Safety, Boundaries and Fun as a Wheelchair-Using Parent

In 2020, when the world came to a standstill due to the pandemic, my husband and I decided to trade the palm trees of Palm Springs, California, for the open plains of Wyoming. We were both able to work remotely, and we had planned to move that summer anyway, as he had accepted a job at a new museum in the small western town of Dubois. My son, Henry, was 4. He and I had figured out how to navigate the concrete jungle that is Southern California and were thriving. But now we were trading sidewalks for dirt roads, covered malls for national forests, chlorinated pools for rushing rivers. I knew it would take some time to find new, accessible ways to continue two of my most important jobs as a mother: keeping Henry safe and having fun with him. The learning curve was huge at first. We first moved into a small log cabin. Henry slept in a loft that I couldn’t access unless I carried my butt up the stairs. Shortly after, we exchanged our log cabin with a loft for a log cabin with all the bedrooms on one floor. One concern solved, a million more to solve.

I loved our new house, but I especially loved our front yard. It was about an acre in size and flat. I could explore with Henry, looking for dinosaur bones (in his world, any bone we found was a dinosaur bone) or play fetch with our dogs.

While we lived in Dubois, I slowly wound down my workload in California and decided to close my law firm. In 2019, on a whim, my husband and I purchased a storefront that is half bookstore, half gift shop in Dubois. I had loved the store over the years we had vacationed in the small town, so when we heard the owner was interested in selling it, we took a chance and bought it. We ran it from afar for the first year, so when we moved permanently to Wyoming, I ran it full-time. I was living the Hallmark life. Life was quiet and charming, and the biggest hassle was the drama that can happen in a small town where everyone knows everyone and rumors travel faster than the truth. Even though everything was going well, I started to feel like my son was missing out on some very important things.

My husband, son, and I are more organized athletes than weekend hunters and hikers. Yes, we had ATVs and would go out and roam the woods around us, but Henry was missing out on things I thought were very important. Swimming lessons were at the top of the list. My little water baby loves to swim. And there wasn’t a single pool he could use. For a few weeks, the school bus would take the kids over an hour away for lessons, but that wasn’t enough in my opinion. My husband and I might have been fine in the small town, but I knew my son needed different things.

So, for the third time in three years, we moved. This time it was to Casper, Wyoming, which still has the small-town Wyoming feel we love, but with the amenities we missed from California: swimming lessons, organized sports with lots of teams for fun competitions, movie theaters, a hospital, a mall.

Water Safety

I often joke with my son that if he fell into a pool, I would get up and run to save him before my brain remembered that my legs don’t work. I picture the Road Runner with his fuzzy legs. But the truth is, even if I was right next to a pool and managed to jump in, I’d barely be able to stay afloat. And sometimes Henry and I go to a pool without my husband. That’s why swimming lessons are so important to me. Not only does Henry love the water, but Wyoming is full of rivers and lakes. My parents live on a beach in California. We love boating. There’s a lot of water in his future, and he needs to know how to swim safely.

That’s not to say I don’t help him in the water. Henry has progressed to the point where he can learn new strokes and push off the wall. My gym has a heated pool, so we can swim year-round. I love swimming because it’s a great way to stretch the body and it’s an amazing workout. When Henry and I go to work on his swimming, I can hold onto the wall with one arm and help position his body or feet with the other. And now that he’s 8, he can help me, too. He loves operating the pool lift, even when I don’t need him to. He laughs when he can dunk Mom in the water. But he’s also started holding my towel and wheelchair when I transfer so they don’t move. I suspect his thoughtfulness has developed from growing up with a father who uses a wheelchair and from watching the little everyday things his dad does to help me.

Set boundaries

In my last article, when Henry was 2, I mentioned using a leash to keep him close when we crossed the street. As he grew older and was able to understand more, it became apparent that I needed to set strict boundaries and rules with him, the main one being You will not take Mommy’s car. He loves to ride around in my wheelchair when I’m sitting on the couch or another chair at home. But the rules about that are clear. He asks first. He always has to bring me the chair. And he is never to move my chair when he’s angry. I was a moody teenager at one time, so I know there will be door slamming and other acts of rebellion in our future. Some are already present. So I’ve made it very clear to him that if he ever moves my wheelchair out of spite or spite, there will be dire consequences. If I ever have to drag myself or crawl to him, there will be hell to pay. That may sound extreme, but it’s important for him to know that it’s something he should never do. And so far he never has.

Another rule is that my stair lift is not a toy. Our house has a fully furnished basement, which houses my library, craft room, and punching bag. My stair lift is a very expensive piece of equipment that fascinates a child. He has to ask permission if he wants to use it. He is very good at following that rule. When his friends come over and want to use it, I have heard him tell them how important it is to me and that it is not a toy to be played with. And I’ll be honest, I also use it as a bribe when I’ve forgotten something upstairs and don’t want to waste time looking for it myself: “I’ll let you use the stair lift if you go get X, Y, or Z.”

Enjoy

One of the rules I follow is to have fun with your child. Sure, there are things that can go wrong and things we can’t do because of the limitations of the wheelchair, but I challenge you to find a good parent who doesn’t get anxious about things or isn’t limited in one way or another. I’ve learned that a lot of things can be accommodated or worked around.

A few weeks ago, I was at a park with my husband and son. We ran into some friends who have a son the same age as Henry. The first time the boys met, they became instant friends. The park itself has some great trees to climb, so the friend and some of the other kids were climbing and sitting on the branches. Henry tends to overthink, so he’s more cautious—the opposite of “shoot first, ask questions later.” He walked over to where the parents were sitting and was a little discouraged because he’d never climbed a tree before, didn’t know how, and was afraid of hurting himself. My husband offered to lift him up, but Henry found that embarrassing. This was my time to step in and save the day. “Do you want to use me as a step stool?” I said. “That other tree has a slightly lower branch.” He happily agreed to give it a try. He climbed onto my lap and then onto a part of the trunk that he could sit on. After sitting there for a few moments, he was ready to climb down, but he was afraid of falling. Once again, Mom came to the rescue. I assured him that I was still there to support him as he slid down onto my lap. We then agreed to try a higher branch on a day when there weren’t as many kids watching him.

Sure, we can do things a little differently, but sometimes something different is just what your child needs.

Other essays in the Parenting from a Wheelchair series: