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ONE MOTHER’S WAY

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Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Oct 10, 1895

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 21, No. 40.

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ONE MOTHER’S WAY

By Adelia Cobb

BY ADELIA COBB.
“MAY we go to the river, mama? Ed Taylor says he found some lovely stones down there yesterday, and we want to get some. Please let us go, mama.”
I looked up anxiously, wondering what the mother would say—how she would meet the request of four-year-old Fred and his little sister—a request even more loudly spoken in their features than in word.
I had reached my friend’s Idaho home from the east only the day before, and one of my first impressions, as I took in her immediate surroundings, was the danger to her children which lay in the swift, treacherous Snake River, which ran its weird course not far from the house.
I had not mentioned the subject, but the child’s question served to emphasize my thought, and I eagerly awaited her answer. It was but a moment, and there was no suggestion of annoyance in face or voice, as she said, in her animated way:—
“I have been wondering how it would be to have a little river of your own in the back yard. I will give you each a stout iron spoon, and you can dig a big ditch instead of a well, as you generally do. Then you may dip water from the barrel out there to fill it, and have a canal something like the one we saw when we went driving with Mr. Clark last week.”
“O,” exclaimed Fred, “that will be fun! Where are the spoons? We’ll dig a big one, won’t we, Ruthie?” And full of enthusiasm they set about their work, where I found them half an hour later deep in the mysteries of head gates, brakes, and other features peculiar to an irrigated country.
The larger river had been quite forgotten in their absorbing interest in the smaller; the children had suffered no sense of restriction; there had been not a trace of antagonism between the mother and her little ones, and when, toward evening, she suggested that we all take a walk to the river, and gave the children a basket in which to gather stones, there was a manifest happiness which evidently found its highest expression in the mother’s presence.
The next morning proved cold and sunless, and I heard my friend say to her husband, unnoticed by the children: “I wish you would bring in a pan of that dry sand from the back yard. It won’t do for the children to go out in this cold wind, and I must plan to entertain them indoors.”
Not long after breakfast Fred announced his intention of going out to see the canal of his digging the day before, and was immediately followed by Ruthie’s, “Me go too.”
Taking no apparent notice of his remark, the mother said: “Fred, did you ever hear of a sand garden in the house? I read of one a few days ago, and if you like you and Ruthie may make one.”
Of course the boy was all attention, and full of questions, while the mother spread upon the floor several large newspapers, and then, going to the kitchen, closely followed by the children, she brought in two basins of sand and some wooden toothpicks with some bits of colored paper, and, placing the basins on the floor, showed them how they could stick the toothpicks in the sand for trees, and bits of colored paper for flowers.
All thought of going out-of-doors was forgotten as the little ones, with an occasional hint from mama and much assistance to Ruthie from Fred, arranged and rearranged their trees and flowers.
An hour passed before the sand garden began to pall, then Fred ran to the window, and was evidently meditating an out-of-door excursion, when his mother asked, “Fred, where are those stones you gathered yesterday?”
“They are in the shed. Do you want them?”
“Yes; I’ve been thinking of a nice game you might play with them.”
Fred ran to get the stones, while mama removed the sand garden, easily gathering up that which was spilled on the papers. She then sent Fred to the kitchen for the clothespin bag, which he presently came dragging into the room.
“Now,” said mama, sitting down on the floor, “I want you to make a ranch and teach Ruthie how to make one. You see, you can make the fence of the clothespins, laying them down end to end, and using one for a gate; then play that the little stones are cows and horses, and put them in the fields.”
It took but a few moments, and the mother resumed her work, while the children busied themselves in making fields and driving cattle till dinner time, after which the bright sunshine permitted the renewal of canal digging in the back yard.
Going out to watch them, I was struck with the fact that, although they helped themselves freely from a barrel of water by the side of the house, their clothes were not wet or soiled, and remarked upon it to their mother.
