My Daughter, My Teacher

Thursday was One Of Those Days. I was at home with two kids. It was snowy, which means Hannah wanted to go play outside, but we couldn’t really because of Jacob and his lack of appropriate snow wear. Jon was at the office, and I was trying to get in some computer time, which wasn’t working. Hannah was grumpy and climbing all over me, which was making me grumpy. And then my grumpiness was making Jacob grumpy. The roads were snowy and I didn’t really want to drive anywhere, but that didn’t matter anyway because I’d forgotten the carseat base in Jon’s car.

So I hatched a plan. Thursday afternoon is when we visit the library. We could take the bus! Hannah’s long held a dream of taking the bus someplace, but since we have two cars it’s never happened. The adults in our house, as it turns out, do not view public transit as a preferred option, particularly when traveling with children (my dirty secret is I count food miles, cloth diaper, and drink tap water but drive my own car everywhere, possibly negating all my other actions). I called Jon and arranged to have him pick us up from the library, and then mentioned my plan to Hannah.

Hannah enjoying a moment in the snow

I instantly regretted my choice. For one thing it would be at least 90 minutes until we left the house, and that is way too long for a preschooler to wait. For another thing we would need to bring the infant seat, which meant I would need the stroller. Jacob doesn’t usually like the stroller, and also did I mention the snow? Plus, I was nervous about carting the stroller onto the bus – what if it was busy? With Jacob in the infant seat I couldn’t fold up the stroller, and my stroller is massive. What if the driver was mean, or the other patrons were impatient with us?

I created this whole story in my head about why taking the bus to the library would be impossible. How it would be nothing short of an unmitigated disaster. How Jacob would scream, and Hannah would cry, and I would have the Worst Time Ever. I simply did not want to do it. Meanwhile, Hannah was bouncing off the walls, bubbling with anticipation. I sternly warned her that this probably wouldn’t work out. I explained that we might have to turn around and come home, that we might not even make it onto the bus. She just told me that she knew exactly where the bus stop was, she could help me, and could we please leave RIGHT NOW?!?

I dragged my feet. I loaded Jacob into his infant seat and struggled with adjusting it to accommodate his bunting. He started to cry, and I told Hannah we couldn’t do this. Hannah and I then had an argument about her mittens. Right there in our front entryway I pretty much threw in the towel. And then Jacob stopped crying and smiled at his sister, Hannah got her mittens on, and we somehow made it out the door.

It was a slog to the bus stop, but Hannah was chattering the whole way and we made it relatively unscathed. At the bus stop Hannah kept asking where the bus was, but we only had to wait a couple of minutes and then she was nearly jumping up and down with excitement. The bus driver lowered the ramp for me, and Hannah climbed on and introduced herself. I got situated, and she took a seat beside an older lady.

For the 4 minutes or so that we were on that bus Hannah did not stop talking. She poured her excitement all over that bus. She loved it. She told everyone about how great it was. How the bus was big, how you pay money and get a ticket, how she had never been on a bus before, how we were going to the library. And I enjoyed myself too, listening to her and watching everyone else smiling and laughing at this exuberant child. This kid who had the great good fortune to ride public transit.

People always say that their children teach them so much. I’ve said that, too, but I’ve usually meant it in an abstract sense. Like, they’ve taught me to roll with the punches, or they’ve shown me a new perspective. With my preschooler, though, I’m really beginning to appreciate my child as my teacher. I think it’s because Hannah is now able to so clearly express herself. It’s much different than it was when I was mostly guessing at what she was trying to communicate. Also (I know this might sound totally self-righteous, so I apologize in advance) now that we don’t have a TV I can’t really ignore her and go about my own day so much. Believe me, at times I would really like to, but it is also a learning experience for me to more present with my child.

So that is how on Thursday Hannah taught me not to focus on everything that could go wrong. There’s no reason to fabricate a whole story about how bad everything will be. I’ve always been sort of negative, I think. I didn’t want to take swimming lessons as a 6-year-old because I didn’t know how to swim, and I thought the other children would laugh at me. My mother carried me to the car kicking and screaming, the neighbours all watching from their porches. By the end of that first lesson, though, I was having a great time. So you see I was already concocting stories in my head about how things wouldn’t work out, with absolutely no basis in reality.

Only Hannah wouldn’t let me get away with that story-telling. She pushed me out that door, and on to that bus, and we had a great time. She can be very wise, you know, just like her father. I’m lucky to have these sages in my life, who are showing me how good things can be. Because left to my own devices I’d spend far too much time imagining how everything might go wrong, and that’s really not how I want to live. It’s not how I want my kids to remember me.

Maybe next time we’ll try taking the bus to the mall, or to the library and back. Who knows? Now that we’ve done it once, the world’s our oyster.

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