Reflections on the puddle of life

Being a parent is both wonderful and incredibly stressful. For me, it's been one of those weeks. On the whole, my kids are pretty good. They're fairly well behaved, cautious, responsible and considerate. They have their moments, the odd sulk, a general moan when they have to do things like tidy their rooms or homework or eating dinner, anything that interferes with playtime, but these are minor things and generally they're pretty nice to be around. They stay safe, and nothing really bad ever seems to happen. We bob along on the safe boat that is our family, and the world that passes by is green and nurturing and flower-rainbow filled.

Except this week has been one of those testing weeks. Those weeks when the boat rocks a bit, not too much fortunately, and you have to reset those pretty primary colour images and remember there's a real world out there where nasty, unpredictable things happen which aim to tip you over.

So on Tuesday my 6 year old daughter got bullied.

And on Wednesday, she disappeared.

And on Thursday, my 10 year old son went to A&E.

And they are both back and fine and okay (save for the black eye), but all in all I am glad that we have now returned to a state of general tranquility.

My daughter learned to ride her bike recently. We've been trying to encourage her to learn, but she's always been reluctant. She's afraid of falling and hurting herself. Then the neighbours' boy started borrowing my son's old bike, the one that my daughter will have when she can ride. So she learned, it appears, out of spite. She taught herself, over the space of a week. No help, just taking her time and perfecting her balance. At least we've learned how to motivate her in future!

Now that she can ride she's started going for little rides by herself. We went with her to begin with, but now she can go on her own. She's officially permitted to go around the 'block' which is a short 1/4mile run which doesn't involve crossing any roads and which she can do by staying on the pavement at all times. She can go a little further if she is with me or her Dad or her brother, because we will all check the roads and ensure it is safe, and if anything happens she is with someone who is responsible and experienced enough to know what to do about it and deal with it.

Except we found out she doesn't stick to 'the block'. She goes a little further, across the road by the stream where there's a little bridge. She was playing there on Tuesday with some other little girls when some older boys came over. In her words they "chased us, took our bikes and hit us on the arms with guns." Toy guns, I should point out. Luckily Dad came out looking for her (after we realised she'd been gone too long to have been just 'around the block'). So she told her Dad and her Dad had a nice little chat with the boy, who was very sorry it turned out. So that was that. I had a chat with her, reminding her that she must always tell us where she is going, so we know where to find her when she's out. She understood, or so she said.

Until the next day when she asked to go to her friends house (a friend we do not know and do not know where she lives) and Dad said no because it was tipping it down with rain, my daughter was already soaked because she'd been out riding her bike, and it was too late. So she went out again to ride around the block, which is okay even if it's raining (in UK you can't let a drop of rain put you off from going outside). Then my son went out for a ride. At 10, he obviously has greater range but as it happens he went out to ride with his sister. Except she wasn't there. He came home. 'She's not around the block' he said.

My son goes to a fencing club on Wednesdays and it was nearly time for him to go, so my husband and son went out in the car to look for my daughter. No sign of her. She wasn't around the block. She wasn't at the park. She wasn't at any of the places where she usually goes. I waited at home in case she turned up, which she did just in time for supper. She'd been missing for about 30 minutes, which is not long until you're sitting there wondering where your little 6 year old is imagining kidnappings, drownings, broken legs, broken necks, and so on. When I asked her where she'd been she said she'd been around the 'big block' (a longer route taking in the main road - it's pretty safe because the cycle path is on the pavement and there's a grass verge about 20 feet wide between the pavement and the road, but even so she's still not supposed to go there). So followed a 30 minute lecture in which the words 'dead in a ditch' may have figured quite heavily. My daughter said, 'I'm as sorry as I ever can be' but even so she was grounded. Later she admitted that really she'd been to her friend's house, despite what Dad had said. Points for eventual honesty but grounding remains. Sigh. Kids, what can you do with them? At least now we know where her friend lives. I can see the house from my dining room window, it's that close.

Then on Thursday my son went out on his bike to the park. He came back 20 minutes later with a bump and scrape the size of a duck egg on his forehead, a scrape that covers his entire elbow and carries on all the way to his armpit, and a nasty graze under his chin. He came home all quietly, opened the garage door to put his bike away before my husband bumped into him, crying on the driveway. He'd fallen off his bike. He'd been cycling, not particularly fast or dangerously, but his foot had slipped off the pedal on a downstroke and he'd come off.

It was immediately obvious he needed to be checked by a doctor. His head was a nasty mess. He said he couldn't see properly, and all his head was hurting. So my husband took him to A&E and for the next 2 1/2 hours I was at home, never more than 10 yards from the phone, tidying and cleaning and thinking about fractured skulls, emergency surgery, permanent brain damage, and that phone call you don't want to get that says 'he's not coming home'.

But as it happens he had a few unpleasant injuries and a minor concussion. Melodrama over. After a few quiet days he should be fine, in fact he's much better today although he has a very sore looking black eye and his arm looks like it's been through the shredder. But he's getting better.

And I think, my goodness how would I cope if he did something that was actually dangerous?

And this is the dual-edged sword that is being a parent. You have to let them have freedom, they have to grow and learn and become responsible for themselves and to do that you can't be watching over them every second of the day, you can't keep them in and you can't stop them from going out and doing things that you don't want them to do, which are they exact things that you used to do when you were a kid.

But at the same time you want them to be safe, you want for nothing bad or terrible to ever happen to them (even though it will). Because you have invested so much love and so much meaning into them, because they are precious and wonderful and special and unique, because they are the reason you and I and everyone else is here and it is so important that they not just survive but thrive. No one thrives in a vacuum, but no one thrives when they're dead either. It is a fine line on which we walk.

And now everyone is inside the house, playing quietly and within earshot and I think 'how wonderful is this?' and everything is nice and peaceful and tranquil.

And I am so, so very lucky.