A Good Fable Never Fails to Terrorize
- By Kelly Diels
- 30 March, 2010
- 30 Comments
My child will soon be six years old.
Anyone who has – or has been – a five year old knows that turning six is a A Very Big Deal.
You leave five with fewer teeth than you started. You leave behind half-days of pretend-school (kindergarten: pffffft) and being mistaken for a pre-schooler when it ought to be clear to any one with half a wit that you are a school-kid.
Six: it’s significant.
We’re very excited about six.
Someone is so excited that she colours every waking moment – and more than a few sleeping ones, I’m sure – with vivid descriptions of the toys and dresses and yachts and mansions she desperately needs as gifts for her sixth birthday.
The constant stream of I want, I want, I want is sweet and unselfconscious and not rooted in evil, but I must confess it is starting to itch my skin raw. It makes me rethink the neighbourhood I live in and the school she goes to and pretty much every choice I have ever made to give her a life without want, which just makes her want more.
My own issues. I’ll own that.
Still, I thought it appropriate to gently tame the greed using a fable.
Last night, when we were cuddling-and-talking, I told her a story. While in our house we are bookies – bibliophiles rather than money-lenders – this child especially appreciates tales that are told off the top of my head. So I add-libbed The Boy Who Cried Wolf.
And then, at the end of the story, I might have mentioned that, like the Boy Who Cried Wolf, if she asks me continuously for every toy in the known world, I will have no way to know which toy is truly important to her – which means she will get a lot of random crap for her birthday.
(I didn’t say the last part out loud. Swear.)
She understood. She totally got it and burst into heart-wrenching, body-wracking sobs.
I am the worst mother, ever.
I cuddled her off the my-mother-shattered-me ledge and set to silently abusing myself for inadvertently abusing my baby with moral scare tactics fables. Effing wolf-calling boy.
In the morning, I had a whole set of fresh reasons for self-abuse.
“Morning” meaning today. Today Almost-Six had an appointment at the audiology clinic to have her hearing tested. Again.
She had her hearing tested at school and the hearing teacher was so alarmed that she referred her to the audiology clinic.
For The Child, this was a festive occasion: she got to stay home with me instead of going to class, and clearly a health appointment is an occasion for crinoline, taffeta, all of my jewelry (and hers) and my peacock-feather headband. I mean, obviously.
So off we set, blinging, to the audiology clinic.
I had avoided thinking in any great detail about what this appointment might mean until we were on our way to it.
When I had dedicated fleeting seconds to consider what this might mean, I thought:
this child has won the lottery in looks, intelligence and being loved. Whatever it is, we’ll take it in stride. It will be fine. Whatever it is, it will be worse for me than for her, because whatever it is, she’s been living with it for six years and she’s got it handled.
Yet driving to the clinic caused the film-strip in my mind to loop to every time I have ever snapped at her because I thought she wasn’t listening to me or was ignoring me or her sister.
And all the times I’ve silently and pridefully swelled at her ability to focus so intently on her art that she literally cannot hear anything outside of that task?
Oh my god, maybe it is because she literally cannot hear and in the six years of knowing her, I have failed to notice that simple fact.
I am the worst mother, ever.
Filling out the forms:
Have you ever noticed any hearing problems?
No.
When did you first notice that your child was having hearing problems?
I didn’t.
I have not noticed that my baby cannot hear.
I’m going to stop repeating “I am the worst mother, ever” because I think you get the point.
So. The test. She did it. She put the headphones and raised her hand and the audiology dude nodded to himself a lot and did not look visibly concerned.
He was not concerned, visibly or otherwise. He said everything was fine. She can hear just fine. No issues at all.
In the damp heat of relief (mine) – mostly that I’m not an inattentive mama, because, as I said, whatever we discovered wouldn’t have been The End of The World – we headed to the book store.
Because although the child likes ad-libbed stories, I trust that I’ve made it clear that I clearly can’t be trusted to tell them. A new bedtime book was in order.
