Oh the boredom

It is easy to feel lonely when the weather is grey and foggy in the Bay Area. Everything is geared towards the outside, which implies good weather and this is an anomaly since we never really have very good weather here.
So what do you do when the temperature is hitting freezing and the cold wind is biting your cheeks? Well, playgrounds are out. So is the Discovery Museum and the beach.
And I still haven't signed Leo up for any activities. Or rather, I have, but only for the days he is with his babysitter, since smart-arse over here thought how nice it would be to spend my free days with him without the added stress of scheduled commitments. How nice it would be to just be spontaneous and hang out.
I just happened to forget about the weather. hanging out is not the same if you do it indoors. You soon grow out of your space. Restlessness tend to set in.

And the few friends I have who have kids Leo's age? Well, they were smart. They scheduled activities down to the very last pottery class. Right now they are busy ferrying their sprogs from one place to another. A spontaneous coffee has to be scheduled at least two weeks in advanced.

It's only 11.30. Four hours to go before pick up time at school. And we need to buy bread. That is an added half hour. Maybe we could go pick up deodorant and shampoo form Walgreen's there's another half hour. What am I complaining about - this day will fly by!

Back from summer break

I apologise for disappearing without a word, as always it feels like this blog never really takes off, the silence in between the rants is too overpowering.
We have been away for the summer, and have only just come back to reality.
Although a nice, welcome and much needed break I am still a bit mystified by the fact that a mother should always, always be on tap. Why do people assume that you are available 24/7, and that you can be available.
Not to moan, but not once has anyone in my close family said: I'll take the kids today. I'll plan fun, eventful yet responsible activities for them while you just kick back with a crime novel and not worry about dinner.
It's not that bad, and dear husband - I know you are reading this, eventually: don't over-interpret.
After all, you always tell me that I only have to ask. All I'm saying is: sometimes it would be if it was suggested by someone else.
Not just my husband. My mother also seem to have some difficulties with mastering my two lovely off-springs at the same time, by her self. Wonder how she managed with me and my brother when we were young? I have become very used to negotiate some me-time over the last few weeks. As in: if I have this right now, I can give you this back, a little later.
You have to be clever and diplomatic to be a mother on holiday, no doubt about it.

But we are back, and ready to start again.
Hope you've had a good summer!

Gender is for fun

As most other people in the US, we celebrated 4th of July yesterday. But since we are Europeans, our celebrations was of the more subdued sort, a simple picnic under a tree in the park, no fireworks in the evening.
I couldn't help but listening in to another group of people that walked by us at one point. It was two daddy's, two mom's, two little girls and one little boy around the ages of 3-5. The dad's decided to go get some coffee while the mom's were gonna hang out with the kids.
- Do you want to come with us? asked one dad the little boy.
He declined.
- Do you wanna be with the boys, or stay with the girls? said the dad again.
- Play, said the little boy.
- No, why don't you come with the boys? insisted the dad.
To which one of the girls said:
- I wanna come, daddy! Please.
- No, you stay here with the girls. You stay here and play.
- But I wanna come. Please, daddy.
- No, stay here with the girls. Are you sure you don't wanna come with the boys instead of staying with the girls? he then asked the boy again.
It seemed to be a hotchpotch of mixed messages, feelings and general back and forth.

I couldn't help wondering why something so simple turned in to something so complicated?
And why on earth did the dad feel he had to gender-specify the whole project??
Boys and girls, staying or going, having fun or not.
No girls allowed here, only there.
The girl was upset, the boy seemed to feel that he was somehow missing out regardless what he chose, not to mention that he probably felt he had somehow disappointed his dad.

Happy 4th of July!
Please don't gender stereotype your kids.

another playground rant

I have blogged about this before, but I can't help myself after my failed playground visit yesterday.

