A few weeks ago, my family and I were out for breakfast together. Hannah, who turns two next week, was struggling with her Dad over a cup of milk. She wanted to hold it by herself. He wanted to keep a hand on the bottom of it to keep it steady. I completely understood why he wanted to hold that cup steady. For some reason, however, I gave him a patronizing look, raised my eyebrows annoyingly, and said, "Independence." He knew what I was referring to. The wonderful teachers at Rachel's preschool have been encouraging us to let our children do things by themselves. A minute after Dad took his hand off of the bottom of the cup, Hannah flipped the straw out of her cup so forcefully that quite a few droplets of milk flew over table onto a lady sitting behind us. Of course, I felt I had to explain to her what had happened. I didn't want her imagining she had been spit on or anything. Yeah. I'm sure my explanation relieved her tremendously. Oh, just droplets of milk landing on me? Why that's so pleasant.
This experiment-in-Indepedence-gone-bad contrasts with another experiment I had around the same time. We were at a local event where a big costumed bear was present. At Hannah's age, Rachel was terrified of costumed characters. I wasn't sure what Hannah's reaction would be. I had some time alone with Hannah and brought her to the bear. In my overbearing way, I suggested that she give the bear a hug. She backed off and seemed frightened, but still curious. I gave up, and decided to lay low and not interfere, to give this independence thing a try. I became the observer.
It was so deeply toucing observing Hannah manage her own fears. At first she got close to the bear only from the side and each time the bear turned around to face her, she'd run back toward me. Gradually, she moved in front of the bear and would run away only when the bear held out its hand. The next step for Hannah, was touching the bear's hand. Then finally she gave the bear her first hug.
I still have that image of Hannah with her arms behind her, in preparation for the hug, walking quickly toward the bear. She must have held that position, arms raised up behind her consciously, until the bear finally saw her and turned to her. After the hug, she ran back toward me with a big smile on her face. She went in for hugs after that, again and again, each time looking like a little airplane on a runway with her arms behind her. When she gave each hug she leaned her chest into the bear, but still kept her arms raised up behind her.
Rachel showed up a bit afterwards with her Dad. She watched Hannah hug the bear, but was still too nervous to try it herself. Not wanting her to feel ashamed, I decided she needed to show off to me, so we went to a climbing structure that she had finally managed to climb. The structure was a look-out tower, so high it was only for kids four and older. A rope ladder led up to a platform about 12-15 feet off the ground. Rachel was nervous, but took her time with her step, proud to show me that she was brave enough to climb that high. I watched her climb it and started to think about how paralyzed I am by my fear of heights. What have I been missing? If I confronted my fear of heights with bungy jumping or some such thing, would that free me? And look at that other mother, I thought, letting her two year old climb the rope. Is she nuts, or am I nuts to protect my children so neurotically, hovering over Hannah constantly when she's climbing.
After some time, we were ready to head back over to Hannah and Dad. I took Rachel's hand to help her step off the rope. At that brief moment, I heard this whooshing and felt a rustling of wind behind my back. And then a thud.
I looked, in shock, at the two year old on the ground. He had fallen from the platform so high above. Fortunately, he had landed on his stomach. We gasped and stood there in those few seconds. After I don't know how long, probably 4 seconds, it felt like 30, he moved his head and started crying.
When we finally left the scene I was shaken so deeply I could feel it physically.
I know I received some answers that day. I'm just not quite sure what they were, except for the definite "No" to the skydiving. That came through loud and clear.
I fear I will retain my neurotic fear of heights to an old age.
Why is that both comforting and sad to me?
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Speaking of Independence, guess who took her child scissors and chopped her little sister's hair this afternoon while mom was cleaning up in the kitchen 20 feet away. One side of her head was all chopped and scraggly. The funny thing is the first thing I noticed was that Hannah was standing on a little chair without a diaper on. Then I noticed that she had huge clumps of hair in her hands. Then I noticed that Rachel was awfully quiet. Then I noticed that Hannah looked a little like Cyndi Lauper.
I swear I thought they were playing with the doctor kit when I heard Rachel say, "Did that hurt?" Doesn't that sound like someone giving someone a shot to you?
I was able to make a late afternoon appointment at the hair cutters. Hannah is now sporting a Dorothy Hamill cut. ( When I mentioned this to Rachel, she insisted that Dorothy Hamill couldn't be famous because she didn't know who she is and if you are famous everyone knows who you are.)
Ending on the Independence theme, Hannah is starting the two year old program at Rachel's school tomorrow. It's three mornings a week. She is so excited about it, she ran into the classroom this morning thinking it was time to start already. Then when we picked Rachel up she again darted wildly toward the classroom, wanting to say "good-bye" to her future teacher.
Oy. They are showing me the way, aren't they? Taking me by the hand and leading me through this Independence maze.
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As if this post wasn't long enough, I am finally feeling ready to do a big meme blow-out, except I don't remember all the people I owe memes to. If I owe you one, remind me here and I will oblige. I'm sorry I've been so bad. I am not always in the meme mood, but I feel one coming on.
About Independence
