disappointed in her progress.

In the moment she has no memory of her future plans: she doesn't remember the promise to clean her room so that she can have a play date tomorrow, or that she wants to build a replication of the San Miguel Mission for extra credit, or that she honestly loves her sister and will never punch her again, or that she is planning to clean out the side yard and plant a garden.

Part of it is being a child - that ability to escape into the make believe. But since I can no longer reach that world of hers, it is frustrating (and sometimes infuriating) as a parent to try to call her back to our boring reality. As a middle aged woman, part of me wishes I could just let her linger there until she is ready to come back. What's the rush?