Mar. 23, 2010 at 11:57am
Letting Your Toddler Set the Pace
A recent article from
My mom gave me a subscription to "Real Simple" a few months back and as soon as it arrives in the mail I sit down with a cup of coffee and read it cover to cover. I love all the idea guides, articles and suggestions that really do fall under their Life Made Simple mantra. Although I'm not a parent yet, this article struck me as particularly interesting and possibly pertinent to our blog readers. It's not on the web yet - but you can find it here!
"Letting your toddler set the pace"
By Dean BakopoulosI walk fast. Whether I'm hiking two miles to my office or pushing the double stroller to the co-op, I move at a steady clip. But at least once a week I walk without destination; I walk slow and avoid the straight shots.
This is a pleasure I picked up when my daughter, Lydia, was two. It was just spring and the concept of a stroller - which I employed to make every walk a speedy "workout" - became, to her, fascist. So I let her out; I let her set the pace. And we went really, really slow. Toddlers do not speed-walk; they meander. They stop and look at rocks, bugs and bottle caps. They talk to tied-up dogs and neighbors out gardening. They sing. And they notice everything.
I burned fewer calories that summer, but by autumn I knew half the town: the hardware-store staff, the cops, the artists drinking coffee outside their studios. I knew the redwing blackbirds that urged us to hurry past their marshes and the best spots to watch deer walk across the street at dusk.
My wife and I now have two poky kids, and although I'm busier than ever, I still try to let my kids set the pace on walks. Lydia notices new flowers, birds, and butterflies. My son, Amos, finds fascinating water sources - puddles, rivers, and ponds. He fills them with rocks. We try out all the playgrounds. We meet our neighbors and poke around the local shops on Main Street. The newly dubbed "nature deficit disorder" and the loss of authentic communities are two alarming cultural trends, but combating them can be as simple as a low-impact, no-cost walk.
Often, I confess, it's not the kids who make me a slow walker. Once a week, I try to meander to and from the office, all by myself. A 30-minute walk takes me 60. That's me throwing rocks into the Skunk River or hiking a six-block detour to see my favorite stand of oaks, as carefree as a wandering toddler, a guy who doesn't know the meaning of heart rate or in-box or deadline.
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