Thursday, November 19, 2009

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

Monday, November 16, 2009

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!

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

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.

Monday, November 9, 2009

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....

Thursday, November 5, 2009

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!!

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

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.

Monday, November 2, 2009

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...