In the car on the way to the book store, Sophie processed the experience.
Triumphant Sophie: You know, Mama, I did much better on this test than the one at school.
Abashed Mama: What do you mean, babe?
Triumphant, Disclosing Sophie: This time I raised my hand only when I heard the beeps. At school, I thought the test was kind of boring, so I made it fun by waving my hand a lot, whenever I wanted.
Shocked but connecting-the-dots Mama: You mean that during the school hearing test, you were raising your hand when there were no beeps?
Connecting-the-dots Sophie: Yes! Just like cry-wolf-boy!
(Which, at the bookstore, was the new book she welcomed into her world.)
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Having just packed my three off to school with their dad, I sat down with a fabulous cup of tea and some marmalade on toast to fritter away half an hour before I guiltily jump in the shower.
This was the first thing I read and I have to confess, I chuckled to myself at the end. Your daughter is a legend! And for the record, it sounds like you’re a super mama too. How many of us, if we’re totally honest, feel anything other than frustration at our children’s thoughtless greed?!
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I felt your panic when you were at the clinic wondering how you could possibly miss any clues that Sophie might not be able to hear. We’ve all been there at one point or another.
Don’t you just love watching them put things together – her responses to the hearing test and how that correlated to ‘cry-wolf-boy’. Kids are so damn smart. There’s nothing like the joy of watching those light bulbs go off.
p.s. I’m so glad her hearing is just fine.
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What a lovely post! I’m chuckling so much. OMG never ever under estimate the power of a six-year-old’s mind. I love it! And she is only just beginning! It sounds to me as if you are an excellent mother despite what some audiologist’s form is screaming out at you.
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Oh, this one is going to be trouble when she gets older. She is going to be the fun one to be with because everything is going be fun. I know, doesn’t sound like trouble.
I love Sophie! She is amazing and you are an amazing mom!
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Kelly,
So glad that your daughter is just fine!
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i’m with nicki on this one – “this one is going to be trouble” – but you probably knew that already, kelly! thanks for sharing the story. i have so much to look forward to as my own little girl gets older.
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I could have written this post. From mama of a little one about to turn six. To to constant stream of “I wants.” (We actually say to Lila that she has “a case of the I-wants.”) To the audiologist.
We have a follow up appointment coming up soon, though. Because it turns out Lila does actually have some hearing issues. Might not be a bit deal, but we still have to go through the process of figuring it out.
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Honey, beware of a dangerous pitfall-belief: “S/He shouldn’t suffer”.
That’s simply, plainly impossible.
Not in this reality. Not until s/he’s alive.
And, oh, BTW, did you ever notice that “The most we have, the least we appreciate?”
Yes, I know… try telling that to a six years old! ;-D
PS: You children are lucky for having you…
lot of love, cuddles, laughter, storytelling, honesty, a bit wacky… that’s all what children really need. :-*
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Annabel
replied:
on March 30th, 2010 at 6:19 am
@Prahlad, I know you mean well, but you come across as very judgmental. Do you have kids of your own? It wouldn’t surprise me if you didn’t. It’s obvious to all of us that it’s impossible to avoid suffering, but every parent nonetheless wants to spare their children as much of it as possible.
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Prahlad
replied:
on March 30th, 2010 at 7:24 am
@Annabel, “Judgmental”: I didn’t mean to, sorry. Quite the contrary.
You said “It’s obvious to all of us that it’s impossible to avoid suffering”.
No, it isn’t obvious at all. That’s why I pointed it out.
If it was, no one would think “I am the worst mother, ever.”
Parents beat themselves up to death, because they believe they SHOULD avoid any suffering to their loved ones.
They often live in hell and self-loathing, because of that belief.
“Me/(S)He/We shouldn’t suffer” is a widespread, unquestioned belief. An assumption.
When we let go of that belief, we still do the best that we can (especially parents do), but we feel more “at peace” when we “fail”.
I was just stating reality.
A painful reality, so much that many people deny it.
