This face typically emerges in response to the 600th question of the day – which tends to be around 9 am. Photo: Nathan Dumlao, Unsplash
Ah, school holidays. We look forward to you with bated breath, then complain about you as soon as you arrive.
I’m fortunate to have flexible work arrangements allowing me to be with my kids during school holiday periods.
Ironically, this flexibility means I don’t have to bend over backwards – at least not the way many parents do.
I largely avoid the carefully choreographed calendars and expensive school holiday programs most working parents must battle with multiple times each year. In my view, one of society’s most bizarre scheduling fails.
It also means I am with my children every second of every day, whilst I vaguely try to keep the wheels turning on my professional life.
So, you know, swings and roundabouts.
As we parents know, raising children is a series of ages and stages – all of which are at once delightful, confusing, beautiful and maddening.
Right now, I appear to be in the Stage of a Thousand Questions.
And I’m not talking about the adorable innocence of a toddler asking why the sky is blue or where the sun goes at night.
Little did I know at the time, those were the question-fielding glory days.
Hell, at this point I’d even settle for a good old fashioned “Where do babies come from?”.
Right now, my kids aren’t enquiring so much about the ways of the world. In fact, my eldest is nearing that darling age where they know everything already!
No, these school holiday at my house, every single question begins with “Can I…”, “Can we…” or “Can you…”.
Around the 600th question of the day (which usually comes about 9 am) I am practising my deep breathing and reminding myself: It’s all ages and stages.
My guess is that this onslaught of permission-based questioning marks a transitional period.
We’ve arrived at an “in-between” point where my kids aren’t so reliant on me anymore, but aren’t yet sure where my responsibility ends and theirs begins.
In other words, they have not yet learnt to consult their own brains before deferring to mine.
So, here is my answer. It’s nurturing, research-backed and terribly mature.
I’m rubber and their questions are glue.
“Well, kids – I have a question for you. What do YOU think?”
It’s not a flawless approach, but it does force a quick sense check.
See, some of their questions come from politeness, or at least an acknowledgement of the previously established order of things.
But kids, you don’t need to ask me “Can I get a glass of milk?”. You simply need to consider a) your capacity for milk and b) whether there is, in fact, any milk.
Most questions simply represent an outsourcing of brainpower.
For example, you don’t need to ask “Can I have an Easter egg?” at breakfast. You simply need to a) check the time and b) check your common sense.
And some questions are just bafflingly unnecessary.
When they ask me “Can I go outside?” or “Can I put this here?”, it signals to me that this interrogation has become routine. A reflex. Some kind of customary check-in.
Of course, the great irony is that with each passing day the likelihood of the children actually listening to me seems to be dwindling – though they ask for permission more and more. A curious juxtaposition.
I’m sure there is a deep meaning there, but it’s one for the next age and stage.
Right now, I don’t have time to explore it. I have a backlog of questions to respond to.
Original Article published by Hayley Nicholls on Region Canberra.