“That, I think,” she said, “is largely the result of my teaching. From the first Fred has had a passion for playing in the water, and I knew I must indulge him as far as possible if I would keep him from the river during his toddling years. As soon as he could sit at the table in his high chair, I often gave him a spoon with two tin cups and a little water, which he could pour from one to the other, but I made him understand that if he got his dress wet it was to be taken away. Of course, I was obliged to take it away from him occasionally at first, but he soon began to exercise care, and now he seldom has an accident while playing with water; and it has been the same with Ruthie. They often play with sand and water, making mud pies the whole forenoon, without soiling their clothes or hands, something that I am very prompt to commend them for, so that they really pride themselves on their care in this direction. Of course I always provide them with spoons and cups, so that they may have no excuse for putting their hands into the water.”
“I have a neighbor who, when her little boy asks for a spoon to make mud pies with, tells him a stick is good enough, and refuses him a cup for the purpose, and then complains because he gets his hands and clothes muddy. The same neighbor says to her boy when he asks to go to the river, ‘No, you can’t go to the river; if you do, I’ll punish you,’ with the result that he steals away, and she is kept in a constant state of fear lest he be drowned.”
“I make many mistakes in regard to my children, but I try to regard their reasonable wants, and make it a point to say to them whenever possible, Do this, rather than, Don’t do that. It is my theory that if we give sufficient attention to the positive in training a child, the negative will take care of itself.”
“But,” I argued, “few mothers have that quickness of suggestion—that abundance of resource—which comes to you so naturally. The average mother is so slow that the thing she would not is done before she is ready with her, ‘Do this.’”
“You give me too great credit,” she replied. “I am not quick or resourceful above the average mother. I simply plan ahead, anticipating so far as I may my children’s wants. That canal device has been in my mind some time, awaiting a request to go to the river. I know that such requests must come, and I try to hold myself in readiness for them. The stones we gathered and brought home were for definite purpose. I suggested that they use them for cattle yesterday. Next time I shall propose that they make a village and use them on either side of the street to represent houses—the larger ones for churches, stores, and station—and I shall give them some wooden toothpicks for the railroad.”
“Toothpicks can be used in so many ways. A few days ago I bought a nickel’s worth of dried peas. Some stormy day I shall soak them, and with some toothpicks teach the children how to make furniture and toys after kindergarten fashion. It will require only a few minutes on my part, and, with an occasional suggestion, they can amuse themselves for several hours. I have already stored up in my mind hints for the occasion when it comes—a chair, table, windmill, and other things which they can make.”
“Another suggestion I am holding in readiness. Fred is beginning to count; he can reach ten now, and I shall soon fill a restless hour with the suggestion that he count one hundred, and shall tell him how he can do it by taking ten little butter dishes and putting ten beans in each. I have a cup of beans in waiting for the purpose.”
“Some pleasant day I am going to ask him to see how many kinds of leaves he can find in the yard, and I have an old book which I shall give him for a leaf album, and encourage him to remember the names of as many leaves as possible.”
“O, there is no end of devices for amusing children, but you see I am not to be credited with quick wit, because most of my suggestions are the result of careful thought! I am firm in the belief that so long as I can keep my little ones happily and healthfully active, they are developing what will not need to be rooted out later.”
“The neighbor to whom I referred seems to act on the principle that diligence in the pulling up of weeds will make a beautiful garden, forgetting that a healthy soil must needs produce growth of some kind; she is bringing up her boy on ‘don’ts’ and ‘stops!’ Of course his activity must have an outlet somewhere, and the result is that he simply goes from one prohibited line of action to another. I tremble when I think of the result of such training upon his mature years.”
My friend’s words opened up to me new vistas in the mother’s kingdom—vistas which grew broader and more far-reaching as I studied her during the weeks of my visit. As the plant in rain and sunshine, so her children’s natures seemed to unfold, naturally, beautifully. I seldom heard the word “don’t” from her lips. The little ones suffered no sense of repression, but were actively employed from morning till night, with never a thought that they were in any one’s way, and furnished a happy contrast to the child of negative training, whom I overheard tell Fred as they were playing together one day, “Harry Brown started to school yesterday; I guess his mother’s glad; she won’t have to worry so much now.”
Here was the thought that a child is necessarily an incumbrance—something to be put out of the way if possible—even such thought harbored in the heart of one of those of whom Christ said, “Forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven.”
As I turned from his warped and irritable nature to the naturalness and glad abandon of Fred and Ruthie, I realized as never before the necessity of centering attention upon the flowers, rather than upon the weeds that would choke them—the careful cultivation of the former, leaving to the latter no chance for growth.—Christian Work.