Why do mothers insist on ruling the playground? Why can't they just leave the kids alone to get on with it? Why does every single run up the darn play structure and down the sodding slide have to be supervised an inch away from the action, neurotically cheered on in a shrill voice and coached through as it was the Olympics?
God forbid we should miss a second of precious little Sam taking yet.... another step. Guess what? He'll do it again.
Intervening, interfering, we're not letting kids have a go at working it out it for themselves. That goes for both motor and social skills.
When I was a kid my mom packed a basket with a thermos full of black coffee, a book and her knitting. In the park she sat next to all the other mothers on a bench and she didn't bat an eyelid unless I had literally cracked my skull open. Bruised knee? Go on - get back and play. Hungry? Sure, dinner is ready in two hours. Mommy just needs to gossip away some of that caffeine rush first.
OK, so I am exaggerating a bit (kind of) but seriously: we need to stop mollycoddling our kids.

They will survive, they will not have to go in to therapy and they will not hate you if you leave them alone to figure it out for themselves for a while, in fact, they might even thank you.

Play ground pranks

There is a reason for why I avoid any human contact on a social level what so ever when I am planning on doing something with Leo. His third birth day creeping up closer and closer by the month, he still in the same old, boring phase as he was sometime around Christmas: he's a hitter, and I am the mommy in the playground that everyone secretly loves to hate.

Every time: all eyes on me!

Always curiously and unforgivingly watching me to see: how is she going to react today? Is she going to deal with it in a Perfect way today? Or will she break down, as she always does, and finally leave the playground with a screaming toddler under one arm?

Today was no different and after what felt like a lifetime, but was only fifteen minutes of constant observing, guarding, maneuvering and saving of other mother's kids before they get hit with a shovel in their face, I was exhausted and had to retreat to the bench to secretly eat some of Leo's snacks. I loose him out of my sight for a few seconds and suddenly I hear one of the other mothers:
- You know that Leo is being hit by another girl over there.
I look over.
There he is, on a play structure, trying to defend himself against an aggressive little fire cracker who keeps smacking him in the face.
I shrug my shoulders.
- It's OK. It's nice that he is one the receiving end for a change, I say and eat another piece of apple from the plastic Thomas The Tankengine lunch box.
The mother looks at me in shock horror.

So now they have yet another thing to add to their list of inappropriate parenting behaviour: I don't defend my son.

At home with the normal people.

Waking up and getting things ready for the day to come is a two man minimum task in our household.
There are hungry kids who are individually very particular about their morning kick start, and there is a rabbit who is equally so. There are lunchboxes to pack, snacks and drinks to get ready, clothes to be put out on bed, or helped to be put on tiny little two year old body, there are teeth brushing to supervise and when your done there are not much time let for yourself.

When my husband is gone away on business this workload only gets harder. I am on my own, and it seems that everything that can go wrong, undoubtedly will. Someone will knock over the new milk carton on the breakfast table and make paper marche of the morning paper, all sections.
Kate will realize that one partner of every pair of socks she owns has decided to mysteriously disappear somewhere between the laundry basket and the tumble dryer, and Leo will decide that this is the morning that he will no longer eat toast and cereal, but will instead take up a diet of messy crackers and wet, sticky left over water melon which will mutate via his hands on to every single piece of object between the kitchen and the kids bathroom.

As I pack the kids up in to car, a few minutes later than usual, but still on the right side of panic, I look at the mess in the kitchen, the unmade beds, the heaps of dirty clothes lying right next to the laundry basket (why would they make it all the way in to the basket, that would just be insane!) and my own dishevelled self, half dressed in pyjamas, half in work out clothes (no one will know the difference) I take a deep breath and give myself a pat on the back for making it through another morning without accidentally killing myself.

This is what it is like living my life, part one. And it's only 815 in the morning.

Joan Rivers

I went to see the Joan Rivers documentary A piece of work tonight and oh, it inspired me. It is a phenomenal portrayal of a fighter and survivor.
There are some touching moments when she talks about her relationship with her daughter, which I found very moving. She must be a nightmare mother, but I say this lovingly - all daughters find it hard to be around their mothers, all mother's want to steel the limelight away from their daughters! And Joan Rivers doesn't pretend to be anything but herself.
It is both funny and very touching - I highly recommend it.

