Handy Man

There’s a lot in this world we take for granted.

Like the fact that there’ll always be milk in the fridge, the TV will turn on when you press the remote, there’s still enough fuel in the car to get you to the service station, and no matter what else, you get to grab life with both hands.

Unfortunately I have learned that that last one isn’t always the case (oh and in our house, the first one also depends on who had the last cuppa).

Take my son for example. Due to the damage done by Juvenile Arthritis, he has had the use of both of his hands for a mere two weeks since March this year.

Yep, just fourteen days out of almost 6 months.

And boy, doesn’t it make a difference to your life.

You expect to lend a helping hand to your children when they are little and haven’t quite grasped the concept of hand-eye coordination. It’s a given that you’ll be the one wiping their bottoms, holding the spoon, and doing up the buttons and bows.

But there comes a time when kids either don’t want or don’t need their parents to be doing those sorts of things for them.

Independence is a big thing to a little person.

So imagine feeling like you can’t get a grip on what’s going on around you, literally.

It’s something that my son has to deal with on a daily basis. By default, so do I.

Instead of the usual and efficient school day routine we have managed to get going: I make the kids’ breakfast then move onto getting lunches together before laying out the school clothes ready for them to get dressed while I do the shower thing myself … for the past 5 months I have had to stop and sit and spoon the cereal for my son, make the swap from pjs to uniform, and wipe anything that needs it along the way. Some days we’re lucky to make it to school before the bell, and then it’s up to me to carry the bag to the classroom.

At the other end of the day, while I can usually have the dinner cooking while the kids take a bath, and have them come to the table ready dressed… I have burnt countless pieces of meat, let numerous saucepans boil dry, and totally forgot the side vegies altogether more often than not, while I move from kitchen to bathroom to bedroom and back, helping my little boy. (And I’m sure the neighbours are used to being serenaded by the sound of our smoke detector.)

But do I begrudge the extra effort I must make to pick up the shortfall of a child without two hands in full working order?

How could I?

Not when I get to sit with my son and daughter for nearly every meal, happily avoid the splashes amidst the laughter of bathtime, and listen to the childish chatter as I get up close and personal yet again doing tasks that most of us simply do for ourselves without another thought.

I have plenty of opportunities to count the freckles on his face, savour the sweet sound of his voice, enjoy the feel of his little hand in mine as we walk to another appointment, and take every chance I get to take some more mental photographs of my darling little man who will be too big too soon.

How many mothers of 7 year old boys get to do that?

And so, on one hand, while it breaks my heart to watch my child struggle with things that we take for granted every day; on the other hand, I get to spend precious time with my son that the average mum misses out on once her offspring decide they don’t need her so much anymore.

And just quietly, that’s a pretty handy thing to get you through the day.

Jx©
2009