If this is bad - we should all be doing it -and be proud.

When I was a child, not once can I remember listening (yes, small girl, big ears, and not afraid to use them) to my mother and her friends talk about motherhood or children like something that needed to be talked about, or was interesting to talk about for that matter. They never sat around the kitchen table and debated whether they had enough time for their kids and if this was something they stressed about. They never defined themselves as mother's, it was something they happened to be, not something that they were consumed by.
If they ever talked about us, the kids pretending to play under the table while they drank coffee and smoked Blend Ultra, it was usually because one of us had behaved badly and had needed to be punished, or because one of us had had a stomach bug that made us vomit all over the living room carpet, as something that had disrupted the rest of their day by annoyingly stopping a halt to everything else they had to do.
Most of all they talked about work, or Dallas, or the new Jackie Collins novel. It made them sound interesting. It was a world I was yet to be invited to, something that was a mystery to me, something I was dying to be a part of. To be a grown woman, and sit around a table and talk to your friends about things that only they understood.

(I can only imagine what those small ears would hear, and what impact they would have on me had it been today, and the conversation around the table would have been about my child, my child, my child, my child, taking care of my child, finding the best organic and locally grown broccoli, and my child, and my child's Gymboree class, and swim class, and music class, and me child my child my child. I would probably have grown a pretty large head to go with those big ears, I tell you.)

Most importantly, no one considered them bad mother's. In fact, they were all (maybe except for one, but that was only because she served bolognese sauce without meat to save money, so that was done out of necessity, not evilness, strictly, I guess it doesn't count) very good mother's. They were loving, affectionate, funny, devoted and no-nonsense. Most of them worked full-time, while the kids spent their days in state-funded day care (you gotta love Scandinavia, even in the early 70's). When they didn't work they cooked basic meals while we watched the one hour of TV that was suitable for kids (and often more hours that was not so suitable), they made sure we were dressed and had our gym kit together and they left us with our grand parents at weekend's to get a break. They had fun parties where they all got merry and would dance around with us standing on their feet and had us fall asleep on a pile of coats in the hall-way. They would sleep in when they were tired, ask us to make them coffee when they woke up, and if they had any energy at all they would take us swimming, or for a walk in the park, but if it didn't happen, no one would think they had failed us.

It seems to me that there is something fundamentally wrong in how we define and perceive ourselves as mother's today - and how we judge all the other mother's around us by comparing them to ourselves. You are not a sufficient mother unless you get down on the floor at all times and actively play with your child for every awake moment of it's day. You have to sign up for activities, and play-dates, and do the home-work assignments, and still have time to show your kids how to relax (because they can't figure that out for themselves). As a mother, your life should be your children - and nothing else. You should not be happy unless your child's needs (which we have ourselves created by obsessing) are completely taken care of down to the very last detail.

And this is still not enough. Only yesterday, Kate moaned because there are so many movies coming out over the holiday's and when I had told her that we simply can't go and watch them all in the theatre, that we have to wait for them to come out On Demand (as if there were ever the luxury of determining your viewing schedule when I grew up - watch your fifteen minutes of Tjeckoslovakian puppet-show right now, or miss it forever).
- It's just not fair, she scowled. Everyone else can go with their mommy and daddy. They have time!

I felt huge pangs of guilt for about ten seconds, until I managed to shake it off.
- They probably can't, I said. And even if they could, I don't care. Different families have different rules.
It felt good saying it (not so good that it stopped me from lying awake later that night, agonizing over how horrible I'd been, though). It felt like I was finally putting my foot down. Making a stand. Separating me from the group and going it on my own. Taking charge of my life, all that sort of stuff.

It seems that in today's hyper-obsessed society (or should I say obsessive) we are not happy until we have completely, totally, one hundred percent thrown ourselves in to playing our roles as mother's that we are quite happy obliterating ourselves, and the people we were before we had children, to the point that what's is left are empty shells, mere cut-outs of what used to be a fully functioning human being. God forbid, we should have time to do anything else - let alone take a break and read a book, or do something that we'd take pleasure in doing for us, for me, not for my child. Only bad mother's take time out for themselves. Only very, very bad mothers.

Which is what I have been doing over the last day or so.
I couldn't put down memoir Bad Mother, written by Bay Area (Berkeley more precisely which makes her observations even more interesting at times) author and mother Ayelet Waldman , until I had finished the last page. This book is funny, clever, thought provoking and sometimes very, very close to the heart (when you read about how she nearly - unknowingly - sacrificed her son's life for breast-feeding, I had lock myself in my bedroom and reach for the tissues).
Waldman has been in the spot light before. To a lot of people she is most famous for a column she wrote about loving her husband more than her children, which led her to a sit on Oprah's sofa where she had to endure much harsh and personal criticism by the audience.
When I read Waldman's book I struggle to find anything even remotely offensive or inappropriate in her stories. They are all very nice and polite reflections on a society gone bonkers over Motherhood. Her book is open, truthful and very honest without being provocative for the sake of shocking. Waldman comes across as someone I would like to have a conversation with. Someone who has found an ideal balance between home, work and herself and who should be praised for that, rather than chastised.
She can come and drink coffee by my kitchen table any day - it would be an honor!

Bad Mother - A Chronicle of Maternal Crimes, Minor Calamities, and occasional Moments of Grace by Ayelet Waldman is published by Doubleday.

For more information, go to www.ayeletwaldman.com

We're all humans

Yesterday I watched an interview with Kate Gosselin, mother of eight, and star of the reality TV show Jon&Kate plus 8 (soon to be Kate plus 8). She was answering the viewers questions and she was asked about her temper and flipping out whilst taking care of her kids. There has been some sharp criticism in the tabloids about Kate and her parenting skills. Pictures of her snapping and one time even spanking her kids, and how she generally looks gloomy, moody and angry when being around them.
- Of course I snap, she said.
And why shouldn't she?
She looks after eight children!! She's only human.

It is important to stop yourself sometimes and take a deep breath. I'm all for time-out, if your kid doesn't need it, maybe you do. And when that happens it is nice to now that other mothers go through the same thing, and are honest about it.
As Kate said:
- Being a mother can be draining.

Hell yeah!

Not much happening

There has been a lot about Leo's tantrums lately, but, unfortunately, that seems to be what my life is all about right now.
Yesterday I had to carry him, kicking and screaming, out of two shops, under my left arm whilst holding shopping-bags in my right hand. I have become one of those mother's.
To add to that, I am sure my next-door neighbors think I beat him, how else could they explain his high-pitched screams when it's bed-time?

The terrible two's is a horrible, horrible period, and I wouldn't want my worst enemy to suffer it.

i will become a stronger person because of it

ok, that was the morning tantrums dealt with, all nine of them squeezed in to a short 27 minutes. now i have the rest of the day to look forward to....

Playground twist

Remember the friend I wrote about the other week, whose daughter stated that boys know more than girls?
Well, today, Kate came home from school and started complaining about co-ed sports, which seems to be a breeding ground for stereotypical gender behavior.
- As soon as one of the girls don't do that well in German Football or Kickball the boys starts pointing and shouting "Is there any girl who knows how to kick a ball?", she said. And they do it to Heather!!
Heather is Kate's best friend, and one of the most quiet and shy girls in their year. To point and shout at anything that Heather attempts to do equals a slow, torturous death in Heathers book and is not likely to make her feel any less self-conscious than she already does. And to be fair, I think many girls out there feel like Heather.

