LittleMan went into a disaster downward spiral the other night at dinner. I honestly cannot tell you the genesis of the conversation but it probably went something along the lines of:
Me: “Gosh, today was rainy and windy, but we needed it.”
LittleMan: “You know, rain and wind are part of hurricanes. And hurricanes happen when it’s warm, like in Magic Schoolbus.”
Me: “It was warm last week, but it never gets warm enough for a hurricane here.”
LittleMan: “But what if it does?”
Me: “It won’t. We don’t have hurricanes here.”
LittleMan: “What do we have?”
Me: “Well, we have earthquakes.”
LittleMan: “Well, what if it’s so warm and windy and rainy and there IS a hurricane? And what will I do if I’m in a hurricane and I’m alone and you’ve been knocked over by a tree because we were at the zoo and there are lots of trees there, and there was also an earthquake at the same time which is why all the trees fell down? And what if my cousins are here because it’s our birthday and I have to take care of all the little ones and they are so tiny? And maybe the animals will escape. If that happens I don’t know what to DOOOOOOO!”
And suddenly this mundane conversation about the weather became a conversation about disaster preparedness. For which I was utterly unprepared.
I took a deep breath, “Well, that would be very scary. But let’s start by saying that we could spend this whole dinner coming up with really terrible ‘what-ifs’, but most of those will never, ever happen. In fact, I am almost 100% sure that if there were ever an emergency, you would be with an adult who cares for you very much and would be totally focused on keeping you safe. Whether that’s me and daddy, or your teacher, or your Nana, or the mommy of a friend.”
And also, for the record, if you are at the zoo and there is an earthquake AND a hurricane AND the animals all get loose, that’s not an emergency. That’s the End of Times. But of course I did not say that out loud.
Instead, we kicked off the lengthy exercise of listing all the people who love us and want to protect us, which always makes everyone feel better. But LittleMan — who, honestly, may have just been trying to get out of eating his broccoli for all I know — remained unconvinced.
I was also trying to suppress a nagging thought at the back of my brain. What if I was knocked unconscious in an earthquake and since I won’t give LittleMan the code to my phone (ever) he couldn’t call 911? What if there was a fire and I was overcome by smoke and they had to get out on their own? Am I confident enough in my kids’ abilities to think on their feet in times of crisis? I mean, we are talking about two people for whom losing a Lego is the END OF THE WORLD. How would they handle real panic? Aren’t I supposed to be raising them with grit and tenacity? Am I failing at that if I try to protect them from the worst-case scenario?
Can you ever really win for trying?
So I tiptoed out on the ledge of disaster with LittleMan for a minute. “But do you know what to do with the phone if there is an emergency, honey?” I asked him seriously. “Do you know what to dial?”
“Um, 911?”
“Yes! That’s right. See! It’s so easy and you already knew it! That’s all you have to do. You dial 911 and you tell them your name and you just stay on the phone. They will come to help.”
“Will lots of them come? Will it be very loud?”
“Well, they will decide how many people to send based on what you tell them. But I promise they will come quickly.” I checked myself. “I mean, if there was an emergency, and if there was no grown-up to help. Which is unlikely. As we said.”
LittleMan looked at me for a long minute, and then burst into tears. Babygirl, who until now had been quietly munching on bell pepper and listening, piped up: “Mommy! Why are you talking about this? You’re SCARING us!”
I swiveled my head back and forth between them, totally at a loss. Part of me wanted to go, But YOU started it! You are asking me what to do and I’m trying to empower you, my loves! Instead I pulled LittleMan into my arms. “I’m just trying to show you that you are such a smart boy and you know what to do. That’s all. I’m sorry I scared you.”
“I’m just so worried,” he sobbed.
“There is nothing to worry about tonight,” I replied. “I’m here. We’re all together. You are SAFE.”
We cleared the table and piled onto the couch, me in the middle with a soft, damp head nestled under each arm. I turned on the last 15 minutes of 101 Dalmations, then read Eloise and Eloise Takes a Bawth with my best precocious accent. In the end they were laughing.
Day saved.
For now.
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