I think one of the hardest things sometimes for a mom to do, is to do
nothing. To not jump in when we see our children struggling takes real
restraint. One of the philosophies of the Montessori school my
kids go to is to let children try things for themselves at a very young
age. Three year olds are expected to walk themselves into the building
and to their classrooms. (Aden had issues with this, but Mona and
Quinn did just fine.) You are supposed to give them room to try things
and discover what they are capable of. Independence is considered as
much a part of the lesson as anything else.
In this regard, Quinn is a perfect fit for Montessori. He is an
extremely capable four year old. When he was two he was able to serve
himself yogurt from the fridge if he was hungry and even put the spoon
in the sink. For a long time now he has been able to dress himself. He
gets up in the night to use the bathroom if he needs to, and he doesn’t
mind walking through the house while it’s dark. He’s taught himself
cursive. He’s a boy with a strong sense of pride. He’ll ask for help
if he needs it, but the moment he is confident he can do something
himself he becomes offended by assistance. For the most part, since he
wants to (and can) do so much on his own, he is very easy to care for.
Except for Ian. I mentioned recently
how Quinn is still adjusting to having his father home from Iraq, and
how difficult that transition has been for the two of them. I’ve since
talked to many parents who wonder how much of this struggle is
deployment related and how much is just a
run-of-the-mill-small-child-clinging-to-a chosen-parent phenomenon which
is common. It’s hard to know.
I had sort of hoped during my recent trip to Detroit
alone for a week and a half, that time without me around might help.
But it didn’t really. Quinn went about his life sometimes managing to
be polite to his dad, and sometimes not able to keep that up if he was
too tired to be reasonable. There wasn’t the kind of ‘bonding’ I was
hoping for in my absence. So I figured the solution would have to be
time.
But this week Quinn is sick. And things are different. Not
entirely, because my son is stubborn (can’t imagine where he gets that
from, she wrote, hoping her mother doesn’t happen to read this post), so
he clings to ideas with a ferociousness of habit longer than he should
sometimes. (As a matter of principle he says he doesn’t like his
sister, Mona, either, but anyone who sees them playing together knows
this is obviously not true. He stands by his statement just the same.)
Sickness isn’t just inconvenient. Sickness strips you of a degree of
independence. Sickness means you need someone. For Quinn, sickness
means for the first time since Ian returned from the war he is needed by
his son in a way Quinn can appreciate. I would prefer my son weren’t
sick, but we have definitely seen a silver lining.
I listened the other day as Quinn needed help. I wanted to go to
him, but Ian was already there. So I managed to stay out of it. I
listened instead. I heard my husband being patient and kind. He
offered assistance but was careful not to force any help on Quinn.
Quinn, in his sweet little voice, explained where he hurt, asked for
medicine, asked to be carried. His daddy obliged. He did not make too
much of it. He was exactly right and exactly what Quinn needed. It was
hard not to go scoop up my little boy myself, but the fact that he was
accepting real help from his dad was like seeing sunshine after a long
difficult night.
Recently Quinn has also shown his dad how to get to some level on
some Club Penguin game, and I’ve overheard several sweet little
conversations. It’s encouraging. It’s also nice to have Ian say after
helping me clean up vomit the other night how much he likes the teamwork
aspect of parenting together. I think another man might have been
called on to help with puking in the night and deemed it the lesser side
of the family experience, but Ian said it felt good to be able to
divide up the work so efficiently. I cleaned up the boy and Ian
stripped the bed and got everything in the wash. That’s much harder to
do alone, and I’m glad neither of us had to.
Unfortunately, on the health front, my poor little boy ended up in
the hospital for several hours because he became dehydrated. He was
getting limp instead of better so I took him to the doctor and she
ordered an IV. Quinn was remarkably good about having his blood drawn
the getting the IV line inserted. He was unhappy, but he didn’t cry and
he didn’t move. He slept for about an hour while the IV did its work,
and then ate a popsicle while holding a toy bunny he picked out in the
gift shop. Poor thing. He’s doing fine now, except forcing him to take
his antibiotic twice a day is turning into a wrestling match. It
tastes bad and he won’t take it. Mixing it with yogurt got us through
one dose, but he’s not repeating that. We even tried mixing it with a
giant spoonful of sugar a la Mary Poppins, but no luck. Lots of gagging
and spitting everything out. At the moment we are down to holding him
still while I put some at a time in his mouth and then using my fingers
to shove it back in as he does everything he can to avoid swallowing
any. It’s awful. Suggestions? Please?
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