by Melissa Hill
And wouldn’t my little girl now be at home making up fearsome scenarios for her dinosaurs, instead of lying in a hospital bed, fighting for breath?
10
MAD MUM MUSINGS
Parents Not Allowed
I see a woman hovering under a seven-foot play frame, arms aloft like a wedding guest waiting to catch the bridal bouquet. But then she turns and I see not anticipation, but outright terror on her face.
“Oh, my God, she’s going to break her neck,” she gasps, horrified. “Anyone know who her mother is?”
The kid apparently in such grave peril is mine—except she’s been climbing that play frame since she was four. When I tell the woman this, she stares at me, eyes wide with recrimination, and I realize that, yikes: this mama bear’s a helicopter.
A species of parent that is all too common in our favorite playground.
I love taking my five-and eight-year-old kids to the playground for many reasons: first and foremost so they can play and muck about—with other kids or by themselves—as well as learn to negotiate the world on their own terms.
They run around, laugh, climb play frames and make friends—all the usual things kids do at parks and playgrounds—while I sit on a bench at a safe distance, chat to other parents or (gasp!) idly scroll through my phone.
For my two, it’s a space that remains free from everyday restrictions (within reasonable limits). I don’t stand over them or interfere and it seems this, at least to the helicopters, makes me not just a Mad Mum but a Very Bad one, perhaps even worthy of social services intervention.
Because helicopters come to the playground to be Alert At All Times, hovering endlessly over their charges—coaxing up the ladder and down the slide, bouncing gently on the seesaw, swinging endlessly on the swing.
I know not every parent is the same, and there’s no denying that it can be hard to just let kids at it, especially if it’s your and Junior’s first time in the place, and you see everyone else hand-holding. And if you don’t, it immediately makes you look like you don’t give a shit.
I’m also sure no one ever thinks he or she is a helicopter parent, and it goes without saying that everyone is just trying to do right by their child.
But does more worry equal more love?
For my part, I’m inclined to be free-range because I remember my own childhood and how my parents didn’t have the time, let alone the desire, to watch every misstep or foresee every potential problem.
Don’t child-proof the world, is my motto. World-proof the child. (Thankfully, my husband agrees with me.)
And every time someone else is horrified that he or I let our brood try something potentially “too dangerous for their age,” I wave concern aside with the assertion that aren’t they better off learning now—before it’s too late—to respect the danger of what they are doing and negotiate it safely?
I want them to try things they thought they couldn’t do, fail, try again and repeat until they are successful. Isn’t this a necessary life skill in itself?
Psychological studies also show that children benefit from, if not actual danger, the feeling of danger and related sensations that result from activities like climbing up to get a bird’s-eye view, playing with dangerous tools or exploring on their own.
With that in mind, I recently read an article about a playground in New York that embraces an interesting philosophy: parents (helicopters or otherwise) are not allowed.
After the adults sign a waiver, their kids are let loose on a small field full of all kinds of detritus—tires, a plastic water cooler, pieces of wood in all sorts of sizes and shapes, thrown-out household equipment, etc.—where they do what kids have done forever: have fun and figure out how to make and break things.
Given all the stuff lying around for them to play with, it’s inevitable that some of them will occasionally get dirty and scuffed up and scratched.
In fact, that’s pretty much the point.
So, parents, maybe try to switch off those whirring fret-motors at the playground, come back down to earth once in a while and even consider sitting with some of us feckless miscreants for a minute or two?
It’ll work wonders for your nerves and you never know, you and your kids might just have some fun...
* * *
Clara Cooper couldn’t wait to get back to school.
She felt herself nearly shaking with excitement as her mother pulled up in front of Applewood Primary. Clara just wanted things to get back to normal; she was eager to go to drama class again and see her friends and, as much as she would only admit it secretly to herself, she even missed having to do homework. She felt desperate to feel like a normal kid, instead of a sick one who had to be quarantined from her life and everyone in it.
“All set, honey?” her mum asked with a smile.
Clara was about to reply when her stupid brother interrupted her.
“Why would anyone be excited to go back to school?” he sneered. “I’d rather be at home watching TV.”
Sometimes Jake could be an idiot. He just didn’t get it—but Clara wasn’t going to let him ruin her mood.
“Yeah, I’m ready, Mum. I’m really excited, actually.”
“That’s my girl,” said her mum. “At least I know which one of you is the smart one,” she teased. “Do you want me to walk you in? Or...”
But Clara was already shaking her head. Jake had flung open the door of the car and jumped from the vehicle as soon as it came to a stop. He threw up a hand in salute and shouted, “Bye, Mum,” as he ran toward his friends, who were gathered at the classroom doors.
Clara wanted to follow his lead. After a couple of weeks of being sick and coddled around the clock (not that she hadn’t liked that—she had felt terrible, after all), she was now ready to spread her wings and be independent.
“I’m fine, I just want to go see my friends. Is that OK?” she asked politely.
Her mother grinned. “Of course! Now, just wait a minute, though. Let me get a picture of you—I want to put it on Facebook. So many people have been asking about you and I want to show them just how well you look and how excited you are. Speaking of which, Auntie Fiona is picking you up later. Now that you’re better, Cam and Brian are staying with us for the afternoon, and she’s going to bring you all back to our house.”
