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.

It is like bashing your head against the wall, because these women come out of the woodwork often enough for it to matter

It often seem that for every step forward we take ten thousand steps back. The latest book published in the ever lasting debate between stay-at-home vs working mothers is this step back to the 1950's voice of an american woman named Megan Basham. Her book, Beside every successful man - A woman's guide to having it all, not only argues that 80% of all women want to work fewer hours after their children are born, but that men and women's brains are biologically different in their way of thinking. "Women are collaborators", she said in The Guardian last week. "We have a more communal concept of success, and a lot of that applies to our relationships."

She also states that traditional marriage, ie, the one's where the wife stays at home, are less likely to end in divorce than those where both partners work full-time. In order to fullfill herself and to boost the family's economy a woman should stand beside her man, support him in his carreer-moves, help him write CV's and make sure that he has a nice, realxing home to come back to after a long day at work.
Needless to say, Basham's type of "choice feminism" has met a lot of harsh criticism.

Basham completely ignores the fact that housewifery has very little to do with about choice but is often simply a plain case of throwing in the towel. I am all for personal choice but I resent the statement that our society as a whole would be a better place if women stayed at home - let's just call a spade a spade, and not try and sex this thing up: women stay at home because most families who would like their children to have some kind of parental interaction during otherwise long stressful working weeks have no other choice since there simply are no compromises in terms of flexible working hours and affordable child-care.
After years of hard work in college and universities did we really have no other ambitions than to become our husbands un-paid PA's?
It is insulting to say that this is about biological differences (it is also a very weak argument to keep in those cases where the husband gets bored with his PA at home and starts sleeping around with the secretary at work.)
This is about it being 2009 and women are still being second class citizen's, and dressing it up as anything else is pointless. Let's have a proper debate on how many women actually stay at home through choice, and what we could do to actually to strike up a balance between home and real, paid work