- And when we play at recess, the boys take up so much space, Kate continues. So, like, they play basket ball, or wall ball or soccer, and there is no room left for the girls, so we usually just stay around the benches and talk. And if I start dribbling a ball that I get hold of, there is a boy right there and he dribbles it out of my hand and then I don't get it back.
- It's so unfair, she says abjectly.

My husband, who went to an all-boys school and has no idea what happens to girls before the age of 16, when he started dating them, looks at me and says:
- But isn't that just how it is? The girls rule the class-room and the boys rule the school-yard.
- Honey, the girls don't rule the class-room, I say. Even if they were to be more mentally advanced they don't have a chance to show it because the boys are louder anyway. At this age, the girls don't stand a chance.

No, it's not fair at all. The thing is, how do I explain to Kate that I have no idea how to solve this issue. That whatever she is going through right now is exactly what her mother went through 30 odd years ago, in another country, another continent. It seems to be a universal problem, and not one that is likely to be solved anytime soon.
But that doesn't mean we should shrug our shoulders and accept it. We should not let "boys be boys" and think that this will magically solve itself. Me and my husband take a solemn vow right there at the dinner-table to our best to try and work this out. But where do we start?

The first thing I do is send an email to the sports-teachers and the Principal, cc:ing the class-teacher, who is well aware of the dynamics between the boys and the girls. This was only a few hours ago, I am still waiting for a reply.
It is important that the teachers are on board. The parents need to feel confident that the teachers will nip any kind of macho-behavior in the bud straight away by communicating to the boys that girls can, and show that girls that they too have sufficient space to grow and thrive. The teachers need to assert that shouting, pointing, commenting and belittling is not OK, even if it is done in jest. The boys might very well think that they are just being funny, but these comments can be incredibly hurtful to the girls.

But one other issue that we could spot is unsupervised school-yard recess time .This is where a lot of the problems took place, according to Kate. Ours is a standard inner-city school yard, concreted and lacking of elbow room and, although supposedly supervised, there is a clear absence of observant and intervening adults. Apart from a very sad little play structure in one corner, there are nothing apart from a basket ball hoop and some fading white lines to mark out a soccer pitch. The only toys at hand are some balls. In other words, the little there is, is clearly aimed towards the boys.
So not only is the school yard is run down and out-dated it is also the one guaranteed spot in school where Lord of the Flies can rule freely since no adults interact with the kids.

This is not the only area that needs addressing, of course, but it is a part of the problem, and it is better to start somewhere than nowhere at all.
I need to get hold of research that will tell me that there is a way of changing the lay-out of the school yard that will encourage the boys and the girls to, if not suddenly play harmoniously together to the sound of a playing harp, then at least make the boys take less space and the girls feel less intruded on. I might completely be barking up the wrong tree here, and if I am, I will hold my hands up, but it is worth a shot.
We have a daunting task ahead of us, but we are both willing to take on the challenge!
If anyone has any tips, ideas, or can guide me in the direction of an architect who specializes in gender neutral urban school yards - please, let me know!!

First world problem, and a first world syndrome.

Most days are OK. In the grand scheme of things, I do OK. I don't get too mad at the kids when they play up, act out or forget their homework in school. I take deep breaths and get on with things without snapping.

Some days are not so good.

The 2-year old will act out in play-group. He will snatch toys away from other children, or he will (it has happened) hit another boy over the head for no apparent reason. He will throw tantrums all day and nothing seem to be working to stop him. I try to diffuse the melt-downs by taking him to the playground or going for a walk, but if I'm unlucky it will only add to his frustrations and we will both end up feeling exhausted. Pick up time at school will be a nightmare because of road-works. I get there late and will miss curb-side pick up and will have to park and walk in to school and have to carry a hefty 2-year old three blocks and then back again. My back will be aching, my head will be pounding. My husband will call and tell me he'll be home late so I have to prepare dinner, help with home-work (while fighting off a jealous and attention-seeking boy from my leg), do night routine, bath routine, violin-practice, clean the rabbit hutch, tidy up and do reading with my daughter by myself. And through out this the kids will fight, argue, scream and cry. The noise level will be unbearable and I have not had a minute to myself all day. I feel exhausted, drained, un-attractive, tired and haggard, not to mention ugly and un-sexy. I'm in my mid-thirties but my body is aching like it had lived a 70-year long life.
Was this what I signed up for?
Exactly where, on the road towards starting my fabulous life did things go so horribly wrong?
Those are the days when I feel like packing a bag and just drive away from it all. Forget that I have a family. Forget that I am a mother, a wife and a person I don't really enjoy being anymore.

No, this was not what I signed up for, and yet, there seem to be no way out.
Dark days, indeed.

It doesn't seem to matter how much I try to cut down on our social life. I still feel stressed out to the point of breaking down. I have consciously not signed up the kids to too many activities. I turn down dinner and drinks invitations, and I make sure that the weekends are free from obligations, just so that we can rest, and recharge our batteries, yet it doesn't seem to be enough.
How much more can I cut down? There isn't anything else to cut from.

Is this a problem that only concerns mothers in the city? Would things get easier if we moved to small village in the country? Or do I just have to accept that this is it. My life as a broken down wreck of a thirty-something on a road to nowhere?

Dar, dark days, indeed.

I close my eyes and hope for a better, sunnier day tomorrow.

Baby Einstein - not the solution to all your problems...

I have always been an outspoken critic of the Baby Einstein DVD's. I have never seen the point of them. Or rather: put on the DVD and let the little tot's enjoy them, but don't think for a second that they will help them become early speakers - and definitely not the next generation of Einsteins.
Ever since my first encounter with the DVD's, which was about 7 years ago, I have had a hate-relationship to these annoying so-called learning-stimulants because of that very reason: they want you to think that you are providing a learning-tool for your child that you are not capable of giving them yourself. After years of believeng that TV was bad for kids, and that they needed active play-time instead, suddenly, the creators of Baby Einstein wanted you think that you are a bad mother if you didn't let your child watch TV every day.

When Baby Einstein was released, there was an influx of otherwise TV-aversed mothers who suddenly thought that TV might not only be OK but necessary for their kids development of essential verbal skills. In fact, they felt that if they didn't put them in front of Baby Einstein, their kids would miss out on vital skills. Would they not qualify to the pre-school of their choice if they didn't welcome Baby Einstein in to their home? Would their kids fall behind in high school? Because children who watched Baby Einstein, the creator would have you believe, where not only much more advanced in their vocabulary, they where more likely to have adopted multi-lingual skills that they might never be able to adopt if they were to start a few years later.

I never for a second believed in this philosophy. To me it was blatantly obvious that the little child in front of the TV who, passive and silent, watched a spinning top while listening to classical music and a monotonous voice reciting the name of the color blue in five different languages did not learn a single thing about languages, never mind develop their speech.
Although not a huge fan of TV for under 2's, at some point of the day (usually around 5pm, when my kids where tired and dinner needed attention), I would turn on the TV. Tellytubbies, In the Nightgarden or Fimbles (OK, so I am British, so you have to bear with my choice of BBC productions here) did a lot more to engage my kids than Baby Einstein would ever do. Not only did my kids respond to what they watched and heard on the screen by interactively wave, dance, say 'hello' and 'goodbye' etc, after a little while they became bored and distracted and started to play with their toys again. If I wanted my children to talk, I would have to interact with them myself to get the conversation going.
The kids I knew who watched Baby Einstein, on the other hand, sat placidly and stared at the screen for longer periods of time, without a sound coming out of their mouths. There was no interaction, and no stimulation. OK, so my oppinon isn't exactly scientifically researched, it's a mere subjective train of thoughts, but recently I have read two articles that confirmed my believes that only interaction from grown-up's - not DVD's - will help stimulate your child's speech.