This is hilarious

If you want to raise your child in a non-gender stereotyping environment (good grief, it makes me tired just writing it, haha) try doing what a Swedish couple is doing, namely: just don't disclose your child's gender.
The child's name is Pop, Pop has a wardrobe consisting of both dresses and trousers, and he/she/it/Pop's haircut is ambiguously androgynous (but, then, this is Sweden, and so is 99% of the rest of the kids hair-cuts too).

It seems like a hell of a lot of effort going in to messing this child's life up if you ask me. Believe me, most of us end up on the therapist's couch one way or another during our life on this earth, so why pave the rocky road leading up there with more confusion and alienation?

But then again, it is also a very clever move. Imagine the book-advances, the movie deals, the whole money making machine you are inevitably signing Pop up for - this baby is going to make a ton! Oh, no, wait, it's not the US, it's Sweden..... they don't look at people as brands over there.....

To give it a name

So, what does it mean to live and cope with the big D-word? Well, I wouldn't have a clue. I have been so good at keeping it manageable by building tall walls around myself that the term denial would be an understatement. Instead, you would have to ask my family. Kate would look at you and say:
- Mommy sees someone who is helping her be happy. So she won't get angry all the time.

- Tell your daughter exactly what it is, said my therapist. But don't give it a name. Names are scary.
She's telling me??? - Giving it a name means I will be able to find at least fifty books on the topic on Amazon. Not giving it a name means that I can pretend it's part of my quirky, slightly cynical personality.

But we have given it a name. That's the bottom line. Kate is still happily unaware of this, but the name is there, looking right in to our eyes. And by giving it a name, I am being forced to deal. I am having to confront it head first, and I am having to admit that it is tearing us, our family apart.
- I hate this, I complained to my husband. We are actually giving in to it. Why can't it be like before, I was doing well. I had it under control.
- Well, you did OK, but the rest of us didn't, says my husband in earnest. And we're not giving in to it. We're taking charge of it.

I know he's right. It was shit before. It will still be shit, at least for a while yet. But at least we have decided to not let it take over our family. Because that would be giving in to it!

A confession of sorts

"We have the means for happiness, but no happiness" Virginia Woolf wrote about her marriage to Leonard Woolf. She was indicating that the depression she suffered from, and which subsequently she lost her life to, made it impossible for her to enjoy their relationship to the full. Virginia didn't have any children, but she loved spending time with her nieces and nephews, and to them, she was a much beloved aunt.
Living with depression is a constant struggle and trying to manage it and keep it under wraps takes up an enormous amount of energy. Today is a good day, and I can afford to confess: taking care of my children has been a part-time occupation, battling depression is my full-time job.

This blog is meant to document my life as a mother and for the last year I have written about my frustrations and reactions to what I like to call the parenthood trap. As of today I will have to include another topic in my blog, namely: how you live and cope with depression in a family with young children.

Having recently been diagnosed with the illness my journey has only just begun. Being able to write about it honestly and candidly is going to be very helpful to me. I hope you are patient with me:). The blog will not change. My angry rants will not disappear. This is still very much the angry mother's blog.
But now I will have even more to write about it.

Nancy Hannah Miley

I don't need to worry about Kate, that's for sure. Her best friend is besotted with Hannah Montana so I figured it was just a question about time before this vacuous phenomena would hit our home too. But not so. When I asked KAte the other day what she felt about Miley and her alter ego she just shrugged her shoulders and said:
- I don't really like it. It's not interesting, and nothing happens. Like: nothing happens.
She went back to reading her Nancy Drew.
- Mommy. How do I become a private detective?

I love children as much as the next person (no, I don't, I love my own children, other children I tolerate - if they are well-behaved and chew with their mouths closed....), and I think parents deserve to live in the same world as the rest of the people, with the same rights in public spaces, but if your child is screaming his head off and has done for the last 30 minutes, in the cafe where everyone else are trying to work - chances are you should probably consider taking him out for a walk instead.
I feel sorry for the little guy though. His mother doesn't seem to understand that the answer to his cries are not to rock the stroller ferociously side to side while mouthing "hush" in a very loud voice and throw books and stuffed animals at him.