“Great.” Clara forced a smile, but in truth she wasn’t too keen on her cousins coming to visit. Brian was OK, but Cam was just so moody and nasty to everyone. She didn’t know why his mum and dad didn’t warn him to be kind and show manners like hers insisted she and Jake always did. But, she supposed, some kids were just like that.
Her mum held up her iPhone and snapped a picture, nodding in approval. “Perfect. Now you go and have a lovely day. Dad and I are proud of you, sweetheart—you’re such a trouper.”
Clara waved goodbye and hopped from the car. Taking a deep breath, she felt like skipping, but tried to play it cool, scanning the outside of the school for her friends. Spotting some other girls from her class, she strode with purpose in their direction.
As she walked, her thoughts briefly turned to Rosie. She felt a small burst of anxiety enter her chest. Clara knew that her classmate was still in the hospital—at least that was what she had heard her mum say. She was a bit worried about Rosie.
They weren’t best friends or anything, but she still really liked her. Rosie was fun, not at all girlie and she loved playing dinosaurs with the boys. Clara liked dinosaurs, too, but her best friends, Rachel and Megan, didn’t really, so it was nice to have another girl who enjoyed playing with them, too.
And she also felt a bit bad for Rosie because her dad died. Clara really couldn’t imagine what that must be like, but guessed it must be a terrible thing. She couldn’t imagine losing her own dad. And now poor Rosie was in the hospital—she had become much
sicker with measles than Clara.
That was something else she couldn’t imagine because she had felt like she was going to die while she had them. What must it be like to feel even worse?
Furrowing her brow, Clara decided that she would keep Rosie in her thoughts, but that she wouldn’t let her worries ruin her first day back. Picking up her pace, she felt her spirits buoy once again, especially as she heard the squeals of delight from Rachel and Megan. She ran the final steps to her friends and they all cried out in excitement.
However, the girls’ obvious joy at being reunited attracted the attention of another classmate they usually tried to avoid.
Kevin Campbell.
The young boy approached the three girls with a scowl on this face. He was flanked on either side by two of his other friends—older boys who liked to be nasty.
Great, more meanies.
“Who said you could come back to school?” he sneered. “Are you trying to get everyone else sick now?”
Clara turned to look directly at Kevin. She hated having to talk to him, but she knew from experience that ignoring him just made him worse. So she faced him down, like her mum and dad had taught her.
“Principal Connelly talked to my doctor and my parents. Everyone said I was ready to come back. Just go away. It’s none of your business anyway,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. She felt Megan stand reassuringly close alongside her.
But this answer didn’t satisfy Kevin.
“It is my business. I don’t want to get sick because of you. I don’t want my friends to catch your rotten diseases. You know, I heard that Rosie could die. Do you know that if that happens, it will be your fault, Clara? I wonder how old you have to be to go to jail. They might not lock you up for killing her, but they will definitely lock your parents up—and then you and Jake will be put up for adoption or something.” His friends laughed loudly, which merely served to egg Kevin on. “Probably be better that way anyway. My mum says that your parents are stupid and crazy. So it’s good if they do get locked up. I mean, murderers should go to jail—especially ones who kill kids.”
Clara felt a lump grow in her throat. Her mum had told her that Rosie getting sick hadn’t been her fault. But now she wasn’t so sure. What if Rosie did die? She willed herself not to cry, but still a tear leaked from her eye.
Of course, Kevin saw it. “Are you going to cry, Clara?” He guffawed. “Well, you probably should. If I were you, I would feel terrible for killing one of my friends.”
“Shut up, Kevin,” yelled Rachel, trying to intervene on behalf of her friend. “Clara hasn’t killed anyone and Rosie isn’t going to die. Just shut up. You don’t know anything.”
She and Megan began pulling her away in the direction of the classroom. Clara allowed herself to be led—anything to get away.
But regardless of the distance they put between her and the bullies, Kevin’s words still echoed in Clara’s brain.
If Rosie died, would it be her fault?
11
I was spending most of my days and nights at the hospital, and today Lucy arrived around midday and insisted that I get some space between me and the chair beside Rosie’s bed, for my own mental and physical health.
Yesterday, the medical team had removed Rosie’s ventilator and were confident that the antibiotics were working well in treating the pneumonia.
So all I could do now was wait.
The poor thing was still very weak and barely alert most of the time (though a dinosaur balloon the Coopers of all people had sent had raised a smile), but according to Dr. Ryan, she finally seemed to be heading out of the danger zone.
Which was the only reason I was even considering Lucy’s suggestion.
She had assured me that she wouldn’t leave Rosie’s side until I returned, and while I initially refused, I realized after a quick look in a mirror that I really did need to take myself in hand, enough to pop back to Knockroe to collect a few things from the house and wash my hair at least.
“I left you some bath oil—that lovely new Jo Malone scent. Go and unwind for a bit, have a snooze, eat a pint of Ben & Jerry’s or whatever, just get out of here for the day, OK?” she had urged.