Research on Baby Einstein and evidence that the DVD's won't work as speech-stimulants, can be found in the book NurtureShock - New thinking about children, written by PO Bronson and Ahsley Sherman (Twelve, 2009). In the chapter 'Why Hannah talks and Alyssa doesn't' the authors present a wide range of research on speech and also dispels the common myth that if we subject our children to language, regardless of the medium, they will absorb it and eventually use it actively. They argue that instead of feeding our kids with constant chatter, we need to "notice what's coming from the baby, and respond accordingly - coming from his mouth, his eyes, and his fingers." In other words, to raise verbal children, the parents, should keep quiet, and instead listen and respond to our children.

And in an article recently published in the New York Times stated that Walt Disney Company acknowledge the fact that the fact that then DVD's are not educational and will therefor offer refunds to any parent returning a Baby Einstein DVD.

So, don't be afraid to use the TV as an electronic baby-sitter when you need to. But do it in honest. Don't try to dress it up with the argument that your kids will learn something from it. To really get them going, get down on the floor and start to interact. Quietly enter your child's world and start to listen to what they have to say instead.

Temper tantrums

The terrible two's has set in with gusto in our home. It actually started a little after he turned one, and hasn't stopped since. Sure there are not so bad days and there are nightmare 'kill me now' days, but on the whole, pushing mommy's buttons seems to be the only thing my son is in to.
If he doesn't get what he wants he will throw himself on the floor, alternatively bang his hand against a wall or throw a suitably heavy toy on the floor for effect. With my (older and always more calm) daughter, I thought I had mastered the skill of clever compromising, but that was before I realized that parenthood is not just about dodging corners, it is about running through the battlefield, ducking and diving without crash-helmet. Petty negotiating doesn't work - you have to master the art of downright negotiation, go in to strike the deal but be prepared to give something up. Usually your dignity as a human being.

He wants to watch TV. The TV is sleeping right now, I say. He doesn't give up. He wants to watch his Thomas DVD. But Thomas, and the TV are sleeping, I say (big meltdown). I then pretend to turn the TV on and look! The screen is black. TV is sleeping. Why don't we go upstairs and play with your train track instead.
Sure.
But then he wants a snack. OK, how about some strawberries. No, Goldfish. No goldfish just before lunch, try the strawberries. No, apple. We don't have any apples, how about.... a banana? No (small, whiny tantrum), apple. Strawberries or banana. Those are the options. Small tantrum is about to turn in to massive explosion. OK. How about.... a rice cake?
Never in my life have I managed to jazz up a rice cake as much as I am doing right then. I am using my most seductive 'rice cakes a sooo yummy' voice and finally, he falls for it.
And that is my life.
'Let's go find the car' voice, 'Isn't leaving the playground so much fun' expeditions, 'How many seconds can we go through the supermarket without a tantrum' games, the options are endless, and all the while, I am carrying a screaming, crying, kicking two year old monster in my arms, trying hard not to break my back as I maneuver him in to his car seat or his high chair or his stroller.

It's just a face right? And the smiles and cuddles in between more than make up for tantrums. It's just so damn exhausting. A never ending battle...

news from across the pond

This is a really interesting article from the Observer.

Although very late, it is good that the debate is going on, and it is about time it hit us here in the US as well.

We need to fight for speech and strength in the class-rooms

A few days ago, a friend of mine told me about an incident that happened while she was talking to her daughter. You can read about it here, but I will sum up:
Her seven-year old girl comes home from school one day and says:
- You know how boys know more than girls.
It is not a question, it is a plain statement, that nearly made my friend choke on her Mint tea.

Turns out that her daughter, who's up until now has been a normal, somewhat confident, somewhat self-conscious person, suddenly feels that she can't ask the teacher for help in school if she doesn't understand something, because, if she does, the boys will turn around and tease her by saying:
- What - you don't know that? That's easy!
Which subsequently has made this little girl assume that boys know more things than girls do.

My friend tells me this story and that's when I realize that I need to kick start this blog again.
I used to only write about the grown-up stuff; the imbalance between men and women, the skewed domestic work load, the marital injustice and the arguments. I didn't really write that much about the children.
I didn't write about our daughters. The next generation of beautiful mothers, wives and successful women who will just have to go on fighting the same battles as we do, if my friends story is anything to go by.

I spoke to my friend this morning and asked what happened, how did she resolve her daughter's statement.
- I spoke to the teacher. She moved the desks around in the class-room. All the girls are in one spot and all the boys together in another spot.

When my friend asked the teacher if she thought that the best way to curb the noisy boys from intimidating the girls in the class room was to divide them in to two separate camps the teacher said, Yes, absolutely. The girls will support each other against the boys and give each other confidence. They will become strong.

My question is: shouldn't we encourage children to work and play together in a mixed environment where they learn to respect each other rather than find faults with each other? Or should we just accept that boys will be boys and teach the girls that the only way they will survive in this society is by not straying away from your pack?
This might be a quick fix for the teacher. Maybe the class-room will become a calmer place, and teaching will become easier. But haven't we just re-inforced the foundation of the problem, rather than tried to solve it?

So, it dawned on me that it was time to dust of the blog and start venting again. Things are far from perfect, but I think a lot of women close their eyes and pretend that we have come a long way. That, compared with our mothers, our situation is so much better. Some of us still think we can have it all, and those of us who accept that we can't yet try to convince ourselves that maybe it wasn't meant to be. Instead of keep pushing forward until we can.
And weather we are furiously banging our heads against a brick wall, or happily turning away from the problem, life goes on and our children are right in the middle of all this.

We will need to fight parallel battles, one for ourselves and one for our daughters.

New page, new blog posts!

Yes, I am back!
Finally.
This is a new page, a new start. Hopefully, something will come of it.
If I have lost my readers, I hope they will come back! And I will try to reach out to new readers too.
The other day I had an epiphany: there is room for this blog to grow.

Bye bye baby, for a little while

For those of you who haven't noticed, I haven't written a blog-post in a long time. What can I say. Life has taken over. Being an angry mother of two, battling the flu, trying to survive to the end of the school-year with all the end of season activity-parties and planning the summer vacation, it's been hectic.

I also haven't had any inspiration to write anything vaguely child or family orientated for a while. Life has just been plodding along, and I have simply been trying to keep up.

Therefor, I am closing the blog down for now. Or, rather. I am leaving it as it is, and towards the end of August I will take start it up again. With a new, fresh outlook on things, and tons of fun rants.

Have a great summer, everyone. Look after your little'uns and yourselves. Make sure to get plenty of ME-time. You all deserve it!!

To brand Motherhood

It's hard not to get cynical about Octomom. I have my hardest not to, but I fail.

Playing housewife is a game for life

I have spoken to two different women in the space of a week, both complaining about the lack of support their getting from their husbands whilst trying to get their businesses of the ground.
One of them, a mother of four, have stayed at home for nearly ten years, taking care of children and home, doing play dates and school-runs, meal plans and soccer practice, the other woman is a other of two. Apart from having been a stay at home for "only" 5 years, her routine has been the same.
Both had the opportunity to pursue great business opportunities within areas that they are interested in (children's apparel, and catering), with great prospects and the possibility of combining their interest and added income with still being able to be there for the kids when they need it.
- Sure, the husbands said. This is your time, this is your turn to rock, baby. I'll be there for you, and the family. We'll do the hard work together.

