For example... Say one of my children is running through the house. We both, in an instant, survey the area for sharp objects, or any sort of obstacle, and yell "STOP RUNNING!!!" Then, simultaneously, break down every possible scenario of possible injury... yell-screaming over each other to get our story across. I will yell "You could trip on that rug, and smash your face, break your teeth, and sprain your ankle... or poke an eye out!!!" Not that they hear what my totally rational scenario is... because at the very same time... in a deep, booming, man voice... my Husband yells out "You could HIT that corner, TRIP on that dog bed, fall on that box, (Yes... we DO pick up our house... but there are just bound to be objects in their way... we DO live in tight quarters, after all) break your arm, and be paralyzed from the waste down for the REST OF YOUR LIFE!!! Do you WANT to be in a wheelchair!?!?!?" (To which, I respond by looking at him like he has lost it completely, and is an overbearing Dad... they are just KIDS and stuff... JEEZ! Lighten up!) :) It is getting worse and worse as the years go on, though. God forbid, someone tries to walk through the kitchen while we are making dinner... it's just... bad. You should hear what could happen if there are sharp knives in the closed drawer... or mac and cheese in a pan, on the stove. Or a stray cheese grater in the dishwasher. You'd be amazed... and scared for your life. It's pretty serious stuff.
That may sound dramatic... and even a bit (Ok... a lot) over the top, and hysterical, but in all honesty... these are the things that run through my head. Even with my nonstop hovering, we have had our fair share of injuries throughout the years. So, anything I can do to hysterically warn them of oncoming catastrophes... may soften or prevent the inevitable outcome. Nobody wants to have to call an ambulance. Butter knives CAN slip... and you only get 10 fingers. :)
I have always been a worrier... I thought. Then I became a Mom. The thought of my babies being hurt, or in pain, is overwhelming and unbearable. (Yes, I have been medicated... it didn't work.) I'm not sorry for it, and personally think you are asking for disaster if you do not hover. Having a daughter first made it really easy for me to be all high and mighty in my hovering. I've got this down to a science. She knows the rules... and follows them to a T. Easy breezy... Then I had a Son. My guy isn't as rambunctious as some boys his age, or as defiant as he could be... but he still has given me a run for my hovering money. He has always had this 'side glare' he throws at me when I tell him to knock something off. He'll do it one more time, pushing his limit, and then... stop. Out of fear I will ground him from his ipod. I don't let him crawl over the top of monkey bars, or ride his bike, unsupervised, all over town. He knows the rules, too... and I'm all good. Nothing can happen if I'm on top of all of this 'how far can I push my limit' stuff. And so I thought....
All of that changed a year ago, today. The day after his Golden birthday. I had, against my better judgment, started to let him go on bike rides with my 15 year old neighbor. We live on a lake, and there is a pretty safe path around it to bike. I figured he was 8, knew my rules, and was with a responsible, 15 year old. He was also wearing a helmet... how bad could it be?! Ugh... I was soon to find out how bad... it really could be.
To get to the bike path, he had to go around the corner from our house, via the street. It was a Sunday afternoon, at about 3:30, and he was leaving for a quick ride around the lake with the neighbor. I double checked that he had his helmet.. and off they went. My daughter and I were leisurely watching "Dance Moms" on the couch, and my Husband was painting the house. All was well... until the phone rang. Every Mom's nightmare.
Something told me to answer this call from an unknown number. I don't typically do that, especially on a Sunday... but this felt different. I said hello... and got "Is this Skylar's mom?" I said something. Then... "Hi. My name is Mary Blah blah. I don't want you to panic, honey, but I have your son. There has been an accident. The police are here, and the paramedics are on their way. You need to get here....." That's all I remember. It didn't really register. Is this real? She told me not to panic. Where am I? What is going on? Who WAS that? Am I wearing a bra?
I went on a mad hunt for my Husband (I think...). I was yelling for him, and he wasn't anywhere. I didn't realize he was already there. At 'the scene'. The neighbor kid had started yelling for him, and he just... knew. He ran... Full of paint from head to toe, and in complete disarray. I think I grabbed my daughter by the hair... or... ear? And we were off to meet them. This is starting to seem real. Shit. That Mary lady said don't panic... didn't she? It probably isn't that bad... just hold it together and breathe. He knows the rules. This can't happen to us. I hover.
We rounded the corner... and there they were. All of them. Running, yelling, and hovering over my baby as he just laid there... bleeding. :( The neighbors were all coming out, staring at this horrific sight, and I immediately became a crazed Mama Bear. I started yelling at all of them to go away... and giving them serious stank eye. It was all I could do. Don't just sit there and stare at my baby, you assholes!! Give us some space! I'm about to lose it....
I did what any Mom would do, and dropped to me knees, next to my bloody baby... and left my body. I'm serious. I had heard of out-of-body experiences, but until October 9th, 2011, had never thought that they were a real thing. Let me reassure any doubters... they're fucking real. I don't remember a whole lot of the details, but I do remember biting the crap out of the inside of my cheek, and calmly trying to talk to him, through the bandages and towels that were covering his face. His beautiful face... that they wouldn't let me see.
