If you’ve ever been in my house, you’ve probably heard it.
“We’ve got to go!”
Actually, if you’ve ever been anywhere near my family while we’re attempting to leave the house, you’ve probably heard it.
“We’ve got to go!”
“Come on, let’s go!”
“Get your shoes!”
“Do you have your water?”
“Where’s your hoodie?”
“We’re going to be late!”
I have absolutely no idea how many times I’ve said some version of those words over the years, but I’m fairly certain “We’ve got to go” qualifies as one of my most-used phrases as a mom.
I say it in the mornings.
I say it before practices.
I say it before games.
I say it when we need to pick Braden up from practice.
I say it before appointments and school activities and all the other places our family needs to be.
Sometimes I say it nicely.
Sometimes I’m standing by the door wondering why no one else in the house seems remotely concerned that we were supposed to leave five minutes ago.
And sometimes I really wish I didn’t say it quite so much.
Why Does It Take So Long to Leave the House?
Right now, Austin is probably the person who hears it the most.
He is not a fast mover.
And the thing is, he isn’t doing it to be difficult. He’s genuinely just taking his time.
Unfortunately, his timeline and the clock’s timeline are frequently two very different things.
I’ll tell him we need to leave soon.
Then I’ll remind him again.
Then I’ll tell him it’s time to get his shoes on.
And somehow, five minutes later, I’m standing at the door ready to leave while he’s still wandering around the house.
Maybe he needs shoes.
Maybe he needs a hoodie.
Maybe he suddenly remembered something he needs to bring.
Or maybe it’s the damn iPad.
Meanwhile, I’m saying:
“Austin. We’ve got to go.”
Again.
And again.
And again.
Braden Has His Own Version
Braden is easier now that he’s older.
But he has perfected another teenage technique.
He’s “waiting for us.”
Except apparently “waiting for us” means sitting on his phone and making absolutely no attempt to get ready until everyone else is physically moving toward the door.
Then, suddenly, he needs shoes.
Or a hoodie.
Or something else that could have been located during the previous ten minutes when he was sitting there.
Why?
I have no idea.
So, once again:
“Come on. We’ve got to go!”
I Used to Say It to Devin, Too
This is where the phrase feels a little different to me now.
Because I used to say it to Devin all the time.
“Devin! We’ve got to go!”
I yelled it through the house for years.
Soccer practice.
Futsal.
Games.
School.
Appointments.
Whatever we had going on that day.
Soccer was a huge part of those years, and I’ve written before about Devin’s journey from swarm ball all the way to college soccer.
I was always reminding him when we needed to leave, making sure he had everything, and trying to get everybody into the car on time.
Now?
I don’t say it to him at all.
He’s away at college.
He knows when his classes are. He knows when practice starts. He knows when he needs to leave for games. He’s responsible for his schedule, his stuff, and getting himself where he needs to be.
He goes by the beat of his own drum now.
Exactly the way he’s supposed to.
But it’s strange when I really think about it.
For years, part of my job was getting him where he needed to go.
And then one day, it wasn’t.
I Once Read Something About Not Rushing Your Kids
Years ago, when Braden was little, I read a post written by a mom about not rushing her daughter.
Her daughter was one of those kids who would literally stop and smell the flowers.
Instead of constantly telling her to hurry, her mom made an effort to slow down and experience the world at her daughter’s pace.
I loved it.
I still love the idea of it.
I want to be that mom.
I want to let my kids stop and look at something interesting.
I want to enjoy the little moments.
I don’t want their childhood memories to include me constantly standing at the door yelling:
“COME ON! WE’VE GOT TO GO!”
But here’s the problem.
Sometimes…
We’ve actually got to go.
Practice starts at a certain time.
School starts at a certain time.
Games start at a certain time.
Appointments happen at a certain time.
Braden needs to be picked up.
Someone needs to be dropped off.
And unfortunately, the soccer coach probably isn’t going to accept, “Sorry we’re late. We stopped to smell the flowers,” as a reasonable excuse.