And, despite myself, I knew she was right, which was why, having kissed my little girl goodbye, I found myself pulling into my driveway for the first time in what felt like days, weeks... I wasn’t even sure of the timeline anymore.
I did know that it was about a week and a half since Rosie had been put on the ventilator, and all the while I was at the hospital, Lucy had been running my house as well as her own. I told her just now before I departed that I really appreciated her; she was everything I needed in a wife. That made us both laugh, and for that brief moment it felt good to just feel something akin to normal.
Now, after dragging my exhausted body into the house, I felt myself exhale just the tiniest bit when I stepped into the kitchen. Everything looked so calm and...normal. This week’s mail had been brought in, there were some fresh flowers in a vase on the counter. Anyone walking into this house would have no indication of the chaos the occupants had been living through over the last two weeks.
Though, to be fair, even when my life wasn’t falling to pieces, my kitchen never looked like this.
“Bless you, Lucy,” I whispered, so as not to break the near-perfect peaceful silence that enveloped me.
I dropped a bag full of dirty clothes near the washing machine and proceeded to the sink to put a kettle on for a pot of tea. I pulled out a tin of loose mint tea that I reserved for moments when I needed to truly unwind and spooned three teaspoons into the pot. As I waited for the water to boil, I headed upstairs to the bathroom and drew the warm bath that Lucy had encouraged me to take, pouring in a generous amount of that delicious oil.
I rubbed my shoulders, trying to ease some of the tension out of my body, and nodded to myself. Yes, I needed this.
A moment later, the kettle sounded and I returned to the kitchen, poured the boiling-hot water into the teapot and, allowing it time to steep, turned my attention to the kitchen island.
Pulling the piles of mail closer, I saw that Lucy had handily created two stacks—one that obviously comprised of bills and official documentation and another made up of cards and various other bits and pieces. I debated for a moment as to which pile I should tackle. Though the cards would surely be heartening, the realist in me made me opt for the bills. I was never one to shy away from the bad stuff—might as well tackle it head-on. That was what Greg used to say about facing unpleasant situations.
Grimacing to myself, I noted the irony. My whole life these days was about tackling things head-on.
I found the pile to be exactly what I expected. A load of payment demands: electricity, gas, TV—a couple overdue because I hadn’t spent any time focusing on the day-to-day administrative affairs of my life lately. Quickly becoming tired of seeing the amounts grow into a bigger and bigger total sum, I tried to keep my thoughts from overwhelming me as I also started to panic over the fact that it had been almost three weeks since I’d done a day’s work. Which reminded me—I needed to return that call from my supervisor at Glencree, no doubt wanting to discuss my situation and when I might be able to return to my duties at the clinic.
It scared me that I wasn’t currently in a position to answer that question and wasn’t sure when I would be.
But no, now wasn’t the time to think about it, I argued with myself. Lucy was right, today was for de-stressing, not adding another burden to my already teetering worry pile.
In the other group of letters, there were indeed lots of Get Well Soon cards for Rosie, as well as notes of support for me from other Applewood parents, and I was reminded again of how wonderfully supportive this community was in times of need, and how quick everyone in Knockroe had been to rally around me both now and after Gre
g’s death, irrespective of how well or little they knew me personally.
Christine Campbell was a case in point, who, along with Lucy, was constantly and very kindly asking if she could help or if I needed anything while Rosie remained in Dublin. Although I still hadn’t quite forgiven her for that suggestion at the hospital before that the Coopers might be directly to blame for our current misfortune, I was touched by her generosity.
At the time, I’d very quickly put an end to that conversation. “There wasn’t an accident, or a faulty product or something—there isn’t anyone to blame,” I’d argued, horrified by the suggestion. “This is just about kids getting sick.”
However, Christine’s reply echoed in my head occasionally. “No, it’s about personal responsibility, or lack thereof,” she had insisted. “Madeleine sent her sick child to school knowing Clara wasn’t vaccinated against any serious illnesses. And, unlike you, she and Tom chose that situation. Really, you should talk to my cousin...”
But I honestly couldn’t wrap my head around Christine’s insistence. And I had told her, the nurse and especially Lucy—since she was friends with both me and the Coopers—exactly that.
It was uncomfortable to even think about. In fact, it felt almost...tacky. How could I even think about casting blame on anyone for this, let alone drag another family to court? One from that very same community that had so readily taken me and Rosie to their hearts. It wasn’t even worth thinking about, and once again I urged my brain to just...stop.
Relaxation, relaxation...
Grabbing my phone (just in case there was any change at the hospital) and my teacup, I headed for the stairs, determined once and for all to switch my mind off and submerge myself in a tub full of sweet-scented bubbles.
I sighed with pleasure as I lowered myself into the warm tub and felt my muscles immediately unwind as I submerged my body completely.
What I wouldn’t give at that moment for Greg to be sharing the water with me, rubbing out the knots that had over the last two years made themselves a permanent home along my shoulder blades. Though, in all honesty, I didn’t even need a massage as bad as I did a simple hug from someone who wasn’t a friend or a child. I could barely remember what it felt like to be touched by a man in a physical way.
