In 2020, when the world was shut down in the pandemic, my husband and I decided to trade in the palm trees of Palm Springs, California, for the wide-open plains of Wyoming. We could both work remotely, and we’d planned to move that summer anyway, as he’d taken 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; indoor 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 mom: keeping Henry safe and having fun with him. The learning curve was huge in the beginning. We first moved into a small log cabin. Henry slept in a loft that I couldn’t access unless I butt-scooted up the stairs. Before too long, we traded in our lofted log cabin for a log cabin with all the bedrooms on one floor. One worry solved, a million more to go.  

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

While we lived in Dubois, I slowly finished my caseload in California and decided to close my law practice. On a whim in 2019, my husband and I had purchased a shop that is part bookstore, part gift shop in Dubois. I’d loved the store for the years we’d been vacationing in the small town, so when we heard the owner was interested in selling, 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 peaceful and lovely, with the biggest annoyance being the drama that can happen in a small town where everyone knows everyone else and rumors travel faster than truth. While everything was fine, I started to feel like my son was missing out on some very important things.  

My husband, son and I are more organized-sports people than hunting-and-hiking-on-the-weekends people. Sure, we had off-roading vehicles and would take off into the forests surrounding us, but Henry was missing out on things I felt were very important. Swimming lessons were at the top of the list. My little water-baby loves swimming. And there wasn’t a single pool for him to use. For a few weeks, the school bussed kids over an hour away for lessons, but that wasn’t enough in my opinion. My husband and I could 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 that we love, but the amenities that we missed from California. Swimming lessons. Organized sports with many teams for fun competitions. Movie theaters. A hospital. A mall.  

Water Safety 

I often joke with my son that if he were to fall in 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 legs in a blur. But the truth is, even if I was right next to a pool and managed to jump in, I can barely keep myself afloat. And sometimes Henry and I go to a pool without my husband. That is 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 be able to swim safely.  

That’s not to say that I don’t help him in the water. Henry has progressed to the stage where he’s learning new swimming strokes and how to push off the wall. My gym has a heated pool, so we’re able to swim year-round. I love swimming because it’s a great way to stretch my body and is amazing exercise. When Henry and I go to work on his swimming, I’m able to hold onto the wall with one arm and help position his body or feet with my other. And now that he’s 8 years old, he’s able to help me too. He loves to operate the pool lift, even when I don’t need him to. He giggles when he gets to dunk Mama in the water. But he has also started holding my towel and wheelchair in place when I transfer so they don’t move. I suspect his thoughtfulness has developed from growing up with a parent who uses a wheelchair and by watching the little everyday things his daddy does to help me.  

Setting Boundaries 

In my last article, when Henry was 2, I mentioned using a leash to keep him close when we crossed streets. As he got older and was able to comprehend more, it became clear that I needed to set strict boundaries and rules with him — the main one being Thou Shalt Not Take Mama’s Chariot. He loves to ride around in my wheelchair when I’m sitting on the couch or other chair at home. But the rules about this are clear. He asks first. He always has to bring it back to me. And never is he to move my chair in anger. I was a moody teenager once upon a time, so I know there are slamming doors and other acts of rebellion in our future. Some are already present. I have made it very well understood by him, then, that if he ever moves my wheelchair out of meanness 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 he knows it’s something he’s never to do. And so far he never has.  

Another rule is that my stairlift is not a toy. Our house has a fully furnished basement, where my library, craft room and punching bag are located. My stairlift is a very expensive piece of machinery that is fascinating to a kid. He has to ask permission if he wants to use it. He is really good about respecting that rule. When his friends come over and want to use it, I’ve overheard him telling them how important it is to me and that it isn’t a toy to play on. And I’ll be honest, I also use it as a bribe when I’ve forgotten something upstairs and don’t want to take the time to get it myself: “I’ll let you use the stairlift if you go get X, Y or Z.” 

Have Fun 

One of the rules I live by is to have fun with your kid. Sure, there are things that can go wrong. And things that we can’t do because of wheelchair limitations. But I’d challenge you to find any good parent who doesn’t get anxious over things or who doesn’t have limitations in one way or another. I’ve learned that many things can be adapted or worked around.  

A few weeks ago, I was at a park with my husband and son. We met up with friends who have a son the same age as Henry. The first time the boys met, they were instant friends. The park itself has great climbing trees, so the friend and some of the other kids were climbing and sitting on branches. Henry tends to be an overthinker, so he’s more cautious — the opposite of “shoot first, ask questions later.” He came over to where the parents were sitting and was a little deflated because he’d never climbed a tree before, didn’t know how and feared getting hurt. My husband offered to lift him, but to Henry that was embarrassing. This was my moment to swoop in and save the day. “Do you want to use me like a step stool?” I said. “That other tree has a branch that’s a little lower.” He happily agreed to try. He climbed up on 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 get down but was afraid of falling. Again, Mama to the rescue. I assured him I was still right there to support him as he slid onto my lap. Then we agreed to try a higher branch on a day there weren’t so many kids around watching.  

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

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Other essays in the Parenting From a Wheelchair series:

• Lessons From My Children About Frustration, Disability and Wanting it All
• Navigating an Inaccessible World with My Son
• Year One of the Ewan Experience
• Keeping Up with a Mobile Toddler
• Explaining Disability to Our Kids

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