So, as much as I love the idea of slowing down, I haven’t figured out how to make that work when we are literally rushing out the door all the time.
I Don’t Actually Want to Do Less
This is the part I keep coming back to.
Because the obvious solution to feeling rushed all the time would be to stop doing so much.
Fewer activities.
Fewer practices.
Fewer games.
Fewer places to be.
A quieter schedule.
And honestly?
I don’t want that.
I can’t imagine our kids not doing things.
I can’t imagine not going to school activities.
I can’t imagine not sitting at soccer games or football games.
I can’t imagine not driving to practices, tournaments, events, and everything else they’re involved in.
Yes, sometimes I look at our schedule and think, Why are we doing this to ourselves?
But I also really, really enjoy it.
I like watching them do the things they love.
I like being there.
I like the games.
I like the practices.
I like the trips.
I like our busy family.
So, I suppose this is the price we pay.
There’s a Difference Between Wanting to Slow Down and Wanting to Do Less
I think this is what I’ve finally realized.
I don’t necessarily want a less full life.
I just wish it felt a little less rushed.
Those aren’t the same thing.
I don’t want to eliminate everything that fills our calendar just so I can say our lives are slower.
I want the soccer games.
I want the football practices.
I want the school activities.
I want the places we go and the things we do together.
I just wish we could get there without me having to say “We’ve got to go” seventeen times first.
Maybe the problem isn’t that our lives are too full.
Maybe I just want to get better at enjoying the fullness of them.
The Days When We Have Nowhere to Be
Every once in a while, we get one.
A day with nowhere we absolutely have to be.
No need to get ready.
No clock ticking in the background.
No calculating what time we need to leave.
No yelling upstairs that someone needs to find their shoes.
Those days are wonderful.
The kids might go outside and play.
I might sit and read.
We can be lazy.
We can hang around the house.
Nobody has to rush.
And I appreciate those days so much more because they aren’t our everyday life.
I don’t think I’d want them to be.
I like having somewhere to go.
I just also really like the occasional day when we don’t.
Someday, I Won’t Have to Say It Anymore
This is the part I probably don’t want to think about too much.
Because Devin already showed me how this works.
One day, you’re yelling through the house:
“We’ve got to go!”
And then you aren’t.
Eventually, Braden won’t need me standing at the door wondering why he’s still on his phone.
Eventually, Austin won’t need me telling him for the fourth time to put down the iPad and get his shoes.
They’ll know where they need to be.
They’ll drive themselves.
They’ll have their own schedules.
They’ll be responsible for getting themselves out the door.
That is, of course, the goal.
We’re raising them to be independent.
But there’s something a little bittersweet about realizing that one of the things that drives you absolutely crazy right now is also temporary.
I don’t think that means I have to love being late.
I’m still going to tell Austin to put down the iPad.
I’m still going to wonder why Braden waited until the last possible second to find his hoodie.
I’m still going to tell everyone what time we’re leaving.
And I am absolutely still going to say:
“We’ve got to go!”
Maybe This Is What Slowing Down Looks Like for Me
Maybe slowing down doesn’t have to mean doing less.
Maybe, for me, it means appreciating this life while we’re still running through it.
The practices.
The games.
The school activities.
The shoes nobody can find.
The water bottles.
The hoodies.
The kid who is moving at approximately one-third the speed necessary to get out the door on time.
All of it.
Because I’ve already watched one child grow out of needing me to say those words.
The other two will, too.
So, I’ll probably say “We’ve got to go!” another thousand times.
I’ll tell Austin to put down the iPad.
I’ll remind Braden that “waiting for us” does not mean sitting on his phone until everyone else is standing in the driveway.
I’ll tell someone to grab their shoes, get their water, find their hoodie, and get in the car.
And I’ll probably wish we weren’t always rushing.
But now that there’s one less kid in the house for me to yell it to, maybe I’ll try to remember that even this part goes faster than I think.
We’ve got to go.
And, really, I wouldn’t have it any other way.