Three months later, turns out their not so keen on playing hands-on daddy and supportive spouse any more. They start whining and whingeing, like babies.
- Come on, honey, isn't it time for you to stop playing around and start taking care of your responsibilities again. You've had your fun, I need to devote my time to work again. I can't sit around and wait for you, when, let's face it, this isn't gonna turn us in to millionaires any time soon, will it?

So this is what happens when you let go. You let go of that independence, thinking that playing housewife for a few years while the kids are small while he's out making career and good money is not so bad, and no one told you that you actually end up back in the 50's, tied to the stove and popping Valium to survive. It can happen to the best of us. Why didn't anyone tell us before we signed the papers?
No, wait a minute - we didn't actually sign anything. We went in to this willingly and obligingly.

Swine-flu scare is making me mad

The enormous proportions of the swine-flu scare is beginning to annoy me so much. It is so frustrating that the media decides to grab on to anything it can find on order to feed any weakness it can spot in even the most grounded of humans. Because that is what media is doing. Instead of clearly providing us with purse facts, it feeds our weakest spots, it taps in to our deepest fears and nightmares by painting a horrible apocalypse of death and gloom that will turn seemingly rational and realistic people in to irrational and highly volatile beings. And although it is clear that there are cases where this flu, as with all flu's, tragically have led to death, the fact of the matter is that the swine-flu, as all flu's, is mostly a nasty, annoying, energy-draining case of....well, the flu. I have never had respect for the type of journalism that will happily exchange facts for stories, and sadly, there seem to be a lot of exchanging done right now.

So, swine-flu. Shall we lock ourselves up, leave the country? It is a good thing I have a ´n earthquake kit in the garage, because, if you believe the news, or rather, people who read the news, it is high time to stock up on the rice-roni and canned spaghetti hoops, that is what one mother in my playgroup is doing this week. Just in case the government will proclaim nation-wide evacuation, or something...
In my playgroup I also heard comments such as:
- My son's friends all have Mexican nannies/I live in a neighborhood with a very high Mexican population. Do we need to move out/get our flu-shots/stop playing in the park/not leave the house?

It's time for a serious reality check.

Magic fairy-request

I never thought that time would become such a commodity, and that I would be so ready and eager to trade it for almost anything else I own.
The thing is, I need time, and lot's of it. How on earth am I supposed to be able to do all the things I need to do before I get so old that my body will refuse my actions (believe me, at nearly 36, it's already happening)? I am probably not the first one to express a wish of cloning, or a desire to cut myself in half. I really do need to be in several places at the same time. We have playgroups, ballet practice, after-school, play-dates, swimming, my studies, his work, the odd dinner-party, the occasional concert, and a house that would benefit from some TLC.

At night, when the kids have gone to bed, I sit down, take a deep breath, and I start counting out loud all the things I have done, all the things I need to do, and all the things I really should do but don't have the energy for. My husband looks at me and tells me to stop being so hard on myself.
- You shouldn't put yourself under so much pressure. He says. You should take it easy. Take things a bit slowly.

I shoot him an evil look.
- Well, if I don't do them they won't get done, and they have to get done.
His mislaid sympathy annoys me. He means well, but I don't need to hear it. I need a magic fairy who will make it all better. How will give me more time and who will take over a substantial amount of the need-to's. A 'how to be a better, more efficient and yet loving towards my children-person' fairy.
Or a magic godmother. Or a house-gnome. Or whatever, I don't care, just, please, someone, let me get it all done before I crumble.

You can't be angry all the time, some things are not so bad

I know why American women look so incredible so shortly after they give birth. Not only do the keep very healthy during the pregnancy, they also recover very quickly after the birth. And the reason for this?
Daycare facilities at the gym!
The facility at my local gym allow babies as young as 6 weeks old. It is very easy to bring your child to the playroom and go to your yoga class or spin class for an hour. The facilities are great, the staff is lovely. And I get a work out. And a break.
I love the daycare idea.

Exhausted

Sometimes I really feel like packing a suitcase, getting in the car and drive as far away from my family as possible, no looking back, no return. Wow, little people has a knack for sucking the energy out of you.
Leopold, my youngest, is in the prime of his terrible two's, all ripe and fresh. Went from being a very affectionate lovely boy, full of cuddles and sweetness and turned in to a growling monster, angry, frustrated, constantly screaming and throwing tantrums to the point where I refuse to leave the house and be in public with him.
What happened to my sweet boy? Where did he go?

And more importantly, how do I approach it without risking my sanity and his health?

He's forgotten the few words he's picked up in his short life and these days everything is "uhu - uhu - uhu- uhu", in a very repetitive, demanding, sharp pitch.
Everything has turned against him. His monkey, his books, his car, his sister and his parents. We are all evil and out to get him. A friendly kiss on the cheek, a smile, a tickle, it's all designed to hinder him and make him angry. He's walking around in circles, constantly feeling frustrated, never being able to relax long enough to let a good mood catch up with him.

I know that what every I will do, whether it's out of love, giving him a sandwich, reading him a book, taking him to the playground, or out of necessity, telling him not to touch the stove or leave the flower-pots alone, he will eventually combust. This makes our days together very miserable, trust me. We're exhausted and in a bad mood.

I wish I could just pack my bag and leave and never come back. Or maybe come back when it's all over. In five years or so.

We have no time, and the time we have we waste away?

I have come to the conclusion that whether you're a willing stay at home mom or a reluctant one, it doesn't really change the fact that you bend over backwards, cutting yourself in half trying to crowbar everything that needs to be done into the small amount of time you have, and at the end of the day there is still no time to yourself and you end up feeling exhausted and drained, crashing on the sofa with a book if you're lucky, ending up in front of the TV, if you're unlucky.
The difference is that if you are an reluctant SAHM, chances are that you have even less time and that you are even more stressed out, bordering on cardiac arrest, developing high blood pressure.

It becomes evident that it is absolutely impossible to do a mother's work (however "un-involved" one might be, because I am a self-confessed non-involver who doesn't need to get my kids attention 24/7, but think that they are perfectly capable of amusing themselves too) and try to cram in the evening-course at the open university, have time for homework, try to go for a run, see some friends, be nice to my husband, try to engage in conversation with husband, and sometimes, because sometimes it's all I'd like, to just sit and surf on the internet for beautiful pictures of flowers or google the name of everyone in my old high-school class, because sometimes, one needs that kind of stimula as well.

When the day is gone and peace and quiet is almost about to ascend upon my home, I pick out that book I've meant to read for every and of course, end up feeling guilty that I'm reading my own book, instead of listening to Kate when she's reading out aloud from whatever Rainbow Magic she might be in to, and if I go on the computer thinking that I will just engage in some frivolous and completely selfish Facebooking for a bit, I get torn up that I don't use the time to look for music-groups and toddler-fun for Leopold, which I have been meaning to do for so long now that he will be a freshman in college before I get around to it, and definitely the oldest kid in the group who's shaking a maraca to Mary had a little lamb.

And when I try to concentrate on my school-work, that course that I am so passionate about, which won't lead to me suddenly becoming a career woman making tons of money, but is simply only for the benefit of making me feel good about myself and letting me do something I have an interest in outside of the home, I feel so, so, so guilty because I try having a life outside my family.
No, wait, that's not true. I don't feel guilty at all, what I feel is frustration over the fact that I don't have enough time to really devote to what I really enjoy doing, and then I feel guilty, because my kids should always come first, right?

