Accessibility
Just as I was fleeing to make a writing escape, Daniel pinned me down to tell me some “facts” he’d learned from a library book. Classic dilemma: do I evade his request, and continue on my self-fulfilling journey down the hallway, or do I grace him with more of my time. In a moment of weakness I say, “You can just tell me TWO facts. I’m going to do some writing now, and this is my time. You need to appreciate that I’ve spent the whole day with you, so now you can spend some time with Dad, or do something quietly on your own.” Broken record. The first fact was that goldfish only have a 3 second memory retention. That was actually helpful as it explained something I’ve often wondered about - do goldfish get bored, and is it ethical to keep them as pets? Given they forget where they’re been every 3 seconds, I imagine it would be quite impossible to get bored - they probably have a delightful existence, constantly seeing things as if for the first time. They would have no ‘baggage,’ bear no grudges, and made new friends everyday. Sounds like a nice life. Now that I know it’s OK to keep them as pets, instead of looking upon them with pity, I’ll look to them for inspiration when I need a reminder to “let things go.” The second fact Daniel shared with me (after a lengthy assessment of what was the most vital to share with me from a choice of 200 facts) was that snails can sleep for 3 days in one go. I wish I could do that.
Turned out that was a nice lead-in to introduce my thoughts for this week. I’ve been pondering on my ‘accessibility’ as a Mother, and struggling with when it’s appropriate to set boundaries. I welcome the school holidays for several reasons; one high on the list being the freedom to lie in bed and not have to get up in order to get everyone else up, fed, dressed, sorted, and packed off to school for the day. The first day of the holidays, Elliot runs crying into my bedroom at 6:45am telling me Daniel stole the T.V. remote. Hello? Does it not register to him that I’m asleep? Apparently not. I’m accessible. Furthermore, what does he expect me to do about it? Don’t witness the crime, don’t get involved is my motto. I've been drawn into the saga of being judge and jury far too many times before without solid evidence as to why each party is aggrieved to know that it never ends well. Besides, I’m asleep. I just mutter my standard response to T.V. related “issues” and say if they can’t sort it out between themselves, no-one gets to watch T.V. After all, it's a privilege. All is well as I slip back into my blissful dream, until quarter of an hour later when Daniel runs into my room to 'TELL ON' Elliot because he’s spilled yoghurt on the floor. Hello? Asleep. I wonder what he actually hopes to achieve by delivering me such trivia? Nothing positive in my view, I can tell you that. Awesome start to the school holidays.
Later that same day Elliot was having a bath, making magic potions as he does. He hears me go into the toilet in the next room. “Mum, I need you to open this bottle for me!” I tell him I’m on the toilet. “Yes, but I need you to open this bottle for me!” Seriously? When I gave birth, not all of my placenta came away initially, and I’m starting to doubt now whether they got out the bit that was attached to the umbilical cord during the D & C. I’m not sure if it’s just me, or all Mothers suffer the same phenomenon? My children seem to reserve the divine right to full and unconditional access to me 24/7.
The reverse is not true though. I don’t dare assume privilege to access them if they’re in the middle of doing something self-serving. Elliot has even made signs to hang on his bedroom door to stipulate when and under what conditions I’m allowed access to his room, and therefore him. A recent door hanging was: “I’m doing artwork. You may enter only if you intend to buy something from my gallery - $1 for a landscape and 50 cents for a portrait.” Charming. Sometimes the sign just reads “Go Away, Or You Die,” which is no doubt intended for his brother rather than me. Anyone would think he worked for MI5 the secrecy that surrounds the goings-on in his bedroom sometimes. My friend's daughter has a sign on her door which presents a secret code that, if it can be cracked, will allow access into her room. I tried to crack it the other day and I couldn't. To be fair, I'd had a few wines, but I honestly didn't think it was crackable. Can you imagine if we Mothers took the same liberties and hung entry conditions on our bedroom doors ("Homework must be completed before entry allowed")? I'm not sure they'd be met with the same humor and respect that their conditions are. The reality is my children would probably feel like I’d cut their arm off if I was to even put a lock on my en suite door. A lock wouldn’t help anyway, they would still loiter outside the door making their presence and pressing needs known to me so they could be ‘attended’ to as soon as I emerged.
