Baby animal in trouble

Right, off to school you go, I said firmly to my son this morning. This was absolutely essential. I would have had to push him in his wheelchair even if he was screaming and begging me not to go, if necessary I would have had to carry him down the steps, because his younger brother had a hospital appointment so I wasn't going to be at home.

He had been on his feet most of the morning, complaining. He knew he had to go to school, though, and since it was wet outside found a piece of cardboard to sit on whilst he pushed himself slowly, painfully, down the steps on his bottom. (There might allegedly have been a moment where I yelled at him to stop messing around and get on with it). I didn't feel guilty for pushing him. There was no option. We had to get his brother to be seen by the paed today. That is just family life. So school it was. Got him to his classroom, and said casually "Yes, I'll come and see you when I drop off your brother."

I spend the next halfhour listening to my little ones play Wonderpets on a loop. "Dere's an animal in trouble - I got it!" The little one runs around the waiting room, rescuing imaginary lions. "Ah, look, here it is." He brings it to his brother. "It's a baby lamb." My middle son examines it seriously, then pushes the imaginary lamb into his pocket. I make a mental note to precede any future sheep purchases with reminders that they don't belong in our trousers. Hospital appointment over, I came back to school and popped my head around the corner of the classroom. He was on his feet, good. He saw me and said he was sore, in a lot of pain. But he was walking, so I had a quick word to the teacher to check she was happy to keep him at school, then said he was fine and I'd see him at hometime. As I left there was a bit of a yell from him, but I ignored it, knowing if I walked away he'd soon calm down.

I got back into the car, started to drive home. I waited for the guilt feelings to disappear. But unlike this morning, they were persistent, nagged at me. I could not put them down. They were as persistent as the driving rain. (I think it is fairly clear that the Great Drought of 2013 in the North Island is now over). This is weird, I thought, why can't I relax?

And then it hit me. Just because he was on his feet did not mean that he wasn't still really, really sore. And that meant - even if he'd had a good morning - he might just have been coping brilliantly with the pain. And was it really fair for me to assume that he could go on coping, because he'd done well so far? Was that not teaching him in reverse, that if he masters this we will just set him something harder? There is an incredibly funny book called "A Year of Learning Dangerously" about home education. I like it, not because it reassures me that I am not THAT bad a homeschooler, I have never yet been reduced to hiding in the bathroom and breathing into a paper bag. This episode of maternal collapse is brought on by long division. The writer's daughter quite reasonably refuses to master long division in school. Her reasoning is that she doesn't like maths, and if she learns to do this they will just set her something worse. Wasn't I in danger of teaching my son the negative lesson, that if he managed a whole morning at school that just meant I would insist on him doing the afternoon too?

And there was something else, that came to me whilst I was driving home. It was a long complicated road to get pregnant, and during those extremely arid years I remember promising myself that if I ever did have the luck to have kids, I would a) not mind if they were disabled b) listen to them.
A) turned out to be significantly harder than I expected. I'm still working on it. Keep you posted.
B) I tune out a lot of crap, but I do try to listen to the important stuff, and take their perspectives into account.
And today, not listening to him saying "I'm sore and I've had enough," well, it didn't feel like I was listening really. There's a baby animal in trouble, and I must try to do something about it. Without squashing him into my back pocket, if possible.

I turned around and went back. It was the end of morning class. Everyone was politely surprised to see me, and his lovely teacher (it is SUCH a kicker that he's not able to be there much, he'd learn SO much in her classroom) reassured me that he'd had a really good morning and he would be fine if he stayed. I popped him in the car and we came home, where caring overprotective mother that I am, I promptly forgot to give him lunch until he complained.

As I poured out the Rice Crispies (haute cuisine we are not) I wondered whose needs I was meeting, his or mine. Then I decided that it didn't really matter for now, and that if an average pain-level day meant half school, half home, then that was better than no education at all. I also thought ruefully that perhaps all that was stopping me apply to de-register him was how useful it was that he COULD go to school, rather than dragging him to his brother's hospital appointments.

"Can I take Crusher tomorrow in for Show and Tell?" my son demanded. Crusher is the newest figure from that dratted computer game that is dominating our lives. (Must learn to LOVE computer game and find a way to make it EDUCATIONAL! Like good homeschooling parents DO!)

Ah, yes, I thought, that's another good reason for persevering for now. Because when you take pain out of the equation he genuinely wants to go. He's not always crying for help. Half the time he wants me to leave him alone and let him enjoy fun with his friends.

Now I just wish I could get that dratted "Baby animal in trouble - somewhere!" song out of my head.