MARK MY WORD: KIDS' OWN INTERNAL CLOCKS DO NOT TICK ALONG HASTILY

When you're young, time stands still. At least, it seems that way.

Kids have their own internal clocks that aren't tied to seconds, minutes and hours.

For them, there is no reason to hurry.

Eight-year-old Becca doesn't glance at the kitchen clock every morning as the minutes tick off the approach of the yellow school bus. Joni and I handle that task.

We do so instinctively, knowing that Becca only has so many minutes to wake up, get dressed, grab her book bag and get out the door in time to catch the bus.

Becca sees no need to hurry. She figures the bus won't come until she is ready.

She doesn't wear a wristwatch. She isn't tied to time like her parents, whose lives are governed by a workday world of tick-tock deadlines that seem to race by with ever increasing speed.

But time is creeping up on her world.

As for adults, we're governed by it. The older we get, the more rushed life seems. Unfortunately, time doesn't take a breather to let us catch up.

But Becca and her 4-year-old sister, Bailey, aren't ready to run on time's schedule.

Bailey, in particular, operates on an internal clock that sees no reason why time can't be in time out.

Getting Bailey going in the morning is a major challenge. She believes in starting slowly.

When you're a pre-schooler, there's too much to do in the morning when you first get up. There are cartoons to watch and juice to drink and breakfast to eat.

There's also the sun to see. The other morning she opted to take a walk on the driveway prior to getting in the car for the drive to her day care.

"I want to see the sun," she tells me, looking up at it through her sunglasses.

"Yes, it's a beautiful sun," I tell her as I rush to get out the door and start up the parental taxi.

Of course, we couldn't go anywhere until at least I had glanced at the sun.

Bailey loves to run to the end of the driveway, where she will stop and magnificently observe her universe like an explorer on the edge of a mountaintop.

Time has little hold on her.

She's not in any rush to get to day care. She would just as soon stop and play along the way.

More than once, she has greeted the tall trees along the way, saying a cheerful hello to her plant-kingdom friends.

Bailey sighs when she hears me start talking in my morning-rush-hour voice. "Oh, Daddy," she says when I talk of getting a move on.

She sees no need for such haste just because Daddy's watch is ticking away.

At her age, time is still a stranger. Seconds and minutes are meaningless to a pre-schooler who prefers to stroll along life's merry way.

Bailey time is fixed on sundrops, raindrops and life's little moments.

When it rains, Bailey wants to go outside and catch raindrops on her tongue. She also is convinced that the perfect raincoat is a swimming suit.

It is designed to be used in water, so why not wear it in the rain, she reasons.

It's hard to argue with the logic of a 4-year-old.

As Bailey sees it, life is a constant stroll, except when rushed along by her parents.

Bailey could do without such time travels and I can't blame her.

Time will reach her soon enough. But, at least for now, she has plenty of time to talk to the trees.

Mark Bliss is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.