How to take it slow(er)

Here's something I say to parents of young children with developmental delays, language delays, or fluency issues. I might actually say it to all the parents I meet as a speech therapist- young children need us to speak to them more slowly. The problem is, changing our speaking pace is hard. It feels forced. So I give them a tip—not slower, just with more pauses. More space. Say what you want to say, then wait. And wait.

I know this because I've met many children who needed ---time--- to take their turn. This is especially true for all children, but even more so for children with any language or speech challenges.

***

This weekend, we went on a mother-teen hike: three friends with three teens. The idea was to go camping, get to bed early, wake up early, pack up, and set off on a challenging sunrise hike. It turned into “they’re coming to sleep at our warm, comfy home, we all stay up too late, get up too early, but miss the sunrise.” But you know what? It was really fun, and we still did a challenging, worthwhile hike.

I came back with little red berries and branches of an unidentified reddish-brown plant I found in the woods, determined to make ink from them after being inspired by a library book with the straightforward title Make Ink.

Yesterday, I spent all afternoon reading it, and by evening I couldn’t resist anymore—I got Zeve excited, and together we brewed our first ink, a true amateur ink. Later that night, Manor asked me what was so exciting about making ink myself, what was the appeal. I’m glad he asked, because it helped me put into words that—

gathering the materials

that you then have to crush

then cook over low heat for a long time (we rushed it...)

then strain

then thicken with a thickening agent (skipped it)

then dip a brush

and finally paint (and discover that all that reddish color turned into a greenish hue)

all of this—

This is the pause I can make. And I want to. Because speaking more slowly—I can’t do it. Working on a painting more slowly, holding back, waiting until I have everything I need to start- too hard. But as long as I’m in the process, I’m fully ready to make it slower.

And this could be the end of it, as it’s already enough, but then I decided for the professionalism of this post, and as a step toward the “serious (and patient) ink-brewer” I aspire to become, I should look up the name of that reddish-brown plant I found. And here I stumbled upon quite a remarkable coincidence, in my opinion, and a very happy one. The plant is called patience dock, garden patience, or herb patience. Patience. I don’t argue with coincidences; I listen. Patiently.

...And I intend to learn how to make inks in various colors, to try, to experiment, with bigger aspirations for later, like making my own paper someday, like Nuria from Spain, who sent Arbel a letter full of intention.

And the truth is, slowing down is just an excuse. It’s a way to notice details, and then appreciate them. Painting can be as simple as opening the second drawer in the art cabinet, taking out a sheet from a whole pad I bought, pulling out watercolors and brushes I also bought, and just painting. Or, painting can mean going for a little walk, finding beautiful leaves, somehow turning them into ink, and seeing what color they’re ready to give (not what I expected, but no disappointment involved). Then scribbling something, and—unsurprisingly—being so very pleased. The outcome may not be more beautiful, but I was there from the start.