When the Waiting is Hard

The hours and the minutes, they drag by. Stubborn moments, like a child unwilling. Lured ahead only with momentary distractions.

The day is finally here, and there is nothing more to do but to count down the minutes. Did that minute-hand ever move more slowly? All this nervous anticipation, I see it in his drumming fingers. His restless pacing. The "one more time" over terminology we've gone over a hundred and twenty-seven times.

The way he does 21 movements and 15 face contacts to the timer on my cell phone. Again.

It seems the only way to move all the moments ahead, is to leave that one big one behind. For awhile.

 The moments pick up their ticking pace just a bit.
 And then it's time to go.
 He ties his red belt for what we hope is the last time! We pile into the car, shivering, (brrr cold! or nerves??) and take off for the gym.

We come in with a cold gust and before I can even help Sam out of his coat and gloves, he's gone. In the gym where everyone is dressed in their same white uniforms and red belts and jitters, I spy his blonde head near the weights. There is extra time to get some practice in with the black belts before the testing begins. Another mom and I talk about the stress this always is and remind each other to breathe. We parents kind of hang back in the lobby, watching through the one-way glass as our sons and daughters give a one-more-time through patterns and kicking pads.

Finally, we make our way to a folding chair or a bench. It's almost time.