They're Not All Teachable Moments

Art therapy and alone time heals (some) wounds.

"Mommy, sometimes it's not easy to be with friends." She sat down next to me in a sad little pile of tangled hair and dirty feet. I'd left her outside to play with her friends, our neighbors; they'd been devising new rules for a game of Hide and Seek, like only a group of three-and-belows could do.

This looked serious. I put her brother down on the play mat to explore. "Jacob, your sister needs to talk to Mommy," I said, more for her benefit that for his, at six months old. I wanted her to know she had my full attention, even with her brother semi-crawling off the mat to paw at the tile. It was the least I could do after that solemn statement.

The Next Step

I look away and when I look back, Ella has climbed up to the fourth step of the staircase. Some divine force stops me from shouting, “Ella! You’re going to fall! Get down from there!” and I’m able to walk (quickly but outwardly calmly) over and say, “You’re up really high. Are you trying to climb up the stairs by yourself?” She says yes, looking a bit scared and unsure of her decision, but then climbs one step higher, holding on to the rail. I resist all maternal urges to grab her hand or shoulder and help her up as I always have (or take her back down, kicking and screaming probably) and say, “It’s a bit scary, huh? But I won’t let you fall.” She goes up another step.