As many thinkers observed, most of suffering comes not from reality, but from our fighting reality as it is.
“When you argue with reality, you lose.
But only 100% of the time.”
(Byron Katie)
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Kelly Diels
replied:
on March 30th, 2010 at 8:52 am
@Prahlad, I think the two of you have touched on something wildly important.
Suffering.
This is huge.
The urge to protect, shelter, nurture, and insulate my children from harm is at war with the urge to allow them to experience difficulty and problem-solve.
I’m convinced that these two things – unconditional love and the personal competence are the essential to living life well (as children and as adults).
Yet navigating these poles is a challenge. The urge to protect can frustrate the urge to allow kids to run smack into challenges and resolve them.
And judgement – the kind we place on ourselves and the kind that is fed to us, constantly, with every breath. Wow. That’s another post altogether.
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When my now 26 yr old (precious-perfect-first-born-baby-girl)went off to kindergarten–she was the youngest in the class, having been born in late Dec. and still carried what I referred to as a “speech thing.” No hard r’s. I get a call from school–speech impediment. Worst Mother Ever.
Of course receiving the information via the nurse’s East Indian accented English and the teacher’s French accented English gave me a little trouble.
The pediatrician told me that some children have an immaturity in the muscle formation in their mouths. AND my decision to place her in a language-immersion school setting would be a great help. And it did. She now speaks beautifully in two languages.
Did I retain the self-assigned “Worst Mother Ever” badge–yeah. But it stopped flashing neon.
Any parent–ANY PARENT who knows they are giving their child unconditional love is the BEST PARENT EVER.
and p.s.–my own little darling reported after being given whatever testing for Highly Gifted & Talented that she didn’t answer all the questions because they “were kind of boring mom.”
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This is awesome.
My daughter failed her four year old vision test. They told me she was basically blind. We went to the eye doctor. The same film strip of self-abuse was running through my head. She passed with 20/20 vision and revealed to me that, like Sophie, she had found the test dull and just didn’t want to play.
Awe-some.
I also share your concerns about giving children a life without want and then, somehow, in spite of myself, seemingly raising children who WANT constantly.
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Maybe, in concert with your daughter(s), you could write a new line of fables, Kelly. Ones that remind us that the perils of being ourselves (whether mother or daughter/son/boy-who-cried-wolf) are, in fact, not quite so dark, or full of potential tragedy, and way more full of coloring, peacock feathers, bling, and spontaneous waving.
My youngest and I walked to that same audiology test about 6 months ago: me berating myself as a mother; her primarily wondering if she’d get a hearing device before braces. Perfect hearing. And braces next week.
I smiled, laughed, and cried through this one. Thank you.
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Dave Doolin
replied:
on March 30th, 2010 at 6:45 pm
@Ronna, I agree. Fables. Huge. Oprah worthy.
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I’m a mom too (of a 3 1/2 year old). I’ve come to believe that the guilt is inescapable. We love our kids passionately and want to do the best for them, and all the while we’re basically winging it, figuring out this parenting thing as we go along (especially if our own parents weren’t the greatest role models).
We are our own worst critics by far, but adding to that, everywhere we turn people are passing judgment on us personally or on the concept of “Mother.”
Everyone gets in the act, from people who have no kids and therefore no clue (they are often the ones that seem to have the strongest opinions!) to intrusive neighbors (“what’s that big boy doing in the stroller- he should be walking!”) to book authors (even when the book is not obstensibly about parenting).
I’ve learned to let the idiotic comments roll off my back, but it’s always a challenge to deal with my inner surges of panic and guilt, to sort out the legitimate concerns from the monkey mind stuff. I think it’s the same for all of us. It helps to have supportive fellow-mom friends that understand this.
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John
replied:
on March 30th, 2010 at 8:19 am
@Annabel, Your comments spoke to me. As a father of twins I feel you on the idiotic comment end. Everyone has their own take on how they should be dressed, fed, how they should sleep, etc. People would physically stand in the way of the stroller so as to block escape just so they could tell you about their sisters best friends cousin who had twins and couldn’t cope. That’s just the kind of attention that your sleep deprived little mind craves in the early months.