If it had comforted me, I would have at least given myself the option: You know, you could try to become one of those women who don't really want to do anything except be their kids, you could become one of those women who doesn't have a craving for activities beyond the four walls, instead of wasting the prescious time you have on silly stuff like courses and hobbies and stuff, then at least it would be up to me, but I know for a fact that those women have no more time that I do. They too feel incredibly over-whelmed on the verge of breakdown trying to make everything fit without a heart attack on top.

Why is it so hard for us? Where is this pressure coming from? And what do we do with our time? It must disappear of somewhere?

We need change - not just here, but everywhere.

It is not as bad in the UK as it is in the US, but that doesn't mean the issue shouldn't be addressed.
And while we're at it, let's do something about the diabolical state of affairs when it comes to American women's right to decent maternity leave and pay, whilst knowing that their job is safe and waiting upon return.

Some things we argue about

We are both kind of forgetful and we can also, when we want to be, a little lazy. Not lazy, more content to leave things to the last minute. Why do things before you really need to get them done, that sort of thing.
Which means that things get left and makes the other person think that they have been just left, without anyone having any intention of doing anything about them. Which causes arguments.
- Why did you leave the washing up to me?
- I didn't. I was going to do it. After I have finished reading the paper.

- Did you just leave the socks for me to put them in the laundry-basket?
- No, I was gonna take them. Tonight, when I get back from work.

My pet peeve is all forms of laundry, old dishes and chargers, cables and usb's lying around everywhere.
His is old light bulbs not being changed and old things being left in the refrigerator.
Together we live in a pretty messy household. Not messy - lived-in.

TV

When my children are so wound-up, over the top hyper that they find it hard to sit still, let alone string a sentence together (a common state of affairs every day around 5 o'clock, give or take an hour) i put the TV on and let them sit and indulge themselves in some mind-numbing, no brain-activity needed, mass-produced moving images type of kind. Actually, they don't need to be on the verge of a melt-down, I let them watch TV any way. And to my defense, it's usually not brain-numbing TV, it's actually really nice, sweet programmes.
And I don't actually feel the need to excuse myself on this one. I belong to the group of parents who don't think that TV will kill our children, or turn them in to freaks. I also belong to the group of people who wouldn't allow the TV to be turned on 24/7, substituting other activities like, for instance, taking part of real life, but there you go: my kids watch TV.

A close friend of mine and I often run in to this (friendly) argument when we spend time with the kids in each others homes. She thinks that TV is an evil and would rather drop down dead than let her 3year old son watch half an hour of Tweenies (you can take the English out of England but you can't take England...- this is BBC programming we¨re talking about:)) in the evening.
- He should be playing, using his imagination and not be slumped in front of the TV like a zombie.
If you look at the 3 year old at 5.30pm, after a day of play dates, cycling in the park, feeding the ducks, playing with matchbox cars and painting huge landscapes that would put van Gogh to shame, at this point of the day it doesn't look like you'd get much inspired coherence out of him, he's pretty much done and ready to combust. The result is that for an hour or so, he will be completely intolerable, running around like a restless goblin, not knowing what to do with himself, pulling out every toy imaginable without playing with them, throwing tantrums and demanding attention in the loudest, most intense manner.
As an experiment, I convinced my friend to let him watch some TV, just a little. I put on some Bob the Builder, and what do you know, an angel is sitting in the sofa, emerged in "can we fix it? Yes we can!", calm as a summer breeze. An lo and behold, the next day he had even made up a new game: he was going to build a house in the garden, just like Bob.

The moral of the story is a bit dubious. My friend could see the point of the experiment, and could agree that, limited time, supervised, in front of the TV, wouldn't scar her boy for life. But as she still couldn't get over the zombie-reference (all in her head, by the way) she couldn't justify TV viewing in the evenings, but will rather let him watch it in the morning after breakfast, when he is his most active and ready to play. So he has less time to build his house in the garden, and he is still running around like a hellrazer before bedtime, but half a battle won, and all that.
There is still some work to do, but we'll get there.

We're raising human beings, not the next Shirley Temple

I have a pet peeve, and I might get tomatoes thrown at me for this one, but here goes: I can't stand loud, ill-behaved children in restaurants and cafes. I'm sorry, but if your child can't sit down for more than two minutes before having to climb on furniture, pull table-cloths and run around, knocking waiters over, than I don't see why they should have to be submitted to a place where common etiquette expects people to behave in a certain manner. That is unless, of course, you'd think it would be OK to actually tell your child that: "No, sit down, please. Use an inside voice and don't eat with your fingers."
Because, guess what: it is OK to show your child that what might be OK at home is certainly not OK anywhere else.

It's the thing about rules and raising children. Different families, different rules, and all that, I really couldn't care less what you do at home, but I really do think it is important to show our children that outside the home, in the big world that is out there, certain behaviors are less OK than others. And it is OK to tell our children that. It won't scar them for life. It won't harm them and it won't come back and haunt them at the psycho-therapists office years later. It is OK to set behavioral boundaries for our children. We will do them a favor in the long run because they will not grow up spoilt and self-centered and without friends. We will also do the people around us a favor too, since being around kids with tantrums is one of the worst thing there is. (Believe me, my youngest is no exception to this rule, and when he is starting to throw an absolute wobbly, I pack up and leave. No excuses.)

So today, as me and Kate, my eldest, are enjoying our macaroons, apple juice and jasmine tea, there is a party of five, two mothers and three kids next to us and chaos sets in only five minutes after they enter. The kids are tired, cranky and generally not very happy. They whine. They cry. They nag. They throw tantrums when they don't get what they want (and what they want are the good pastries, not the boring oatmeal cookies, I mean, good lord, why take your kid to a french bakery if you don't want them to have the good stuff?). They crawl on the benches and under the table, they knock stuff own and spill a whole glass of water on the floor. They run to and from the bathroom bumping in to other customers. The noise level is excruciating.
And all the while the two mothers keep stiff smiles and nice voices saying things like:
- Oh, dear. That's OK.
- Do you need the bathroom again? OK.
- Maybe if you sit up, you won't spill your drink again.

It's tiring.
Frustrating.
Two things: if kids are too tired, don't push it. Take them to a playground instead.
But if they need to be in an environment with other adults than their parents, they need to understand that it is not OK to rip the place apart. If you can't fight the battle, don't join it.

Maybe I sound like a cold-hearted b*** now, I know, but I don't tolerate it when my own children to behave like that, so don't enjoy it much from other children either.

If there was such a thing as Karma, it would be this

My FoF is slowly getting her divorce-papers in order and her life back on track. A weight has been lifted from her shoulders. In fact, she is smiling again.
Drinking a Martini, eating prawns, and smiling a bit.
We go out to dinner and she says: I have to get used to this again. To be out without my wedding band.
But when she says it she doesn't sound upset or sad. She sounds OK.

Meanwhile, her soon to be Ex is agonizing over how he will be able to afford to pay rent, alimony, Spring Break with the kids while keeping his mistress in the custom that she has become used to.

No one is Super-Mom, but we all try

I have made no secret of the fact that I feel very frustrated by this generation of over-protective, hyper-hands on uber-alpha mothers that we live amongst right now. The Hysterical Need To Do Everything And Then Some breed of mothers who raise over-protected and therefore spoilt little brats who have no idea how to function normally and interact socially with other people.