Things my husband and I argue about

When I got a flat tire about a month ago, my husband quickly stepped up to the plate and change it to the spare, telling me he would call the garage the next day since, as he pointed out in a reassuring tone, although secured better than any of the others were, driving around on the spare is simply not a good idea, and use of the car should be kept at a minimum until we had the new tire.
The next morning I ask him if I can take his car, assuming that he will, as he had said before, take my car to the garage. We even have a short argument about what time of the day will be the best to drop it off so that they will be able to do it while we wait, all of this leading to my assumption that it will be business as usual within 24 hours. I can't have his car, he explains, as he needs to go to a meeting, and suddenly, driving on the spare is not such a big deal. And anyway, the garage don't have the tire, it has to be ordered, he says. As in: aren't we just soo lucky that we didn't need to bring it in today, of all days.

A month later, and I am still driving with the spare, and I ask my husband if he has called to garage to see what is going on.
- I'll do it today, he says.
That night, when I ask him again, he says he forgot.
- I didn't have time, he says and tries to turn it around: If I had ordered it myself it would have been here by now, and I could have fit it myself, and it would have saved us a good deal of money!
He looks pleased with himself.
I look puzzled.
- What's that got to do with anything??
- Well, it would have been quicker if I'd done it myself.
- .... but you didn't.... so what's your point?
I can see he's about to throw himself in to something so I just nip it by saying:
- Can you just call them. Please.

A week later, my husband is in New York on business.
I send him an email.
"I don't really care where in the world you are, or how good you are a t changing tires, if you don't effing call the garage tomorrow, the divorce papers will be at your desk quicker than you can say Fed Ex."

Most of you would say: Why didn't you just call the garage yourself.
I could have. And it would have been done, over, end off. But I didn't, he did. So it's now the principal of the matter.
Responsibilities vs priorities.
All of that.
You understand.

Things my husband and I argue about

Ever since I was a little kid I have had an issue with shouting. I don't like certain noises, and shouting gives me a headache. I particularly don't like shouting indoors, and to be even more specific, shouting from one room to another is up there with the best, we are talking migraine noise level capacity. It is not so much the volume, but the fact that it usually requires a response from me, who is in the other room, and I have to strain myself to get heard and that takes physical energy and boom! - there you go - bring on the headache.
It also implies that what you are doing isn't that important since if you don't want to shout back, you have to stop what you are doing and walk away from it in order to keep up the conversation. It is a disrespectful interruption when in reality, all the person needed to do is to walk over to you, like you would in any other civilized situation and talk to you in a normal voice.

This morning I was in the bathroom doing my beauty regime (one layer of mascara and a pimple squeeze) whilst talking to my husband when he suddenly leaves the room and disappears upstairs.
- Oh, and another thing! I hear him shout down the stairs.
- Uh huh.
No response. Of course - he's upstairs. But I am not leaving the mirror. The pimple needs covering up, he knows where I am. To talk to him I would have to walk out of the bathroom, through the bedroom and out in to the family room so that I can communicate up the stairs which feels like an unfair amount of interruption on my behalf since I only have two minutes to get myself presentable before I have to take off.
He shouts my name:
- Honey!?
- Yes! I shout back as loud as I can. Not annoyed, just to mark: I am down here - love of my life.

And there it is, the headache, in my head, and the sulky mood, coming towards me with in shape of my husband thundering downstairs.
- Well, forget about it, then. If you're gonna have an attitude about it, I'm not going to tell you.
He's saying this in a normal voice, speaking slowly and clearly, whilst standing outside the bathroom, to make sure I can really hear him.

Food

I am not seriously worried about this, so please don't start talking "eating disorder" after this post. It's not that, it is just a very, very annoying habit of talking and being preoccupied, and therefor forgetting that you don't have three hours to finish your school lunch.
Kate has come home with a more than empty lunch box several days in a row now. At first we kind of let it slide, because we don't like making a big thing out of food, but yesterday she was completely listless at pick-up, complained about a headache and went straight to bed and fell asleep when we came home.
So we needed to have a big talk. About food, energy, growing, staying healthy, and the relationship between them all.
Not the first time we have done this. Will it be the last....?

