|Just beyond my front window|
Emil doesn't want to go back to the group home when it's time on Sunday evenings.
"Get ready," I say at 7 o'clock, and he replies "But I don't want to go till my watch says 8 o'clock."
So I say, "That means I'll be getting home later than I'd like, so go get ready now!"
He says okay, but then spends a half-hour in the bathroom. Don't ask me what he's doing in there that takes forever. He drags his feet at every opportunity; I want to kick his buttocks. Instead I remind myself that this is an opportunity to read for a few minutes while waiting, or in this case write.
Relax, Kathy. Go with the flow. You cannot really hurry this boy, try as you might. All it does is make you cranky when you fail to get what you're after. You're better off to take a deep breath and let him be. And you'll get out to the vehicle, and you'll get him dropped off in town, and you'll get home ... eventually. And you'll live.