But here's the thing. Can you help but be nervously fretting that you will ruin your child every chance at a decent life if every one around us tells us the opposite? If we are being force-fed opinions left, right and centre (usually supported by "Experts") on how and where and what we are doing wrong every given second we are trying to everything right for our children?
We are irresponsible for taking them to the playground because it is a germ-filled and dangerous place. So instead we build a mini-Disney-land in our back-garden, because we know that children can't be without physical stimulation.
We would be scolded for leaving our children in day-care, yet we are told about the importance on social creatively simulating interaction, so we are being bad parents if we don't sign them up to at least three activities a day.
I could go on.

In my case, I actually found myself (and I would brand myself as a fairly chilled out person and my style of mothering to be the same) lie awake in bed one night fretting over the fact that I let my son go to sleep with a bottle of warm milk at night.
It is the only way he will sleep, and finding that out put a stop to months of agonizing bed-time routines (or rather, lack of) where it would take hours for him to settle. My husband figured it out. I was still very much in the "no-outside-stimulation-before-sleep" zone, but had to give in, finally.
- Why would you fight me on this one? he asked me as I in a last, exhausted attempt, tried to tell him that what he did was wrong.
- He's falling asleep, doesn't he? he asked. Within minutes. Why not just do this, and make it easy for us?

Because I knew what my pediatrician would tell me from now on, at every check-up we went to.
- You can't let him fall asleep with a bottle. You will ruin his teeth.

IE: What you are doing is bad, and you are inflicting pain and hurt on to your child and you will scar him for life and all this because you are a selfish, lazy parent who just can't do the right thing.

All because of peaceful bedtime.... Is it worth it?
So I lie awake in bed, thinking about what I am doing to my son as he, and the rest of the family lie nicely tucked in and sleep away in Wonderland. And all I wanted was to be a good mother, to do the right thing, but to also have some peace and quiet after a long, stressful and hectic day.

This is what we are doing right now. This is what society, and us, are doing to each other. If it's not teeth, it's something else. The lack of physical sports-activities which you are sure will harm your child although all he has never showed any interest what so ever in any sports, he'd rather play guitar. The times you have not read four books at bedtime, because you are exhausted, and now you think your daughters reading might suffer.
The times you have turned on SpongeBob Squarepants when really, it should be a strict diet of Baby Einstein although Baby Einstein doesn't seem to captivate them for very long, and you really need them out of your way because you need to cook, and fold clean clothes and make that phone-call, and-.

Is it any wonder that we are nervous wrecks? Is it any wonder that mother's will try and compensate for their lack of perfection in the areas that they feel that they are in control of???

And most importantly: as it is happening to all of us, us mothers should support each other, not point out where we might go wrong. It is hard enough as it is without the rest of society trying to brand us a irresponsible, thoughtless, selfish mothers, we don't need to tell each other that too.

Return of the mother

I sincerely apologize for the gap in blog-posts. Even the most reluctant of super-mum's get swamped with household-chores, in my case, time got taken over by my mother-in-law, visiting from Europe.

I also had to spend some time figuring out what direction I would like this blog to take. Do I want it to be a very personal account of my experiences as a wife and mother, or do I want it to be a social commentary on the state of affairs. Probably a bit of both, but in that case, I feel I risk making the blog feel a bit messy, a bit all over the place. Let me know what you think, feed-back and in-put is always, always great and helpful.

Meanwhile, I've come across this book which is absorbing me at the moment. It's Judith Warner's account on motherhood, called Perfect Madness, Motherhood in the Age of Anxiety (Riverhead Books, 2005).

Warner lived in France for a long time with her husband, and also as a mother to young children. She then had to move to Washington and found the contrast in motherhood and child-rearing unbearably stark, not only in the help and support a family with children could expect from the government in France but also in terms of attitudes amongst mothers themselves. She'd come to the conclusion that if American women feel exhausted and cheated they are, to a great extent, at their own fault. Where French mothers would take it for granted that no one can live in symbiosis with their children 24/7, and actually need me-time in order to be good mothers, American mothers seem to completely obliterate themselves to the point of no turning back, and also seem to think that this is the only way to live.

Warner's account of motherhood in France vs US, is not meant to be a scientific study but mere personal reflexions on a problem that is beginning to cripple more and more mothers around us, and I highly recommend this book. I have yet to finish it (only started reading it over the weekend) but it's looking good so far.

Sorry

I am really, really swamped this week, so I apologize if I won't be able to blog as much this week as I usually do. I'll be back after the weekend, that's a promise!

Some things to read

There is a site that I don't really ever read, called Blissfully Domestic, but there is also a site I tend to read, called Bad Mommy Blogger, and they had this posting the other day which I have to pass on.

It might come to this

It is a sad reality, but some of us will inevitably face it. Instead of looking at your not-so-good marriage with rose-tinted glasses, it might be a good idea to learn to accept and move on. There is a business opportunity in everything.

I don't need this

I haven't really got in to the whole breast-feeding debate yet. It feels like a huge project that will need both serious time and commitment, so instead I'll leave you this reflexion that I made today, eating my spring rolls and shitake mushrooms in a down town restaurant:

The reflexion is: I don't need naked breasts when I eat. I don't use them, I don't need to see them.
Why do some women insist on breastfeeding their children (in this case a child who was old enough to feed himself with a fork, but that's beside the point) in public, right there, in front of every one?

I am certainly not a prude. Breasts don't face me. They are natural, and have a cool function and are all part of this wonderful thing that is nurture, but do we really need to see them at tehir ripest when we eat our lunch?

This breast wasn't even a little covered. Had the woman made even the slightest attempt to turn away from the rest of the room, or tried to cover breast and eating child up a bit with a blanket or something, I would have been the first to forgive. An attempt to cover a breast would be enough for me (even though there was a perfectly good Family Room next door to the restaurant, all nicely decked out with big sofas and toys for nursing mother's and their children) but this woman had simply unbuttoned her shirt halfway down, pulled her breast out, and let her toddler nurse right there, in the open, in front of me, my spring rolls, and the rest of the customers.
And then she had to change breast as well....

If anyone would like to practice this level of "breasts are not sexual, and breastfeeding is the most natural thing there is" they should be very aware and respectful of the fact that there might be other people who might not be as comfortable with this. It is not fair to ask of the rest of us to accept this very personal relationship with one's breasts.

We don't want any tears, do we?

One thing that I can't get over here is how we seem to have OD'd on playground safety to the point where you wonder why we even bother taking the little ones out at all.
Young toddler, fully capable of walking unassisted, are not allowed to try and climb up even the smallest little play-structure but is having mommy saying: Careful, you might hurt yourself, and then lifting the child up to where it wants to go.

It is a miracle if the swing is even moving when we give it the gentlest possible push, and the sand - a breathing pit of bacteria, viruses and other unidentified killer-bug - quick! Hand me over those wipes immediately!!!!

Have we completely stopped remembering what it was like when we grew up? What kind of freedom we had? And I'm not talking about cycling around the neighborhood for hours without the parents knowing where you were, I'm simply talking about giving small children the opportunity to explore and discover, and move and face challenges and sometime hurting themselves but most of the time achieving something that they have never done before and be able to feel a great sense of self fulfilment which is all part of raising a healthy, happy, confident human being.

