For some, parenting appears to be as natural as breathing. For others – not so much. In October, I went out for breakfast with my cousin Scott and his wife Jen, along with their two young children. I watched with a mixture of amazement and maybe just a teeny tiny bit of envy as Jen navigated her way through the entire breakfast with such ease – while every little thing that I constantly fretted about when in public with my daughter, simply rolled off her back. She was effortlessly able to maintain a lively conversation, total control of her children and a beautiful smile on her face. It was almost like witnessing a miracle, (I was seriously waiting for the face of baby Jesus to appear on my toast) she had the arms of an octopus, the 360 degree vision of a chameleon and the patience of a saint. I couldn’t even manage one child and here I was watching Superwoman in action with not one but TWO children. This was an in the flesh encounter with an awe inspiring natural mother.
Meanwhile, back in the late 80’s I was still trying to figure out how to control my willful daughter – without resorting to beating her senseless or putting her on a leash/harness. Yes indeed I had one – and in retrospect I can’t even technically call it a harness (which in reality sounds only slightly better than a leash), it was more like a bungee cord that strapped to her wrist. If you were stationary and your child attempted to wander too far away they were magically sprung back at you like a little human yoyo. An absolute necessity for the unnatural mother that I was.
One Saturday afternoon, out of sheer necessity I was forced to take Faryn to Coquitlam Centre. I was extremely reluctant to do so as our previous mall excursions had been dodgy at best, but as a single parent – you often have no choice. As I was driving there, I was carefully instructing her on “mall etiquette ” which included, but was not limited to:
Me: “Hold my hand at ALL times, don’t talk to strangers – or better yet, don’t talk to ANYONE, no pointing, poking or touching other people. No running, screaming or crying” blah blah blah
Faryn: “You talk too much” (She obviously sensed that nothing positive could or would happen after so many emphatic “NO’s” had been lobbed her way in such a threatening matter)
I should have just turned around and gone home, but then I wouldn’t have anything to write about would I? We casually browsed through a clothing store, and I picked out a few items to try on in the change room. Faryn was in the room with me, admiring herself in the mirror while I stripped off my clothing and began stepping into a skirt. Just as I was zipping up the skirt, Faryn suddenly crawled underneath the door and disappeared. Frantically I threw on a blouse and ran out of the change room, searching through all of the racks, while bellowing her name like the crazy woman that I was. Nothing. I immediately ran out of the store which caused the alarms to go off, while a saleswoman chased after me. I had my purse slung over my shoulder and was barefoot as I raced around in circles flapping off the irate saleswoman who was now trying to strong arm me back into the store. Mall security arrived and by this time I was a sobbing mess, To their credit, malls take missing children seriously. The security guard immediately sprang into action, radioing other security guards to let them know that my daughter had been lost, while I tried desperately to remember what my daughter was wearing. A pink coat – that’s it, that’s all I had. Mall security had me stay near the store while they actually locked the mall down and announcements were made for Faryn to seek out a security guard so that she could be returned to me. (Quite possibly only a temporary arrangement if word got out) About thirty of the longest minutes in my entire lifetime passed, wherein I had now conjured up every horrific scenario imaginable and was in the process of having a complete meltdown. They continued to announce her name over the loudspeaker and I cringed every time I heard it. Finally, I re-entered the store next to the one I had originally been in just to check again and there was my daughter, in the change room area, twirling around in the mirrors, oblivious to the kafuffle that was occurring outside. I immediately dropped to my knees and grabbed her, half hugging and half wanting to shake her, while asking why she hadn’t responded to the loudspeaker calling her name.
