boundaries

School started again this week. I work as a substitute teachers’ aide in a dozen or so elementary schools, most often one-on-one with special needs children, helping them manage in a regular classroom setting. The hardest thing about my job is learning the boundaries. Each school has their own rules about how to walk in the halls, what is and isn’t allowed on the playground, etc. Add to that the specific boundaries for each child based on their individual limits and capabilities, and it can get a bit confusing, especially when I’m thrust into a situation with no more heads-up than a label: autistic, Down Syndrome, non-verbal, runner, biter… It takes time to learn the boundaries for each child; what tasks I should help with, what tasks they need to do for themselves, how far I can challenge them before it becomes too frustrating. The children generally know what the boundaries are, and they also know that I don’t know what they are, so I need to stay on top of things so I don’t get hoodwinked. I am getting pretty good at reading and adapting to each situation.

I spent the afternoon yesterday with my nearly-three-year-old grand-daughter, Avey. We had a delightful time together but I realized that the hardest thing about Grand-parenting is also learning the boundaries. My efforts to respect her parent-established boundaries left me wondering about such details as: should she wear socks with her crocks, can she be barefoot in the sandbox, does she get a “treat” after lunch? Fortunately, she knows well her boundaries and I detected no effort on her part to hoodwink me. But I did get a lesson in a finer aspect of boundaries, it’s who you know. Twice during the afternoon, not quite sure how lenient I should be, I said, “I don’t think your Mama will like us to do that.” To which she quickly reassured me, “No, but Daddy will!”