Sticky vs stuck
on children and glue
I’m known for leading the family on forced marches. What can I say, I love to walk and I’m hoping to bring that love to my children. When my daughter was very young, she had a stroller. We used it loads. More often than not though? We walked.
Walking with a two year old is a particularly charming thing. She was so curious. Shed stop to for everything she noticed. Sometimes she’d pick up a rock, then an cigarette butt, then another rock. Next? She’d stop dead, staring at a squirrel.
If you ever want to renegotiate your relationship with speed, walk a mile with a two year old. When everything’s new and everything’s surprising, it’s no wonder that toddlers, driven by wonder, move so slowly. Great parenting, like leadership and comedy requires a sense of timing.
Children arrive to slow us down. On purpose. Perhaps that’s why they’re so fucking messy. Really. All of those glue sticks and wood glue and tape and stickers and glitter that arrives. Some say they are there to help children develop motor skills and creative expression. Bull fucking shit. All of that garbage is there to create mess and slow parents down.
Everything my daughter touched became sticky. Oh sure, I’d do my best to keep my her clean. Given my marginal personal hygiene, my best was not so top top. Juice covered hands could easily become black with grit on a trip home.
Home wasn’t much better. I would often host live fire tea parties with juice and cookies instead of the standard crackers and water. The juice would always end up somewhere, on something. No matter where I went, I found sticky places. The kitchen floor would become a minefield of sticky rice. Wool socks and rice? No fun.
The little ones in our house made things sticky. They slowed us down. It’s continued into their teen years. Yesterday someone managed to get a pocket door stuck. A stuck pocket door meant that I’d be sharing my bathroom with two teens until it was fixed. Given that, it was getting fixed immediately. Somethings I have zero desire to experience the sticky side of.
I’m not a professional in the trades. I move slowly and make a lot of mistakes. Last night, I managed to hack a huge chunk out of the trim. Luckily it was a clean break. I could put it back in place easily. “Anybody have some glue?” The words had barely left my mouth when both kids emerged with three different assorted glues each.
That’s who they are. They’re the glue. they’re sticky. And unlike the pocket door, sticky doesn’t mean stuck.
People talk a lot about ‘the glue’ that keeps a family, group of friends or organization together. Having theses little monkeys around with all of their stickiness? They keep me together. Stickiness in children is a feature, not a bug.
Look at your life.
Where’s the glue that keeps you together?
How do you move when you’re sticky?
How big of a mess are you comfortable with?
What’s the difference between being sticky vs stuck?