I rationalized it all…preferring to think it was a throwback to simpler times when it took a village to raise a child rather than people simply wanting to assert their moral superiority. In the end we ended up heckling would be advice givers before they even got within range. Stuff like “careful!- they bite” and “Oh there not mine, we just borrowed them as conversation pieces.” People felt offended that we were not grateful for their advice on the proper colors for little girls to wear.
But back to the point. For us the conflict was that we too were winging it and we desperately needed / wanted help but the advice of strangers just ended up being a hindrance. It was demoralizing at first but as with many aspects of parenting you learn to take the best and heap the rest. I have found guilt can be overwhelming if I let it in. I can’t deny it entirely but I chose to use it as a guide and not to invest myself in it. It’s working so far…but they are not even in school yet so i’ll keep you posted.
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Annabel
replied:
on March 31st, 2010 at 4:53 am
@John, thanks for responding. I think you were on to something in giving people the benefit of the doubt as far as their intentions, though I also like the preventative heckling.
As far as taking the best and heaping the rest, I’m totally with you there. I read (and continue to read) a ton of parenting books and did just that. Fortunately, I also have friends with older kids whose wisdom I respect. Interestingly, they’re the last people who would ever offer unsolicited advice. They’ve also helped me learn to put things in perspectve as far as the guilt goes.
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I just found your blog through Tara, and I love it! This story is great, especially because I also have a six-year-old daughter and can totally relate.
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And I could totally feel the relief. She’s an amazing little human – congratulations on being such a fabulous mom to get her there.
In my little view of the world I think we grow up to be far richer persons if we don’t Have every Thing we Want. It must be Hard, as a parent (since it is equally hard as an adult to do this for oneself), to draw that line between ensuring your child Wants for nothing, without Having everything.
Give that little munchkin a hug from us (me & my 2 dog-kids & 2 kitty-kids).
Hugs and butterflies,
~T~
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Dear God Woman!!! You have my prayers and sympathy…empathy…whichever means I truly do FEEL your pain from experience. Maybe we can commiserate together as they grow up. Think the next test I’d have her take is the Gifted/Talented test, b/c she is obviously outwitting the adults in her life. I LOVE IT!
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I always take something away from your posts. This one is no exception. I LOVE that when your child was not hearing you while crayoning your first thought was that she was so invested in her art that she was oblivious to the outside world. I want some of that please! When my girls don’t acknowledge me or their mother I automatically assume that they are being willful and disobedient. I need to stop those negative assumptions now while they are young. I think that that will help my fathering as they become more and more their own little peoples.
Ps: Where on earth did your daughter inherit her precociousness from? So glad that things worked out in the end.
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love this one so much. aroooooo!
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omg the cutest story ever.
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You poor thing, what an emotional rollercoaster. Your daughter is absolutely adorable. If she keeps up that kind of wit and cleverness, she’s going to have to start blogging real soon. Better go buy her domain name
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I’m glad that you’re back to talking about your kids. Sophie is what swept me into your blog in the first place. For all her quiet grace (in person), she’s still a real firecracker. I’ve seen you as a mama first hand. You’re pretty amazing, lady. You give me hope that when I have babies, I might be able to handle myself.
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I know the bad parent feeling well…my daughter broke her arm and because she didn’t complain it was 2 weeks before we even noticed! She then had to have it pinned in surgery to fix it. I felt very much bad…Glad your daughter is just a character.
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Kids….gotta love em’!!
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“If you want to see what children can do,
you must stop giving them things.”
(Norman Douglas)
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OMG!!! When I got to the explanation, I laughed so hard I almost peed myself!! Just further proof that kids are a lot smarter than we give them credit for being.
I also loved the description of bling and accoutrements for the test. Fashionista-ina!
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