Believe it or not, I actually hid in my office closet the other day to avoid an "I'm telling on you" incident. I heard it brewing from the other end of the house, and was overcome with a gut instinct to HIDE. Their frantic footsteps were coming... coming... I sensed their urgent eye-sweep around my office as I held my breath buried deep in winter coats, affording me a comforting moment of peace. Unsurprisingly, they got over it fairly quickly after they gave up their search for me. Makes me wonder how vital I really am to their reconciliation process. I could possibly save myself a lot of aggrevation simply by hiding more often.
So my question is this: am I responsible for the 'accessibility' issue... have I made my own bed? Have I allowed myself to be so readily available to them over the years that it’s become absolute, or is it just the inherent nature of a Mother/Child relationship? I know and accept it’s my job to be there for them always. Without condition, I'll always be there for them if they fall. I'll always be there for them if they're unwell, or sad, or need to talk. I'll always be there to counsel, console, and cuddle. But there must be boundaries, surely. I don’t accept they can have a piece of me whenever they see fit. I don't accept that my expectation to sit on the toilet in privacy for a couple of minutes, or to rest in bed undisturbed for an extra half hour in the morning is unrealistic.
Turned out that was a nice lead-in to introduce my thoughts for this week. I’ve been pondering on my ‘accessibility’ as a Mother, and struggling with when it’s appropriate to set boundaries. I welcome the school holidays for several reasons; one high on the list being the freedom to lie in bed and not have to get up in order to get everyone else up, fed, dressed, sorted, and packed off to school for the day. The first day of the holidays, Elliot runs crying into my bedroom at 6:45am telling me Daniel stole the T.V. remote. Hello? Does it not register to him that I’m asleep? Apparently not. I’m accessible. Furthermore, what does he expect me to do about it? Don’t witness the crime, don’t get involved is my motto. I've been drawn into the saga of being judge and jury far too many times before without solid evidence as to why each party is aggrieved to know that it never ends well. Besides, I’m asleep. I just mutter my standard response to T.V. related “issues” and say if they can’t sort it out between themselves, no-one gets to watch T.V. After all, it's a privilege. All is well as I slip back into my blissful dream, until quarter of an hour later when Daniel runs into my room to 'TELL ON' Elliot because he’s spilled yoghurt on the floor. Hello? Asleep. I wonder what he actually hopes to achieve by delivering me such trivia? Nothing positive in my view, I can tell you that. Awesome start to the school holidays.
Later that same day Elliot was having a bath, making magic potions as he does. He hears me go into the toilet in the next room. “Mum, I need you to open this bottle for me!” I tell him I’m on the toilet. “Yes, but I need you to open this bottle for me!” Seriously? When I gave birth, not all of my placenta came away initially, and I’m starting to doubt now whether they got out the bit that was attached to the umbilical cord during the D & C. I’m not sure if it’s just me, or all Mothers suffer the same phenomenon? My children seem to reserve the divine right to full and unconditional access to me 24/7.
