As a parent, I’m not particularly guided by any method or
fad in parenting my two – I largely go with the ‘surviving any which way we can’
method, also known as the ‘muddling through’ method. There are a few things though that I try my
best to stick to, and one of those things is not letting my fear of something
stop the kids from doing stuff; in short, I try my very hardest to be brave in
front of the kids about stuff that scares the bejesus out of me. One of my favourite things about kids is that
they are fearless. I don’t want to take
that away from them (although if Z could start showing an awareness of CARS and
ROADS, and that these two things could KILL HIM, that would be swell).
Today we went to Dungeness.
I’ve been before and I love it.
It’s weird but that’s part of its charm. We drove to New Romney and the
kids were a pair of unremitting shit bags the entire way there. The lowest point was when I had to try and
wrestle Z’s beaker out of his hand, whilst driving down the M20, because he was
alternately pouring his water onto the back seat, and then pouring it on me. Oh, and also when they had a fight over D’s
cardigan which led to me momentarily having the cardigan over my face. This mama shouted A Lot about that.
Having narrowly survived the car journey there, we bought
our tickets and jumped onto the train.
Last time we went on the train it was shitting awful, not least because
they were terrified of it. This time
they loved it and we happily pootled along the Kentish coast, gleefully
shouting ‘horse!’, ‘boat!’ and ‘I have a wedgie mummy!’ (Daisy – poor girl
always has a wedgie.) We arrived in Dungeness and straightaway they clocked the
lighthouse. They both love lighthouses
(although I have no idea where that’s come from) and were obviously desperate
to go up it. I was less keen, because I
am shitting terrified of heights. Not good
with them at all.
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| The Bloody Lighthouse. We made it up to just past the second window!! |
I managed to delay the lighthouse climbing awhile, by
offering up some picnic/beach/stone throwing action, but the time came when we
could beach no more (largely because it was only a matter of time before one of
them took out a passer-by with their wildly unpredictable stone throwing) and
we headed back in the direction of the lighthouse.
‘Please mummy!’ they begged, all the way up the boardwalk. ‘Please can we go up the
lighthouse? I just love lighthouses in the whole world.’ Eventually I agreed
that if the people inside the lighthouse said it was suitable for them, then we
could go up.
Manning the lighthouse were two very lovely women. I hopefully asked if D&Z were too little
to go up and they cheerfully assured me that they would be absolutely fine, it
wasn’t a problem for them to go up. I
girded my loins, told myself I was being a good mummy by hiding my fear, issued
the children with several Very Stern Warnings about doing what mummy says and
we started our ascent.
Before I describe what happened next, I need to try and
paint for you the lighthouse. It is
huge, much bigger than you’d imagine. The steps up it curve around the inside
of the wall and the only thing stopping you from plunging to your death are
some very flimsy* balustrades. Finally, the lighthouse gets narrower obviously
as you go up which makes you feel like the stairs above are closing in on
you. In short, for a woman who gets
vertigo on department store escalators, it probably wasn’t the best idea to
attempt to go up it.
We made it up to the first landing unscathed. My heart was pounding and the palms of my
hands were sweating but it was fine. I
could totally do this. I stepped aside
to let a man go past (thank Christ – what happens next was bad enough, but at
least there were no spectators) and we continued our ascent. Z was LOVING it and was scampering off ahead;
D was slightly more cautious but still enjoying herself. I was trying to ignore the fact that I could see
down – all the way down to the floor far far below – when I was just hit by
paralysing panic. It was too high and I
was too fucking scared and I could not do it.
I crouched down on a step and put my hands over my head, much like you
would if rubble was falling on you (not really sure why I did that. I am sure
that it made me look completely fucking barking.)
‘Daisy,’ I whimpered. ‘Mummy is very scared and does not
like heights. We need to go back down.’
‘OK Mummy,’ said Daisy, being obedient for the first time since
we’d left the house and at exactly the right time. She turned around and started going
down.
‘Dais, just wait,’ I wailed. ‘We have to get Zach to come
too.’ I turned to Zach, who was about five steps ahead of me. ‘Come on Zach, let’s go,’ I whispered. Not
sure why I was whispering either. Panic
does funny things to you!
‘No mummy!’ replied my boy, ever so fucking cheerfully. ‘I
go all the way to the top.’
‘Zacchy, please baby.
Mummy is very scared and we need to climb down.’ Zach ignored me and carried
on climbing up. Not down, up.
‘ZACH!’ I shrieked hysterically. ‘WE NEED TO CLIMB DOWN NOW!’
The hysteria just spurred him on. I know
my boy and I know how, once he’s set his mind to something, he is doing it.
What the actual fuckety fuck was I going to do? I could not
climb any higher. More than that though, I really, really could not let my
three year old son climb without me.
Very slowly, I straightened up out of my rubble-falling-foetal-position. I turned so I was facing the wall, not the
sheer drop just behind me and edged up two more steps.
‘Zach mate, please.
Mummy really needs you to be a good boy right now.’
‘But mummy!’ he bleated. ‘I want to go all the way to the
top!’ I knew at this point that bargaining was futile. I took a deep breath, lunged forward and
grabbed his foot. I dragged him down the
steps towards me and grabbed his hand.
He shrieked loudly and embarrassingly, but I at least had hold of
him. I instructed Daisy to begin climbing
back down, I tucked my pretty pissed off son under my arm and began my own
descent, half hunched over because for some reason it is less scary than if you’re
properly stood up.
We finally made it back down to the entrance and one of the
two lovely women greeted us joyfully.
‘Oh well done!’ she said to D&Z. ‘You made it back! Did
you enjoy it up at the top?’
‘We didn’t quite make it to the top,’ I mumbled.
‘Oh I’m so sorry!’ said the lovely woman. ‘I really thought
they’d be fine with it.’
‘Oh don’t worry, they got to see the inside of the
lighthouse and that’s made them happy,’ I replied, swiftly glossing over the
fact that the three year olds weren’t scared one iota, it was the 36 year old
who was shitting her pants.
So, the moral of this sad tale is that while it is a good
idea to not pass your fear of things on to your children, it is not a good idea
to try and ignore a very real fear you have and do something with them that you
are actually not able to do. That will
just end up with you looking like a twat.
*Probably not flimsy at all. They just weren’t as solid as I’d
have liked.
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| I bet Mrs Richards never had a panic attack going up the stairs! |
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