This week’s tale describes a near-miss which has made me realise, yet again, that, despite the fact that I’m a mother of two young children - and a whole thirty-four-years-old - I’m still extremely capable of making the odd...well, perhaps frequent is a better word...mistake.
It was nearing the end of a very long day and I – the rather disorganised and always rushed mother – decided I might just have enough time to take the washing off the line, and even fold it in the process. Dinner was on the stove and, thankfully, little madam (who’s three-and-a-half, and can be surprisingly helpful when she feels up to it) had agreed to push little man (who’s now fifteen-months-old) on the backyard swing.
Things were going exceptionally smoothly, and little man’s delight at being pushed on the swing by his big sister was evident in the loud laughter which rang-out across the yard (and was certainly much easier thing to listen to than the usual tantrums and carry-on I have to put up with as hungry tummy’s begin to recognise dinner is almost due) as I came close to unpegging and folding the last piece of clean and dry washing from the line.
It was at this moment that I heard the pot, which contained rice to accompany the curry we were having for dinner, bubbling furiously on the stove. So I quickly dashed inside to turn down the heat and give it a stir. When I re-appeared outside again, a short-while later, I realised that things were still going just as well as they had been before I dashed inside, with little madam and little man, so I decided to seize the opportunity (because opportunities like these seldom occur when you’re a mother with two young children) and quickly dashed back inside to try and put the folded washing away.
Now I can just imagine my husband’s horror when he reads the next part of this story. As, although he’s a terrific father, he has a habit of being a little too hover-happy when it comes to parenting. And he would never do anything as irresponsible as leaving three-year-old little madam in charge of little man for even a second; particularly in a place as dangerous as the great outdoors. But I guess that’s because, on a daily basis, he doesn’t really have to concern himself with the washing, cooking, cleaning etc – the everyday stuff that goes on while he’s busy at work - and he really has no idea how difficult it is to find those opportunities; opportunities, like the brief one I got the other day, where I might actually achieve something great. Even if this, “something great”, is as insignificant as folding and putting away an entire line-full of washing.
Now. Where was I? That’s right. Dashing back inside to attempt to put away the washing, while little madam continued to occupy little man on the swing. It was all going so well, up until the time I was up to putting the final small pile of washing away; it was a couple of sets of little man’s pyjamas. It was as I opened the drawer in his room, that I heard the creak and slam of the backdoor. And I realised that, although little madam could be considered strong for her age, there was no way she was quite capable of actually getting little man off the swing by herself.
“Everything okay?” I called out nervously, as I hurriedly shoved the freshly folded jim jams into a spare space in the drawer. “Fine. I’m just going to the toilet”, she replied. I quickly made my way into the kitchen to peer out the window and, just as I suspected, she’d left little man swinging in the swing. He seemed pretty happy still, so initially I wasn’t too concerned.
But the next time I glanced at little man, I realised that things were no longer going as well as they had been. As he was no longer swinging happily on the swing all by himself; he was now, in fact, hanging - or dangling to make it sound better. And (although it could have been disastrous, of course, if one of his arms hadn’t caught on the swing seatbelt), apart from the fact that was looking rather rattled and had an incredibly concerned expression on his face (what did I expect? He was practically suspended in mid-air, with only a thin chain-seatbelt between him and a rather heavy fall to the tanbark) he was completely unharmed.
Naturally, despite the fact that I felt about as careless and irresponsible as a mummy seahorse at that moment, I quickly rushed outside and rescued him. And I was thankful that he hadn’t managed to wriggle himself free by the time I arrived. And he was, therefore, fine and not too put off the outside play equipment as a result of this incident.
I guess, after rescuing the dangling little man off the swing, I could have tried pointing the finger at little madam and blaming her for the careless move that resulted in little man nearly plummeting to the earth; but then I remembered that she is only just over twice his teeny age; not-to-mention the fact that I am the parent here. So all I can do is, once again, take full responsibility for this near-miss (and a whole heap of others that have that preceded this one) and admit, once again, that as a human I am capable of making the odd mistake. And, although I’m hopeful I will learn from this incident - learn that temptation (well, the temptation of being able to get at least one job around here done) should never get in the way of being a responsible mother – given the constant state of the house, not-to-mention the pile of washing that never seems to shrink, I doubt very much this particular occurrence will be at the forefront of my mind next time I’m presented with a similar opportunity.
Thanks, little man, for hanging on long enough to allow me to rescue you. Sorry my desperation to get the washing put away almost caused you to fall off the swing. Love you!
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