Spring time

There are only a few more weeks of school and after that we have a nice, long summer vacation to look forward to. When I grew up this was usually my favorite time of the year. Spring had arrived, the trees were green, everything was in blossom, it was getting warmer, the evenings lighter, and there was a general feel of mellowing out, taking it slow and hanging out.
But since moving to Norcal, where we have no seasons, just different shades of fog and sometimes rain, I don't get that feeling of excitement and anticipation, mostly because I forget what time it is, there are no daffodils to remind me....


There are so many things I love about living out here, but clearly defined seasons are one of the things I miss the most.

play date

When I was growing up in the 70's (oh yes, back in the days) I lived in a very safe neighborhood with a nice park right opposite my house, and lot's of children. We used to play everywhere, for hours, without our parent's really knowing where we were. As long as we kept our curfew and didn't break anyone or anything, we were good. The group of kids where very diverse. It was boys and girls, different ages, from different socio-economic backgrounds. Siblings and only children, they goody two-shoes and the ADD's, all playing together, having fun and working it out as we went along. As I said, we were not particularly supervised and sometimes I think our parent's would have gasped in horror if they knew how we resorted to solve some of our more intricate personal or practical issues. But we did OK. And it was part of growing up.
The important thing to remember here is that our parents usually sent us out to play because they had jobs to do, or dinner to cook, or they simply didn't feel like entertaining us and was going crazy because of the noise level.

Today, we don't send children out to play because we need time, instead, the playdate has become yet another thing to cram in to our already busy schedule. it needs to be planned, scheduled and organized with a level of invention and creativity that surpasses even the most clever of pre-school teachers.

I find that we focus to hard on shaping experiences that won't actually provide anything to our children's well-being. We try to hard to find the perfect friendship-match. We select and choose their friends based on soccer-skills, number of siblings, or which company the parent's happen to work for. After a certain age boys have to play with boys, and girls need to stick with girls. We ferry them from one organized activity to the next and cramp in 15 minutes of climbing time on the play structure in between. But most importantly: we don't just let our children get on with it.
I am sad to see that we try to lay it out for them, nicely presented, all details taken care off, without even thinking about whether this is actually going to benefit our kids or not.
I know that today's society looks different from what it did 30 years ago, I appreciate that we can't just open up the doors and let the kids run around to the same extent as we used to do, but why make it any worse than it already is?
Why does every playdate have to planned down to the last cup-cake? Why do we have to organize everything according to a set schedule all the time?

When Leo was born I couldn't keep up with the level of energy required for some of Kate's more elaborate play-dates and so I made an unconscious decision to just remove ourselves from the play date scene. These days, playdates look like this: drop them of at our house whenever you like, and pick them up whenever you like (without pushing it too far....). Please prepare your child that there will be no organized fun or scheduled activities, nor will I step in as play-mentor during the inevitable times of temporary boredom. Your child should be positive, and not expect anything beyond normal dietary food-staples on the snack plate, however, should he/she wish to add a little sugar on top, a nice word goes a long way.
Feel free to reciprocate the invite and in return: my child does not expect miracles!

I haven't been able to write for a while but I will be back next week. Until then I leave you with these very wise words from Kate:

Nothing is impossible, except for some things.
Like, it is impossible for ice-cream not to melt when you're eating it in the sun.

Oh my, oh dear

The sun is coming out and Kate needed shorts. I take her to Gap and tell her to pick out a bunch of shorts that she likes and then we can try them out to find her one or two pairs that fit.
She goes for denim, the skinny, knee-length one's with little sparkles and embroideries on. They are all very cute, and very cool. She's beaming on her way to the fitting-room.
- You're the best mummy! I love you so much! she says. You let me pick my own clothes instead of telling me what to wear.

I smile, but inside I'm shaking.
It won't be long before this changes. Very soon we will have blazing rows about her dress-sense. She will express herself through clothes more than now, in a more intense way, and I will only see negatives.
I treasure these moments for now.
Kate, you are always going to be my little girl, but soon there will come a day when you will hate me more than you can possibly imagine.