Faryn: “But I didn’t hear anything”
Of course she couldn’t hear anything, the store was blaring their irritating music so loudly it made my head ache. Evidently, Faryn had wandered to the front of the store we were in, LEFT the store completely and then went back into the store next door by accident, waiting for me in the change room area, thinking I was still inside my cubicle. Never mind that this was a men’s clothing store, she wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. And how about those sales people? None of them even noticed that she was in there. I was so shaken, we had to leave the mall, immediately after I returned the borrowed clothing I was still wearing. I have to admit that a part of me actually died a little bit that day…
That spring, I put Faryn in t-ball, hoping that a team sport might teach her some discipline and help her to focus more on instructions and rules. For those who haven’t experienced t-ball, it is excruciatingly boring to watch. The kids whack away at the mounted ball and then run like lunatics when or if they actually hit it, usually running in the wrong direction. Faryn was placed outfield where she played in the dirt digging holes or ran around chasing imaginary butterflies, since the ball never came anywhere near her. I decided to take matters into my own hands and made preperations to teach her how to hit and catch a ball. I took a bat and a softball, threw the ball lightly into the air and swung the bat, just as Faryn decided this was an appropriate time to walk over and speak to me. There was a resounding crack as I hit her in the head with the bat so hard she was thrown onto the ground. Another trip to the emergency room – with a wailing daughter who wouldn’t stop screaming:
Faryn: “MY MOMMY HIT ME IN THE HEAD WITH A BASEBALL BAT”
Me: “FML”
Every summer my parents had Faryn stay with them for 2 weeks in an effort to diminish my skyrocketed fulltime daycare costs. While trying to kill some time before I had to take Faryn to the ferry, walk on with her, meet my parents on the other side and then run back to catch the ferry home again, I suggested that Faryn ride her bike with me around the neighbourhood while I rollerbladed. I was moderately comfortable rollerblading and we set out together on this beautiful sunny morning. Faryn was wearing her helmet, along with all of the paraphernalia that bubble wrap parents require, such as elbow and kneepads. Since her little knees could barely bend in the knee pads, this made peddling for her, challenging at best. We were navigating a small hill and as I was gathering speed, I suddenly realized that the rubber brake at the back of my rollerblade wasn’t working – it was in fact GONE. This is one of those situations where you are fully aware that you are going to get hurt (I had not put on a helmet, wrist guards, elbow pads or knee pads – because I was so MODERATELY COMFORTABLE with my rollerblading abilities) but are frantically searching for a solution that might somehow minimize the pain. At this point I had two equally unappealing options. The first was to try to jump off the road onto the sidewalk, which I knew meant I was going to suffer significant road rash and perhaps some broken bones, or option number two – which consisted of an attempt to grab onto a rapidly approaching parked, one-ton truck. I surmised that if I somehow managed to do this, it might or might not drastically reduce the injuries I was about to sustain. I wobbly steered myself towards the one-ton truck, however; instead of being able to grab onto it, I violently slammed into the side of it. I snapped my left wrist immediately on impact and then spun around, landing on the pavement with my right hand, before both of my elbows and knees made contact. Faryn who had witnessed the entire event, had breathlessly peddled her way over to me and was standing by my side sobbing. Two men who were just leaving a garage sale in a small pickup truck came running over and offered to give me a ride to the hospital however, the small pickup couldn’t accommodate Faryn, unless I consented to her sitting in the bed of the truck with all the rubbish. I asked that they take me home instead so that I could call an ambulance. And so, the passenger scooched over to sit beside the driver so that I could attempt to drag my broken, bloodied body into the truck. I yelled to Faryn that she must follow us home on her bike and to call the police if I didn’t make it there. The men did in fact drop me off at the house, and I had Faryn run inside to call 911. The ambulance arrived, but the paramedics couldn’t figure out how to remove my rollerblades and so they just deposited me into the back with them still on my feet. Faryn happily sat up front with the driver.
So there I was at the hospital – a bloodied and broken spectacle, having fractured and wounded every conceivable area that should have been spared had I been wearing the protective gear that I had forced my daughter to wear simply to ride her bike. And yes, there she sat beside me, still wearing her helmet, elbow and knee pads, while the nurses kept glancing over at me shaking their heads. I dreaded making the phone call to my parents requesting that they come over to pick Faryn up since I knew I wasn’t going to be released from the hospital anytime soon. My friend Kathryn came to my rescue once again, picking up my daughter and taking her to the ferry to meet my parents – who I might add, were supremely pissed off at me and my reckless behaviour, once again. Once I was able to use my arms again, I packed away my rollerblades and have never tried to use them again.
The Accidental Parent 