Wellies on her hands

I want to tell a little story about a fun little incident that happened a few years ago. We forget so much and so many of the funny little stories that make childcare seem delightful and that bring us joy. I’d like to write one of those stories down so it isn’t lost…

The Setting

We were going to a photoshoot at my in-laws up in Scotland. Ordinarily we stay at their house but as there were four of us (including a 4 year old and a 1 year old) we decided that we’d make a real trip of it and book accommodation elsewhere. We stayed in an equestrian centre on the outskirts of Lanark and booked a pony ride and saw all the horses and played on trampolines and playgrounds and things like that. We also all got COVID for the first time and so had to try to keep our distance during the photoshoot and not look too ill (which was tough, because we were struggling).

I’d also recently read something that stuck with me: it was a story of a man who had struggled with the fact that his two children wouldn’t go to sleep when he told them to. He’d sit up and listen to the monitor and dash up there as soon as he heard noise, and he bemoaned the fact that he spent half of the night trying to police his kid’s behaviour. Then, one day, the monitor failed in some way and he didn’t hear them.

They put themselves to sleep, and he had a much more pleasant evening. From then on, he left his kids to it and as a family, they all became much happier.

The Incident

The accommodation had separate kids rooms and they were bunk beds. Our kids had never slept like that in the same room in a different setting before, but we were all pretty excited to see how it went. We put them to bed, the four year old on top bunk and the one year old below. We left the room, and that was that.

Except, it wasn’t. There was banging, there was noise.

My wife wanted to go in, but I said no. Leave them be. Let them figure it out themselves. I trust them.

Ten minutes went by. Still noise, but the occasional quiet period.

Twenty minutes and there’s still the odd bang.

After half an hour, I decide that maybe we should have a peek in and see how they’re doing.

Wellies on Hands

My four-year-old was lying in the top bunk looking annoyed, and pulling the covers up over himself.

My one-year old was halfway across the room, stomping around on the floor with her welly-hands. She’d decided to get out of bed, roam around the floor (she wasn’t a strong walker at this point!) and finally found a pair of wellies. She put them on her hands like gloves, and then stomped around with her hand-wellies.

Conclusion

Nice stories on the internet are all well and good, but real parenting isn’t always like that. Sometimes you can leave them to figure things out, but sometimes they’re going to appear at the other end of the room with wellies on their hands.

Oh, and there’s something quite magical about what a one-year old gets up to when you leave them to it.