Reading that will make you see red - if you are a woman, that is

Amnesty International recently released a report claiming that two to three women die every day in the US due to pregnancy and birth-related issues. It also claimed that pregnancy-related complications leading to near death - "near misses" has risen by 25% since 1998.
Not surprisingly, minorities such as Native and African American, and women in low-income groups are most affected.

The reasons are many, but none of them acceptable to a first world country as the US: health-care being one of the main culprits since it is leaving many women without of with inefficient pre-natal care but other reasons, such as Doctor-lead deliveries which are resulting in a larger number of inductions and c-sections than necessary are also significantly increasing risks of failure and putting far too many women at risk before and during birth.

So, add to this, insufficient maternity leave and expensive childcare, where does this leave US on the map for good places to be a mother? Number 28, according to a report made by Save the Children. It is interesting to note that 4 of the top 5 countries are Scandinavian (Norway, Iceland, Sweden and Denmark).
It is something to think about.

Taking Kate to her swimming lesson on Saturday mornings has become an issue of some arguments between me and my husband. It is something about having to wait around with the other parents that always puts us in a bad mood. Their kids are pushy, spoiled, whinging and bratty. They scream, talk back to their parents, and have pushed Leo of a play-structure more than once without ever getting reprimanded.
But the parents also seem to all come from a Stepford suburb.They are so far from natural, down-to-earth, chilled and laid-back that it is exhausting just listening to them interact.
To them, swim lesson seem to be a drill, a military operation, that needs to be managed and controlled by carefully used encouragements from the pool side.
I don't know why they need to use "the voice", why they have to talk REALLY LOUDLY or why they need to pronounce e-v-e-r-y- s-i-n-g-l-e word r-e-a-l-l-y- s-l-o-w-l-y.
Y-o-u-'-r-e k-i-d w-i-l-l u-n-d-e-r-s-t-a-n-d y-o-u - n-o n-e-e-d t-o s-h-o-u-t!

Then I realized, after having had a dad shout in my ear while he was talking to his daughter:
- You did some awesome up-faces today! Boy, it sure is crowded in here. Hey sugar-top. Let's go put on your bright sparkling t-shirt, sweet girl, and go have some fun in the park.
The sentence reads very innocent, I realize that. But add to that a voice so animated, so over-the-top-enthusiastic and so incredibly fake, you will wish that you were very far away.
There is only one place he could've picked it up from:
By watching Clifford the Big Red Dog.
Please - parent, don't copy your kid's cartoon. It's a children's show. Not a lesson on eloquence.
Use you're own language, and talk to your children like they are normal human beings - because they are. They live in the real world, amongst real people and you are not part of some dream-land fairy tale cartoon where you get to talk in a mock voice. Be yourself!

I like reading the Bad Mommy Blogger and this post could have been me writing it. Of course I had to reply to it.

Playground twist

There is still tension in Kate's friendship circle and she is beginning to get pushed out. She has started to play with some other girls at recess, and I am strongly encouraging this. It is like reliving primary school all over again, all the politics and strategies, there is nothing new, nothing changes in children's games.
I feel sorry for Kate, but I am also very proud of her for sticking to what she believes in. They are three girls: the manipulator, the follower, and Kate who's kind of the mediator. The manipulator is using bribes and promises on the follower, but it didn't work on Kate and I guess that is why she being deemed an un-safe bet. Kate doesn't like bribes. She wants loyalty, and most of all, she wants to just play. She doesn't like the politics and that's why she's walking away.
So I am sad for her because she's loosing her friends, but so, so happy that she is doing what she believes is right, instead of sticking with a bad deal.
That takes courage!

Ms Paltrow

As much as I need the time off, when I am away from my children for more than 24 hours I tend to start missing them. By the time I come back home from wherever I am, I tend to wonder why I needed to get away from them so desperately in the first place. But I am a firm believer that parents and children do need time off from each other - absence makes the heart grow fonder, that is very true.