It seems that what we do in good faith, and with all the best intentions, will cause more harm in the long run. As far as the sand-pit goes, there is of course the good old argument of letting a child build up it's immune-system, which won't be possible if we sanitize and wipe, and clean every single surface it's being in contact with, and that's a good argument! But on a more psychological level, not only do we send out signals of danger if we move children away from a small but easily manageable obstacle, signals that will tell the child that the world is indeed big and very dangerous (a world that the child will eventually have to learn to master anyway, so why not start sooner rather than later?), we also teach them that we, the parent, will always, always be at hand, and they will soon learn that they don't have to do anything for themselves because some one else will be right behind to sort it all out for them. I dread to think the disappointment that child will feel the one day when mommy happens to look away, or be otherwise engaged for a few seconds.

So stop guarding over your child so fiercely in the playground. Give the swing a proper push! Let them crawl or climb up a couple of stairs on the structure, and go down a slide. Of course, always be at hand, but don't do the job for them! Let them feel that they are accomplishing little goals all by themselves.
And, between me and the rest of the world: a little sand in the mouth has never killed anyone. It's really yukky, I know, but so is the taste of Pampers Wipes, believe me, I have tried.

Kind of a Catch 22

- Mummy, why does daddy work, and not you?
- Mummy works too, sweaty.
- Yeah, like, taking care of me and Leo, right?
- Well, mummy does other work too.
- But you're at home all the time? How can you work?

(I ask myself that all the time.)

- Well, you know when I spend time in front of the computer. That's my work.
- Daddy works in front of the computer too, but he has an office he can go to.
- Yeah, I know. Some things are just always gonna be un-fair. (No, I didn't actually say that last thing, promise.)

- Mummy. When I grow up, I'm gonna be like daddy. I'm gonna have an office, and someone else can look after my children for me.

To argue with grace

My husband and I had one of our arguments, as usual, last Thursday (the only reason we haven't argued since is because he's been out of town all weekend). This time it was about work, and staying in America, and being happy - at work, and in America. It is no secret. We sacrificed a lot moving over here, both on a professional and personal level, we took a gamble and held our breaths, but so far it has all been worth it. We have a good life here, from a parent's point of view we have a much better life than we had in the UK.

But lately, as is the state of affairs in so many companies in today's climate, things have started to turn a bit rocky and to not go in to too much detail, my husband isn't very happy in his current position any more, and there aren't that many options for him to find a different position, in-house.
- Well, if it doesn't get better, we'll have to move where the job takes us. I can't stay and be un-happy just to keep the family here.

This is classic motherhood-trap territory, because there is nothing I can say. I don't have a work-permit. I certainly don't have enough money to keep us here. Heck, I wouldn't be able to stay here without my husband since I'm here on his visa. Which pretty much makes my situation all about my husband and his choice in the matter.
- Well, I sucked it up way longer than I really could back home, I snap. For six years I was unhappy at home while you were charging up the career ladder. Now, you suck it up for six years.

It's a moot point. We're tired, irritable, and on our second cocktails (having dinner out after a work-do). The fact of the matter is, I wasn't unhappy because I stayed at home, I was unhappy because I was sick. And my husband would never, never, make this decision by himself, and expect the rest of us to follow. I know that. He knows that I know that. But we're turning to stereotype and do the Working Man - Homemaker Wife because that's what we're used to when we argue.

When I have stopped yawning I can move forward

I have tried to ignore it for a long time, but it is impossible to do so. Since I had kids and have been labeled "mother" and slotted in to that box where all 'mothers' belong, when I go to dinner-parties, organized drinks events and such, any man polite enough to strike up a conversation with me will not know what to talk about beyond asking me how old my children are, and, after having established what school they are in, steer the conversation around school-related subjects such as homework and school-fees. And since the subject-matter isn't very exciting for them it soon becomes evident that they would at least feel more happy to talk if I would kindly shut up, and at least let them talk (it is frightening how many men loves the sound of their own voices, and so, unless I want to venture out to the same sowing circle around the coffee-table talking PTA and floral fabrics that I tried my hardest to avoid in the play-ground that same morning, I now have to spend my evening listening to their men talk about their children.
It's a no-win situation.

When did 'being a mother' equal 'have lost brain somewhere'???
I mean, I think I can still hold up a decent conversation on Obama hand his financial plan but all I get is a smug 'I-know-I-am-a-really-funny-guy': Come on, admit you voted for him because you think he's cute. Haha.
So, OK, don't enter the political zone.
Holidays? Can we talk about holidays and traveling?
Well, OK then. But keep it strictly family-holiday orientated. And again, be prepared to soon venture on to some other family's holiday and how much fun the kids had swimming in some swimming pool at some resort in some holiday-destination that sounds just like all the other swimming-pools in all the other resorts around the world, but apparently, this one was outstanding.

To try and talk about work is pointless, after all, you don't work any more, what could you possibly have to say on the subject. Unless, and here we are again, you'd like to dare him to talk about the new business he's setting up, in which case, you're in for a three drink minimum time-span and by the end of it you will be drunk - and bored stiffless.
It is also not appropriate to be too opinionated, because: you're a mother. Shouldn't you be sitting over there with his wife and talk pre-schools?

I am of course exaggerating a little bit, then again, maybe I'm not, but the bottom line is, after endless evenings in other peoples kitchens with a glass of wine in one hand and yet another mind-blowingly boring conversation with an obnoxious alpha-male about nothing that could even excite me a little bit, I have decided that from now on, I will just stay at home and talk to my children instead. They excite me far more!

Prozac is not the answer

- Does your periods still affect you in a bad way? my OB-GYN asked during my last annual check-up.
Of course they do. Imagine Morticia Addams' more evil twin-sister and you are still not close to what I become during my PMS.
For as long as I can remember medical experts have tried to get me to use The Pill as a leveler but as I feel it gives me migraines and I don't like taking hormones I have declined and treat it as something I will simply have to suck up every month.
- I think you should consider Prozac, she says as she finishes examining my nether regions.

Prozac??? It really is a cure for everything, but I'll be damned if I walk down that road. I got myself out of PPD without chemicals, why shouldn't I be able to handle PMS?

I hope for Obama!

I know there are plenty of reasons why the Amercians voted for Obama and here is yet another, very, very good reason for why he is President of the United States.
Hopefully, women too, will see some significant changes to the way they are trying to juggle work and family. Here's hoping that this administrations doesn't let us down!

This is a fair balance in a good home

- I want my son to play football/hockey/soccer/la crosse, says the father adamantly.

The mother finds a good team and coach, fits practice around her already tight schedule and drives to and from training several times a week. She buys the gear, washes it after practice, makes sure it's all packed for next time and liaises with other mothers about newsletters, carpooling, snacks and fund-raising.

The father tries to fit at least some of the matches around golf practice at weekends.

Some things we argue about

I take the kids for the day so that he can off cross all the things on the DIY-list that's been hanging on the family notice-board for as long as I can remember.
When I come back, hours and hours later, it's all done, every single thing, but one of the shelves that he's hung isn't straight and of course, that's the first thing I comment on.
- It looks bad. We need to re-do it.
- We? he says. I don't have any more screws, I used them all.
- Great. It's never gonna get done, is it?
He storms off, angry that I haven't mentioned all the other things that he did, and did right. I'm angry because everything in my house looks like it lives in the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

The things we do for love

There are about a thousand different reasons for why you shouldn't have children, all of them very good (I can think of only one good reason for why you should have them: they will be the biggest loves of your life, but that's a different matter). One such reason is: it f***s up your relationship!
I never thought two people in love could argue as much as me and my husband does since we decided to go down the baby-road, but there we are, screaming and shouting blue murder at each other and jumping at the chance of criticising each other, and poking each other and being as goddamn bloody disrespectful as we can possibly be, and all, because of our children.

