Mothers – the fourth emergency service

It is not the AA, your local taxi, the coastguard or even the mountain rescue. I can officially reveal that the fourth emergency service is a mother.


Or at least this week it has been for Boy Three.


He’s got a bit of a thing about going out “to work” and must leave the house repeatedly saying “Bye, I’m off”, before parking his Scuttlebug in it’s space and coming back in. “I’m home.”


He’d been doing this happily for a good few minutes and I peeped out of the window at him every now and then. The door was open and I could hear his commentary.


Then suddenly: “Heeeeelp. Waaaaah. Muuuuuuum.”


I rushed out to find him kneeling on the back bumper of the car clinging onto the rear windscreen wiper with both hands, unable to go up or down.


“What were you doing?” I asked the rescued but unabashed boy.


“Getting on the roof.” Obviously.


Then on Friday he and I were waiting for Boy Two to finish football training. A pleasant evening and lots of friends were milling around while their non-soccer kids played on the playpark next to the pitches.


Catching up with a mum I hadn’t seen for ages, I glanced round to see Boy Three’s legs, from underneath, stepping from a rope ladder to the highest platform of the playground.


I’d like to say at this point that my belief that children left to it will make good decisions based on what they can and can’t do, had served perfectly well for more than a decade.


But there was no way down from the platform that didn’t involve down climbing wall grips or sliding down a pole. I realised this at about the same time as Boy Three, who, for once, looked slightly concerned.


I clambered up some wide-set bars and grabbed the boy. Now what?


Have you ever tried to climb down a ladder with double spaced rungs with a heavy and slightly stroppy nearly three year old under your arm?


Not easy, I can tell you. And noisy. “Ow, mummy, you’re squishing me. Ow.”


And don’t forget this is the child who thought it was a good idea to climb up on the kitchen counter, turn on AND LIGHT the gas before creating a little heap of smouldering teabags on the ring. (Thank you Boy One for being the fourth emergency service on that day.)


So while I reluctantly realise that I’m likely to be busier than ever as the fourth emergency service I am hoping for a policy that might help. What do you do when your small child’s curiosity far outstrips his learning curve and his common sense?



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