The British paper Guardian slammed Gwyneth Paltrow for one of her recent quotes. The mother of two told a reporter that being away from her children is often the within the nature of her work, and that she would miss her children like crazy. She added that she would cry in her trailer thinking about her off springs taking a bath at home. This is what got the columnist Deborah Orr's back up: it is OK to say that we miss our children, but crying - but admitting to cry (this detail is unclear) is over-indulgent, and only feed in to the belief system that women become weaker and less dependable in professional situations after they have children.

Fair point or harsh criticism?

I myself don't tend to cry when I think about my children. I am not consumed by over-whelming, gut-wrenching guilt if I happen to miss my children's bed time routine for a few days. The thought of them usually makes me smile, not cry. I am confident in my abilities as a mother, and 100% sure that my children are happy even when I am not around.
But was I so inclined, like Ms Paltrow, to break down in the lonely company of myself, every time I thought of my children, and if me missing them became such an over-whelming feeling of sadness, I would probably choose to try to arrange my work-parenting situation accordingly.
I hate to say this, but Ms Paltrow is fortunate enough (and this is a huge privilege) to afford a certain flexibility in her life choices, something a lot of us simply can't do.

I know what you did last summer....

I don't belong to any local online parenting sites, and today I was reminded on why. I had tea and a play date at a friends house when she told me that she had joined one of the local forums but that it was beginning to get on her nerves as all the postings was either heated arguments about vaccinations, breast and bottle feeding and stay at home versus work.
And one other thing:
Nanny-bashing.
Every day she read at least one new thread along the lines of:
To the mother of the toddler in a green stroller with a nanny wearing x in such and such park/playground/library/toddler group - please be aware that your nanny let your child cry for 30 seconds before responding,
or
did you know that your nanny doesn't wipe his/her nose properly after sneezing.

Some of the alerts were more serious. Like: she talked to her friends while your child was about to climb up the play-structure/walk out of the playground/put a small, unidentified object in his/her mouth.

This is such a huge, gaping big black hole of a grey area that it is hard to cover it all in one small blog post.
As a mother with a part-time nanny I am the first one to admit that I would like to know everything, I mean e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g, that goes on while they are together. But on the other hand: I wouldn't have employed her in the first place if I didn't feel one hundred and a gazillion percent sure that I could trust her with my child.
Thing does happen, though, there are enough scary stories in the papers to prevent us from feeling completely relaxed about leaving our children in a paid care situation.
I just do hope that the people posting these alerts have a very genuine reason for doing so and are not simply exaggerating a perfectly normal situation. How can we know? We won't. We just have to trust our better judgement, the alerter, as well as the parent on the receiving end.

End off

The email from the pre-school arrived a few hours ago, we have space.
Another thing to tick of my list.
I am relieved. I really sympathise with those families who are still fighting the powers that be regarding the children's school, may it be pre-school, kindergarten or higher. Something that should be so obvious: good, reliable, safe and affordable childcare and education, is one of the most frustrating and stressful processes parent's have to endure in this country.

Bed time

If I had a dollar for every night Leo kicks up a tantrum when I utter the word Bedtime, I would be living in a very big house with no mortgage right now.
I don't get this. How can it come as a surprise, night after night after night. It's seven o'clock - time for bed.
Darn it - tonight again??? But I went to be last night. And the night before that!!!
This is one of the most boring, predictable, and downright frustrating parenting - routine's, I think. You are so tired anyway, and to have to fight, yet again, the same battle, abuse the same arguments, listen to the same falsetto crying - again, is torture.
This is one of the only times I actually wish I was a man, or my husband, to be more specific. All he has to do is to use a very serious voice, and there are no tears, just plain sailing.
It's so unfair.

I think my stress and sleepless nights paid off: I think Leo has a pre-school place in September. It's a half-day immersion program in a very intimate setting, great outside space and nice in-door facilities, not too far away from our home!
I need to see this in email-writing before I can fully relax (I happened to run in to one of the administrator's today and she told me she was just about to email me) but she wouldn't say this if she didn't mean it, would she???
Up-date to follow, but I think I can sleep well tonight!

Tell me what you think!