The reverse is not true though. I don’t dare assume privilege to access them if they’re in the middle of doing something self-serving. Elliot has even made signs to hang on his bedroom door to stipulate when and under what conditions I’m allowed access to his room, and therefore him. A recent door hanging was: “I’m doing artwork. You may enter only if you intend to buy something from my gallery - $1 for a landscape and 50 cents for a portrait.” Charming. Sometimes the sign just reads “Go Away, Or You Die,” which is no doubt intended for his brother rather than me. Anyone would think he worked for MI5 the secrecy that surrounds the goings-on in his bedroom sometimes. My friend's daughter has a sign on her door which presents a secret code that, if it can be cracked, will allow access into her room. I tried to crack it the other day and I couldn't. To be fair, I'd had a few wines, but I honestly didn't think it was crackable. Can you imagine if we Mothers took the same liberties and hung entry conditions on our bedroom doors ("Homework must be completed before entry allowed")? I'm not sure they'd be met with the same humor and respect that their conditions are. The reality is my children would probably feel like I’d cut their arm off if I was to even put a lock on my en suite door. A lock wouldn’t help anyway, they would still loiter outside the door making their presence and pressing needs known to me so they could be ‘attended’ to as soon as I emerged.
Believe it or not, I actually hid in my office closet the other day to avoid an "I'm telling on you" incident. I heard it brewing from the other end of the house, and was overcome with a gut instinct to HIDE. Their frantic footsteps were coming... coming... I sensed their urgent eye-sweep around my office as I held my breath buried deep in winter coats, affording me a comforting moment of peace. Unsurprisingly, they got over it fairly quickly after they gave up their search for me. Makes me wonder how vital I really am to their reconciliation process. I could possibly save myself a lot of aggrevation simply by hiding more often.
So my question is this: am I responsible for the 'accessibility' issue... have I made my own bed? Have I allowed myself to be so readily available to them over the years that it’s become absolute, or is it just the inherent nature of a Mother/Child relationship? I know and accept it’s my job to be there for them always. Without condition, I'll always be there for them if they fall. I'll always be there for them if they're unwell, or sad, or need to talk. I'll always be there to counsel, console, and cuddle. But there must be boundaries, surely. I don’t accept they can have a piece of me whenever they see fit. I don't accept that my expectation to sit on the toilet in privacy for a couple of minutes, or to rest in bed undisturbed for an extra half hour in the morning is unrealistic.
I know if I can teach them to respect my need for space and privacy more, I’ll be teaching them a lesson that goes beyond what they need to learn within the dynamic of our family. They need to learn that the world doesn’t revolve around them (between us, in my world, it actually does, but that's something I'll keep to myself until they understand it for themselves one day). I’d also be doing them an injustice if I didn’t help them develop the skills they need to resolve issues between themselves and learn to be happy in their own space. Having said that, Elliot is apparently already quite comfortable in his own space, evidenced by the "signs." I must say though that tonight I was pleasantly surprised to see this sign hanging on his door: "Feel free to enter, am in cuddly mood." Respect. I'm not sure many of us adults would be so forthright.
I feel a bit nostalgic even as I write this because I know one day my boys will be all grown up. They'll come a time I know, when them taking the time to seek me out will be something I'll love most in all the world. I'll miss hearing potions being made in the bath, and me being an integral part of that procedure. I'll be 60 years old, lying in my bed at 9am in the morning stretched out like a cat with cream, reflecting on how quickly my boys grew up; wishing that they would just bound into my bedroom one more time with their cries for help, just so I can be reminded of how much they once needed me.
I feel a bit nostalgic even as I write this because I know one day my boys will be all grown up. They'll come a time I know, when them taking the time to seek me out will be something I'll love most in all the world. I'll miss hearing potions being made in the bath, and me being an integral part of that procedure. I'll be 60 years old, lying in my bed at 9am in the morning stretched out like a cat with cream, reflecting on how quickly my boys grew up; wishing that they would just bound into my bedroom one more time with their cries for help, just so I can be reminded of how much they once needed me.
For now though, I’m feeling inspired to make a sign that says: “Do not disturb. Writing in progress,” which I'll hang on my office door the odd evening my husband is on putting-to-bed duties. The irony is that even though I will have created some 'delicious space' to have a break from my children, all I'll be doing is writing about them! They're just so very inspirational you see...
Mum’s the Word:
It's OK to need space from your children. It's good for them to learn respect for that too. But keep it real... make sure they understand you will always be there when it counts.
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