He had been knocked unconscious, and they were asking him all sorts of stupid questions now that he had come to. He kept looking at me with his terrified, big, teary, blue eyes... like he wanted me to tell him it was ok. Was it ok? He was doing his best to answer who the president was... and what year it was... but all he wanted was his sister. Shit! His Sister was there... she was seeing all of this!! I looked over my shoulder, and there she was... huddled into her Dad's chest... sobbing. This is just brutal.
Some more ishy stuff happened... lots of tears and me glaring at meddling neighbors. Then the ambulance arrived. My kid was strapped in a neck brace, on a stretcher... being loaded into a fricken ambulance... and we were off. The Paramedics were really sweet. Taking care of my baby... and me. They meant business, though. Their conversations with the hospital scared me to death. They were shouting things like "ARE YOU READY FOR US!?" "8 YEAR OLD VICTIM... POSSIBLE BROKEN BONES... LOSS OF CONSCIOUSNESS AT THE SCENE... MULTIPLE CONTUSIONS... ARE YOU READY!??!!?" (I mean... What is a contusion? ugh... I hate this...) I just had to concentrate on making sure my baby was going to be ok. He was starting to realize what had happened... maybe he can fill me in, cuz I'm clearly having a nightmare. Who does this kid belong to? Obviously a non-hovering Mom... not me. This is just a cruel joke. It is not an option. He knows the rules.. right?!
When we got to the hospital, we ran (And when I say "Ran".... I mean ran. I guess they don't mess around when it comes to kids...) down a couple of corridors until we got to emergency. My paint covered Husband, and my Daughter, were already there. (What? I guess when your kid is in an ambulance... you don't eff around with the speed limit.) He was treated immediately, barfed up a bunch of blood, got a bunch of medication, barfed up some more blood... and grinned a little bit behind the blood and tears covering his face, as the Doctors that saw his broken helmet, high-fived him, and told him how awesome he was for wearing it. That piece of equipment... most likely, saved his little life. He got taken out of the neck brace, and his pain meds kicked in. I do believe he even cracked a joke or two before we left the hospital. PHEW! He's gonna be ok... ohmyfuckinggod. I never want to go through that ever again. Now I'm gonna puke.... I'll wait till we get home, though. When I have my nervous breakdown... and the shock wears off.
The next few days were really awful. We started to piece together what had happened. Somebody in a car, hit my kid on his bike... and took off. TOOK OFF!! Who DOES that!?!?! They left him bleeding and unconscious in the street. I could puke... again. There were multiple doctor appointments, dentist appointments, detectives, tears, supportive friends and family, more tears, worried buddies of his, infections, plastic surgeons... in the weeks to come. I spent my 35th birthday at Children's Hospital. It was groovy... ugh. It is all a blur. But he is ok. Kids are amazing. In the first few days, he went from bleeding and infected... to... well... let's just say "sorta better". And I went from having a few greys and wrinkles... to... I don't really want to talk about it. I aged 5 years that month.
It has been a year. I can't even believe it. It still seems like yesterday. I guess we are the lucky ones. Our baby is going to live and be ok. His lip still is mangled... and there is a tooth growing out of the side of his face... but he is still darling. And alive. It could have been SO much worse! He now has a whole new respect for riding in the street... and I think I have a whole new respect for dangerous situations. (My poor kids...) :) The invaluable lessons I have taken away from this are:
No matter how much you hover... or create fake scenarios to scare the shit outta your kids.... life happens.
Accidents happen.
Helmets save lives.
I can't control everything.
My Husband isn't always wrong about the butter knives. (Just maybe the wheel chair thing... I mean... they are kids...) :)
One day I am going to have to send them out into the world, and all I can do is try to give them the skills to do so successfully.
Kids don't like tracking devices in their arms.
I don't have to like any of this, but I need to accept it.
Being a Helicopter Mom does not leave me exempt from feeling like a bad mom.
I/they/we will make bad decisions that we regret.
I will pay 1,000,000 dollars for that elusive 'bubble' that everyone, sarcastically, keeps tells me I should have. :)
I should probably be medicated still.
Happy birthday to my guy... he turned 9 yesterday. :) Needless to say, it was a much better birthday than last year. We spoiled the shit out of him, and loved every minute of being able to do so :) October 9th used to just be a day on the calendar. The day after his birthday... and 3 days before mine. Now, it will always be "The day that could have ruined our lives, but thankfully didn't." I'm sure I will relive that nightmare every year on this day. I'm sure I will continue to hover, and they will continue to groan at me through their teeth... This I know. But it's my job. A year has passed... and most of his physical scars have healed... but the emotional ones will stay with me forever. What can I say?!?! If you hear a "woosh woooosh wooosh wooosh" in Eden Prairie... don't be alarmed. It's just me. In my helicopter. Making sure they are ok. Alone. Because it is FAR too dangerous for them to be in it with me :)