And it's all because of that old cliche that having children will change your life forever.
Oh, it certainly will. You will no longer have more time to yourself than you know what to do with. You will never be able to be 100% spontaneous again. Your lie-ins will decrease dramatically and your love-life will take a hit. You won't be able to be fun and adventurous anymore.
All of you who have children knows that this isn't exactly true. You can still sleep in late on a Saturday. You can still steel and hour or two to go shopping, or have a coffee or what ever it is that you like to do, your love-life isn't gone for ever and technically, you can, should that be your thing, go trekking in the Himalayas or scuba-dive in the Maldives, because we all know: life does not end when you have kids.
It does, however, make it so much more difficult, and that's where the arguing enters the picture.

We have gone from being easy-going, fun-loving, laid-back, chilled out people to being constantly tetchy and irritated and ll because we have to manage our time and ourselves in such a strict way that it seems to take all the fun out of being alive. It's true, if you scratch under the surface of almost every single argument we have, Time is the number one reason for most of them. We simply don't have enough of it, and the little we have, we are pretty damn unlikely to share. So, while before, we were full of respect and eager to please each other, we have now transformed in to very selfish human beings.

I mean, who's turn is it to go for a run this Sunday? Who's turn is it to go out to dinner with friends? Who's turn is it to sleep an extra hour, and who's turn is it to read the whole Sunday newspaper undisturbed? That's often the extent of our arguments.
All thanks to our two lovely little children who we love and cherish and would like to bring up together, as a couple, not as separated ex's.

Motherhood gone very wrong

A friend of mine had a baby and for about three years she went up in smoke. Just fell of the face of the earth. Was invisible. Gone.
I tried my best to stay in touch with her, left messages on her voice-mail, and so, and for a little while we had some kind of email-contact but even though we only lived ten minutes away from each other I only went over to her house for coffee once and I was left feeling that seeing me in person was just far too complicated for her.

From day one she read every baby-book she could find. She followed eating schedules, sleeping schedules, learning schedules and playing schedules. Although most of it was pretty insignificant, there was something happening every minute of the day and it made it impossible for her to reach out to the world outside her house. For most of the day she was at home, feeding, sleeping, doing all the things every other mother does, but with such refined finesse it left you wondering if there was anything left for herself.
There wasn't. Every night she was exhausted. She had fallen hard and deep in to the baby-bubble and couldn't get up again.
And more than anything, she made motherhood look so incredibly difficult that it would have put any woman planning to have a baby of for life.

She had an hour long window in the morning when she could do some shopping or go for a walk, any other time of the day and it would throw her schedule out of the window and she'd feel like she failed, and worry if it would upset the hard-set routines for ever.
She couldn't go for a walk with the stroller because the baby had to sleep in his crib. She couldn't go to the playground because it was dangerous. She couldn't have people in her house on certain times because it would upset the feeding.
She would also constantly worry. About whether the runny nose was the first sign of meningitis. About walking on sidewalks since they could get run over by a car. She'd worry about the baby missing the odd ounce of milk, or drinking one too many. When the baby started to pull herself up she'd try to stop her, saying she wasn't ready to stand up, she'd only fall and hurt herself.

Needless to say, she didn't enjoy motherhood very much and she went from being a happy, open-minded and fun person to being a scared, neurotic and fretting mother who always doubted herself and who could never relax, even for a second around her child.

I urge every new mother to take all the baby-books and experts advice with a huge grain of salt. Use your own judgement, find systems that work for you, and that cater for your baby's needs (all babies are different, and the only expert for your baby is yourself). Don't let the "experts" scare you in to stop functioning like a human being and prevent your child from discovering the world, as it is, right there outside our homes.

Oh, the irony, the irony

After finding out her husband had an affair, my FoF is going through a painful divorce and and an even more painful reality check where she has to re-evaluate almost every memory she has as a happy married mother of three. Needless to say, she's having a lot of counseling to help her through this. But what is even worse is that this is also taking it's toll on the children. The two eldest are acting out, and their school work is suffering, so they too are going to weekly counseling sessions. This isn't how she'd ever imagine her life to be.

The husband thinks she's a drama-queen who's using the children to take revenge on him in the only way she can: financially. He has threatened to stop paying for the children's counseling as he is sure his wife is only out to get him.
- It's too expensive, he says. I can't afford to pay for this on top of the mortgage on the house and the rent for my apartment.
Next week he's going to Europe on business combined with pleasure along with his co-worker slash mistress.

Oh, the irony of it all.

Playgroup

When is it OK to hit someone over the head with wet wipes when that person talks absolute rubbish and you know you are going to have to face that person for two hours every week until you kids are old enough to decide for themselves what playgroups to go to?

My local playgroup often turns into a battle field where the more experienced mothers (older and/or more than one child) fight it out when the new mothers (first baby, everything is new and confusing) ask an innocent question about introducing solids or how to fight sleep deprivation.
There will be at least two or more mother honchos, opinionated, strong-willed, have read every baby book known to man who will give not so much advice but more a long list of what is right (their way) and what is not (other mother's ways).

They will not listen to anyone else, they will interrupt you if you talk, and they will not think twice about telling you that you are wrong should your advice be different from theirs. These alpha-mothers have made it their life to know everything about raising children and they consider themselves experts in the area. They get very emotionally attached and take it personally when someone isn't following the same sleeping or feeding schedule as they do, they will report you to child services if you don't breast-feed for as long as they consider proper, and they will pretend to be your best friend just so that they can enter your home and get a good look at the surroundings in which you raise your children, just to dissect it and criticize it.

These are the mothers fighting it out at playgroup every week. That is their life, and they are devoted to it.

Playdates are fun

So one of the many things required of a mother is the ability to schedule play-dates. A mother should also be able to supervise these play-dates, and make them fun, exciting and engaging. She should carry a wide portfolio of baking, science and art activities, and she should also be able to make a variety of lovely foods for picky eaters and mediate to avoid conflicts between two or more tantrum-prone parties.
And even though you didn't sign up for it it comes with the job whether you want to or not.

Because the fact is: men very rarely organize the play-dates. They don't have to sit around endless gatherings with the other mommies and talk about pre-school enrollment and baby yoga while the kids throw sand and hit each other with pink shovels in the sand-pit.

My husband had a go at it once. He met another father at a birthday party, the two started talking, Kate was friends with the girl from school, and just like that, they went to the playground after the party and it wasn't a bad date at all. But Kate wanted more, and nagged and nagged for another play-date, until I subtly had to hint (hit him over the head to wake up, more like it) that maybe could he call the girls father for another date?
- Why can't you do it?
- Because it's your thing. I have all the other things.
Big sigh and lot's of huffing.
- But I don't have time to call him.
- Look, I say. It's your play-date, you started it. I do all the dates with the mothers, for once, here's a dad, and you should be the one going on the date. You will have things to talk about.

I can see it will turn in to a thing.
Kate storms off, muttering something about how she'll never get to play with this girl again.
- But I don't have time to call him. Maybe I'll call him tonight.
- That's all good and well, only a play-date is usually during the day, and tonight you'll have missed your window.
- OK. I'll go. But you you just at least call him and set it up.
- No!

The thing is, it's not about my husband being lazy or not wanting his children to have friends. This is just very new territory for him, and he doesn't know what to do. He can do many things, but he can't spontaneously arrange a play-date.
But guess what. Neither could I before I turned a mother. I just had to learn.
That's it. Most of the things about parenthood is just trial and error.