Most of the time I parent on remote control. That doesn't mean I'm not present when I'm doing it. What I mean is that it's like driving a car. I've been driving for so long I don't need to consciously hit the brakes when I see a red light, I automatically know that's what I should be doing. The same goes, to some extent to my parenting.
You know, the "Mr Small, eat all your breakfast, it's good for you."
"Mr Large, don't jump from the top bunk, YOU COULD BREAK YOUR LEG!"
that kind of parenting.
Now Miss Medium is known as the family crier. I sympathise mostly. I'm a crier myself and you can't fight genetics. So when she cries I keep it pretty low key and don't make too much fuss.
A couple of days ago however, I was juggling a discussion with the painter, the phone began ringing and I was shovelling all our gear into bags to head out for swimming lessons. What possessed me to book swimming lessons the first week of the holidays I do not know.
And I heard her cry out.
It wasn't her regular cry and I just knew.
I shot outside to see blood everywhere and her white little face looking at me.
And in that moment I did not know what to do.
But it lasted a split second and I was overcome with a powerful realisation.
I am her mother.
I am the only one who can make this better.
And I scooped her up, disregarding the half finished conversation with the painter, letting the phone go to voicemail and knowing we would be late for swimming, if indeed, we got there at all.
Because none of that mattered.
I needed to be her mother.
I needed to make it all ok.
So I talked to her in the crooning voice that is known the world over. I wiped away the tears silently falling from her eyes. She was too shocked to cry.
And I kept her distracted as I looked at the blood and numerous scrapes and mentally assessed how the hell I would handle it all.
And she was okay. She looked trustingly in my eyes and let me mother her.
In those few moments I saw the amazing power of being a parent. She was hurt, she was frightened and she was afraid. And one by one, I was able to make each of those things go away or at least become manageable.
I know the school holidays are long, but moments like this forcibly remind me what a privilege it is to be a parent.
And she's okay by the way. Scraped and bruised from here to Christmas but doing just fine.