It’s Friday morning. Hubby Wombat has to leave early for work. I’m due at a Tony Attwood and Sue Larkey seminar on Autism at 9.00. On the other side of town. Precisely when Dancing Wombat is due at the local primary school where she has been helping this term. She’s travelling on the tram today, completely independently. I won’t even be at home to see her out the door. It’s a weird feeling.
Grandma Wombat has taken some of the load by arriving early to drive Freerunning and Littlest Wombats to school. I’ve briefed Train Wombat to make sure his sister leaves the house by 8.15. Our other practice runs this week were on an earlier tram. He promises faithfully to do so.
We’ve practised this often now. Has it been enough? I hope so, but I don’t know.
Dancing Wombat is feeling excited and confident. I’m excited for her too, but frankly, my overwhelming feeling is concern and more than a bit of guilt. I’m pushing her to take this trip independently a bit earlier than I might have otherwise, because I was so keen to get to this seminar. I feel as though I’m making me the focus. Not her. Yes, I know that’s okay, necessary, even.
Nevertheless, what if something goes wrong? I’ll be on the other side of the city, without the car and unable to help. Would she ring? Would she text? For three days now, I have been trying to drum into her the importance of texting me when she arrives.
I’ve planned ahead for potential forgetfulness. Yesterday, I wrote a note for her teacher in the record book. I explained that Dancing Wombat would be travelling totally solo on public transport tomorrow – Friday (she’s the only student doing this). Could she please remind her to text me when she arrives. There’s nothing more I can do now, except trust. And wait. And pray.
So I hug her, wish her all the best, for a great day, remind her to text me when she arrives, and walk out the door. The deed is done. I arrive at the train station with a minute to spare. Just enough time to text Train Wombat.
“Has Dancing Wombat left?”
“ I think so. I was just about to call her.” Hmph. “Where are my school socks?”
Seriously? I know I washed two pairs recently. There’s probably a pair on his bedroom floor. I don’t really care right now. Has his sister left?
“Just look,” I text back. “Faster.” I don’t even say “Please.” Whoops.
“I did look and can’t see her.”
Phew. Good. So she’s gone. Now to wait. I train into the city and wait for the tram. It’s nearly 9.00 – she should have arrived by now. There’s no message. Should I wait a bit longer? Yes – don’t be such a worry wart.
I wait. Then type a text. Don’t press “send”. Wait a bit longer. 5 past 9. Nup – I’m pressing “send” now.
“Hi. Are you there? You were supposed to text me when you arrived.”
The tram rattles down Flemington Rd. My phone remains stubbornly mute. My anxiety increases. What if she didn’t get off? Or had an accident en route to the tram stop? I try to stay calm.
She probably just forgot and the teacher was, no doubt, busy. We expect so much of teachers. I get off at my stop. NO message. I try to call. It goes straight through to voicemail, and I realise that we’ve never set up a personalised message bank for her. Damn. And the class would have started by now.
As I fight my raising panic, I completely forget that if she hadn’t arrived, the school would probably have phoned me by now to check whether or not she was coming in. I call the school.
“Hi. It’s Dancing Wombat’s mum here. She was going by herself to her program this morning, and was supposed to text me when she arrived. I was just wondering whether there was any way of checking whether she was there? I’m just a little (i.e. massively) concerned that I haven’t heard from her…”
“Sure – I’ll just get on to… Let’s see…” The wonderful office lady tries to find the appropriate teacher. Meanwhile, my phone disobligingly loses the connection. I call back.
“Hi – I called a couple of minutes ago about…”
“Oh, yes – she’s arrived safely. All’s well. Apparently she tried to call you but the line was busy?”
Oh, that’s right – I was on the phone to my mum, who was worried that Freerunning Wombat wasn’t well. Just something else to add to the guilt of doing something for Me. Grrr.
“Oh, thank you very much. That’s wonderful news. I’m so relieved!”
FANTASTIC – she did it! What a great achievement for her. I can go off to my seminar with the guilt burden lifted!
Now I have two reasons for being glad about attending this seminar. For one, it was excellent. But more importantly, it gave added impetus to the travel training. There’s nothing like working to a deadline. Ask anyone who has cleaned and tidied their house before having guests over!
True, it mightn’t always be good to impose a deadline for learning a new skill. I’m sure it won’t always work. Nevertheless, it certainly provided a focus, and made us more persistent with the travel training over the last week. Otherwise, it would have been at least another fortnight before we felt she was ready to travel independently.
Later that day, (after the effusive congratulations, of course!), I asked Dancing Wombat why she didn’t text me. She giggled. That irritated me, although it might have been a nervous reaction on her part.
“It’s not funny,” I snapped. “I was really worried! I even rang school. They said that you tried to phone me.”
“Yes – I did.”
“Really?” I’m disbelieving. “Then why is there no record of you calling my mobile?” (OK, so, there are a few benefits to having a smart phone!) More giggles.
“It’s really NOT FUNNY!” Now I’m getting cross. “I didn’t know where you were. I felt sick to my stomach. Please – you MUST text me when you arrive. Ok?”
She’s contrite. “I’ll do it next time, I promise.”
Here’s hoping.
“But well done, gorgeous,” I told her again. “You were independent! Great job! Now, we need to get you going to different places. Maybe you can go to Uncle Simon’s on the tram. Then we’ll get you on the train to Grandma’s.” Already, my mind is filling with possibilities for more scaffolded travel opportunities.
Her achievement was significant. Yet she has only learned one route, one way. That’s not enough to make her a safe and independent public transport user. But it’s a start.
Surely, it can only get easier.
Happy wombatting. I’m off to plan our next little trip.
