Beginner Child was a latch-key kid at the age of nine. XBH (ex-Beginner Husband) did not wish to pay court-ordered child support, and so money was beyond tight. We lived in a very small town, and though the school had after school care, the cost was more than my budget could cover, so Beginner Child had to be home, alone, for two hours between school and my coming home from work. No, not the best scenario, but it that's what is was. The home alone “rules” were: he had to stay in the house or backyard, lock the front door, not answer the phone, and call me when he got home from school and at least once again. Oh, and no cooking.
This was before computers and Nintendo DS, so watching TV and eating were his in house options. I find it interesting that Beginner Child was only eight when he was home alone, while Last Son, who now nine, is not allowed to be home alone for any time. I believe my experiences with Beginner Child have shaped my current parenting standards on the age of when a child can be left on his own.
A priceless gem of Beginner Child’s childhood, and probably the first time I acted like the parent I hoped to be, is when...
Beginner Child was eight years old. I came home from work, did my normal check in with him on his day at school, received his usual “It was okay” response, and asked him to take a shower while I fixed dinner. When I put the baking pan for the chicken on the kitchen counter it made a scratchy noise. A closer inspection revealed a layer of fine grit on the counters...and the floor...and the top of the stove. What the hell? I cleaned off the counter and stove, swept up the floor and finished up with dinner. The dining room table had some dust on it too. The living room looked unscathed. Very mysterious.
During dinner, I asked Beginner Child if he knew what was all over the floor. He looked down at the floor and said, “I don’t see anything.” Well, of course not child, I swept it up.
No use in asking about the kitchen counter either, at this point.
Beginner Child dutifully went to bed without argument, which should have been a clue to...something. I shut down the house and took myself off to bed as well, not knowing that my head wasn’t going to hit my pillow for at least two more hours.
Back then, my dressers were antiques, and the drawers did not always shut easily, which meant they were sometimes left slightly open if I was in a hurry. Me in a hurry? Single mom? Anyway, I went to close them and there was more of that grit stuff inside my drawers coating socks, sweaters, whatever was in the open drawer, the same stuff as what I swept up off the kitchen floor. This fine grit had found its way into every open drawer, and on top of each dresser. Again, what the hell?
It was too late, and I was too tired, to clean, so I just took some big, deep breaths and chose to go to sleep and deal with the mess in the morning. Pulling back my sheet and comforter I almost laid down on the pile, yes PILE, of grit in the middle of my bed. This pile had been under the comforter and sheet, not on top.
Okay, for those really perfect parents, beware, my next act was a brief relapse of mirroring my mother... I stormed into Beginner Child’s room, switched on the overhead light and told him to get up! Beginner Child was half-asleep, until something in his brain must have registered that I had just discovered “the pile” in my bed.
“Mom, I didn’t mean to do it. I just couldn’t stop it.” Beginner Child sobbed out before I had even asked him any questions.
Note: I had recently attended a parenting workshop (yeah, I know, didn't I learn anything? but at least I knew I needed guidance) and felt this was a wonderful opportunity to see if that guy I listened to for four hours actually knew what he was talking about.
“Okay, let's both calm down. Now...what is this stuff?” I asked, gently, while pointing at the pile in my bed.
“I don’t know what it is...sand?” Seriously, he doesn't know what he put in my bed? Grrr. My internal voice had apparently not paid attention during the workshop. My external voice, fortunately, remained in control.
“Okay, what couldn’t you stop.” I now was more curious than furious. (What a catchy phrase.)
“That thing in the kitchen, it wouldn’t stop.” Sobbing had ceased. He was surprised at the “new parent” he was dealing with.
“Show me what "that thing" is in the kitchen.”
Beginner Child led me into the kitchen and pointed at the fire extinguisher which was in its holder by the stove. I truly had never given it much notice as it was there when I rented the house.
“How? What? Oh, Jeez was there a fire?” I twirled around the kitchen looking for burn marks.
Beginner Child then told me that no, there wasn’t a fire. He knew he wasn’t supposed to cook when he was alone (He can follow some directions, yeah!), he just wanted to see how the fire extinguisher worked. He said he pulled something off the top and it started spraying out and he couldn’t figure out how to make it stop, so he ran through the house and stuffed the fire extinguisher in my bed until it stopped making noise. Then he put the fire extinguisher back into its holder.
“Oh.” I was really straining to keep the “screamer mom” in, but that four hours in the parenting workshop was going to a waste of my time if I didn’t. “You know, I have never used a fire extinguisher before. I always wanted to know how they worked too. So, you're telling me that you can't stop the stuff from coming out once it starts?” Curiosity was extinguishing (I’m liking this word) any residual anger at the enormous mess Beginner Child’s experiment had caused.
“I couldn’t make it stop, Mom. I tried really hard.”
“Well, you can help me change my bed right now. Tomorrow after school, instead of “vegging” in front of the TV, you will vacuum the house-the entire house. AND next time you want to try to see how something works, could you ask me first? I might be curious too?” Wow, did that really just come out of my mouth?
I would like to say that from then on my parenting style was just like that...understanding, compassionate, positive. I’d be lying to you, but I did enjoy a delicious moment visualizing Beginner Child rushing through the house, freaked out, holding onto the fire extinguisher as it spewed, whatever it has in it, all through the kitchen and into my bedroom where it coughed its last breaths under my covers.
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