I love words. Some of them I love just for their sound: eviscerate, mercurial, novelty, snacks. Others I love for their meaning: ameliorate, ostensibly, ebullient, snacks. So from the start of Scarlett’s life, I talked to her using at least a few words from my old college-bound-student vocabulary book.
I also think it’s hilarious when really little kids use really big words, so when she was a year old and starting to talk a lot, I taught her a game of synonyms.
“What’s another word for careful?” I would ask, and she responded with “vigilant.” She was learning, and I was entertained. I’ll note here that I doubt she remembers this game or what the word vigilant actually means. We let it trail off when I couldn’t get her to pick up on daily=quotidian. That one might have been a bit of a stretch. But I’m telling this part of the story to illustrate how important the word vigilant was to us in those earlier days. I’m not sure it would even have occurred to me to say it to her, except that back then we had what is known in the parenting world as “a runner.”
When I was out with toddler Scarlett, I had to be quick and careful. She thought it was the best thing in the world to just take off running, out of an Office Depot store, towards a parking lot. Away from our table at a coffee shop, towards a parking lot. Down a sidewalk, towards one of the busiest streets in the city. I can think of at least three times when strangers scooped her up, because my feet wouldn’t get me to her fast enough.
The coffee shop experience is a particularly bad memory. We were in a face-off. She had wandered away from our table (allowing that was my first mistake), and when I went to get her, she made a move to run into the parking lot.
“Don’t you dare,” I said, which was my second mistake, since it was basically an invitation wrapped in a challenge. Music to her reckless little ears.
She replied by cracking up and dashing towards the cars. I ran, something I was no longer good at, and reached her in the lot, where she had suddenly stopped to look at a sticker on the ground. We collided, and I fell down, cutting my knee and ripping my jeans. There were a lot of people watching, and none of them offered to help, because they probably had no idea what had caused a normal looking woman to just topple over after a 10-yard rush at her impertinent child. I got up, feeling defeated, scared, and more than a little pissed off.
Friends very seriously suggested that we get Scarlett a leash, and although I considered it, I preferred to strap her into a stroller, the better to keep myself upright while protecting her 3-dimensionality. There were a few times, in less dangerous areas, when I watched her run and simply turned my back, calling goodbye to her and hoping like hell that she would come after me. She did.
Eventually, she became more manageable and I developed other little tricks that worked, but in the beginning it could be harrowing. She could even get away from Rob and have him huffing down the street in a panic, so I know it wasn’t just my ALS feet that were the problem. The kid is kind of speedy. Vigilance was a mantra.
I started thinking about this again recently, because I realized that vigilance never really stopped being my mantra. I have to be careful about everything I do, a sort of panacea for the dreaded possibility of falling down. Now that I’m in a wheelchair, I obviously don’t fear falling as much, but there are still moments every day when I move my body so carefully to get in and out of my chair that it just feels ridiculous to think that I used to be able to run and jump, and chase a kid.
A constant state of caution is not super conducive to a stress-free existence, and I cannot adequately express my relief that Scarlett now understands the dangers of streets and cars, and of wandering too far from me. It actually allows me to give her more freedom, which is apparently what she wanted all along. And this is a good thing, because it means we can get back to learning some words other than “STOP” and “Goddammit!”
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Oh Sarah, I’m still laughing at this entry as I can relate so well. I must say I’m impressed with your synonym game as I only understood the word “snack” on that list!
. As always thank you for enlightening my day and being you!
So terrifying. I can relate. We have a runner and I’ve always envied those parents with little toddlers that simply walk by their side. I used to judge people with those leashes and although we never got one, I get it now. When your kid can disappear within a split second, a leash is not a bad idea.
vocabulary I love it when the little ones use big words…. and now I can finally call Chase handsome. His usual reply to my saying “my handsome boy” was “I’m not handsome!”. It (finally) dawned on me to ask him if he knew what handsome meant, he didn’t. I explained that it was cute or good looking and often used for boys. He now lets me call him my handsome boy
As for runners I think we’ve all been there. My worst was Chase taking off for the door at a store (maybe Old Navy), he couldn’t get it open as he was pushing and he needed to pull. Until some good Samaritan walked up seeing a small child with no adult near by struggling to open the door….this Samaritan then opens the door and holds it open for him, causing me to go from a sprint, walk, back to sprint. Clearly this helpful person didn’t have children.