Parenting is a social act: experience from a mom on wheels
From a beach, we can see fireworks red and orange colors on a cloudy sky.
We all have thought, at some point or another, that parenting would be easy.
Or at least, not so hard.
We all thought we could make it on our own.
Until we are faced with an over-excited, tired child.
Then, we all doubt our parenting abilities.
Tough days under the sun
Kids in vacation are great, then they get tired and after a few days, it can become quite challenging to keep them on track. But we try to make the best of it.
When on vacation with my sister and our children, we often end up co-parenting in some ways. It doesn’t matter who birthed whom, we just take care of the children that are around us. As the kids grow older, it becomes somewhat easier to take care of them, as there is less of the day-to-day stuff to get organised. The younger ones are more demanding as they get more impacted by fatigue and excitement, and have less self-regulating capacities.
Ben, the youngest of family, is one of the funniest kid I know. He is also a kid who can be quite demanding.
In a recent family trip, we walked to a nearby beach at nightfall so we could admire some fireworks. Fireworks, of course, occur past Ben’s bedtime. But we are not everyday on vacation! On the return walk, I can see my sister has had it with Ben. I can also hear that he is not following her directives in a crowded place. So I call Ben over.
Asking children to help, to have them follow directives
Ben, I say. I need your help (not really – I didn’t really need his help). Can you help me push my wheelchair with me, there are too many people around.
Ben says something inaudible but obliges.
Within a few blocks, Ben tells me how he no longer wants to push my wheelchair. He asks if I can manage on my own. I answer swiftly that I actually didn’t really need his help. I just needed to have him focused on something, so that I would know where he was in this ocean of people.
He grunts and asks again. I of course tell him he does not have to push my wheelchair but I am asking him to walk beside me, all the way to the hotel room. I can see my requests are stopping him from going off on adventures. But that is sort of the point.
Ben and I then start a conversation. How was his day? What did he think of the fireworks? What will he do once we get back to the hotel room?
The day was fun. The fireworks were loud, and beautiful. Upon returning to the hotel, he will wash his hands, pee, brush his teeth, get in his pj, say good-bye to everybody and go to sleep, without making a fuss.
That sounds great.
We continue our conversation as we walk closer and closer to Ilima Hotel.
Implementation of the master plan
We arrive and Ben sees me follow him into his unit and he asks why. I answer that I am following him as he told me all about what he would do once back at the hotel and I wanted to see it from my own two eyes. He slightly rolls his, and walks straight towards an ipad.
“Heu… Ben? I don’t believe you mentioned going to play on the ipad when I aksed you about your bedtime routine. Do you remember what you said you would do?”
“Pee, wash my hands, brush my teeth, …”
“So go. Step 1. Pee. Once you are done, I am expecting you to open the bathroom door so I can see you do the rest of the steps.”
Ben responds:
“Why do you want to see me do the other steps, auntie?”
“Well, Ben. What do you think? Do you think you would follow them if I didn’t ask to see them?”
His answer: a smile, that truly said it all.
As he is brushing his teeth, I can see my sister take care of Alex. She is not intervening and not saying anything. Ben tries to get into it with Alex, but I gently remind him that ‘bugging his sister’ was also not on the list.
Slowly but surely, Mr Ben checks off every item of the list HE built. He goes through all steps that get him into bed. When it is time to say good night, he comes around to give me the biggest hug possible (and one that lasts super long!). By then, my sister is just starring without saying anything. In a matter of 20 minutes, Ben was in bed, ready to sleep (almost!).
Conclusion
We all have thought abled-body parents or adults might do a better job at intervening with children. Me included unfortunately. This is called Ableism, and in my case, internalized ableism. A series of preconceived notions that want us to believe an abled-body, abled-mind is better than a disabled one. Turns out, it is wrong.
Turns out, the abled-body part, has little to do with how a child is responding to us. How a child respond to us will depend on their level of fatigue and stress, for example, or ours. Our ability to respond appropriately will also depend on our ability to be patient and self-regulate our emotions. But most importantly, a child responds to us based on the kind of relationship we have established with them.
Since his birth, Ben and I have often been left alone together. He knows me and I know him. He knows I like him. And I know he trusts me. I also know he knows that when I say something, I follow through. I have explained it to him many times over. As a wheelchair user, I have to follow through so that children know that I am serious when I give them directives. It is as much for their safety as it is for mine. So when I give him directives, in a playful manner, Ben responds positively.
My disability doesn’t impact negatively my ability to parent children. Instead, I believe my disability makes me a bit craftier in how I raise them.
written by
Marjorie Aunos, PhD., is an internationally renowned researcher, adjunct professor, clinical psychologist, and award-winning inspirational speaker from Montreal, Canada.
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