Speaking of autism, this advertising campaign is running across the UK prior to the general election. The mother behind the campaign (and the face on the picture) was interviewed on BCC's Woman's hour a few days ago and she said that unfortunately, two perky breasts was the only thing she could think off that she'd be sure would draw enough attention to the cause.

I feel very divided. In one way I think it is a bold and courageous statement, on the other hand I think it is a sad state of affair in the country of tabloids and page 3 models.
So what do you think?
Clever or just plain sexist?

Hard knock life

Today I was chaperoning when Kate's school went on a theater field-trip. It was a normal trip, some hyper-activity due to excitement or boredom, some arguments, some laughter and an OK production of a children's story I had never heard of before.
On our way out, there were the usual scrum for the stairs and I got caught behind a little boy around 4 years old who was trying to slide down by holding on to the rails. I didn't pay much attention 'cos I was busy not loosing sight of the kids when the mother urges to boy to step out of the way and then turns to me, very flustered and apologetic:
- I am so sorry. He's A-U-T-I-S-T-I-C.

I was very taken back by this. Not only did the boy display what I find is normal, healthy, physical boy-behavior. There was absolutely no need for the mother to apologise, and defiantly no need to use her child's condition as excuse. I didn't even think twice about what he was doing, after all, every single boy and half of the girls in Kate's class had been sliding down the same rails 30 seconds earlier.

I felt really bad. Is this what us parent's do to each other? Do we make each other feel so inadequate that we feel the need to constantly define our children openly in order to have them and their traits "explained and excused"? Imagine me trying to cover up the rambunctious behavior of a school class of 19 trying to keep quiet during a theatre performance:
- I am so sorry. They are E-I-G-H-T Y-E-A-R O-L-D-S.

We're taking a few steps

We must be the only family in the world who are looking to deliberately downsize by moving from a single family house to a condo.
Well, maybe not really downsizing, anyone's who's spent any time in my rented home knows it's not a big space, but it is single family (ie: no sensitive neighbors underneath or noisy ditto's upstairs.)
But after two years, we have finally given up the impossible quest for the perfect house in the right location because let's face it: for under 3 mil it doesn't exist. Instead, we are condo-hunting, and hopefully reaping some of the benefits along with this, smaller mortgage being the biggest (and maybe only) one so far.
I am meeting with a broker who has worked in our area for 30 plus years. Let's hope she can spot the right deal for a family of four - we certainly can't seem to find it.
Fingers crossed.

Happy, messy home

It's taken a stupid long time since last blog post again. It's been spring break, and I have taken the opportunity to spend some time with the family.
On Saturday we went to dinner at some friends who have children the same age as Kate and Leo. It was a lovely home, very inclusive, toys in every corner and children's artwork on the walls. The kids shared the bigger of the two bed rooms and but they had still very much put their imprint of the rest of the living space as well. I envy these homes, because I always get the feeling that these are happy, loving homes to families that are very much in harmony with each other. I think I actually need to infuse a little warmth in my own home and not be so ready to tidy away the toys as soon as it's gone time for teeth brushing.
I just don' really cope well with abandoned toys on the floor. I don't mind it when I visit other families, but when I have to live in a chaos of Barbie clutter and scattered Hot wheels cars myself I break out in a rash.

Tonight I am going to try to leave the Tonka fire engine and the building blocks on the floor in the dining room and ignore the sea of crayons and paper crumbs on the rug in the living room. I am going to walk right past the sneakers hiding behind the book bag and forget the pile of Duplo's that are invading the kitchen floor.
Let's see how far I can make it.

Conversations with Kate

Kate talked about some boys in her class today. She came to the conclusion that they were quite sensitive and over reactionary a lot of the time.
- If they don't win the game they are playing they say that the other person is cheating, and if that person says "no I didn't" - because they probably didn't - they will start crying. Or they get really angry.
- Who are these boys? I ask, and Kate give me some familiar names.
I can't help but plant a seed in her head.
- Isn't it funny, I say, that these are the same boys that are saying that boys are better than girls, and that girls can't do anything.
- Yeah. I guess so.
- Think about that the next time they tease you for getting an answer wrong. Think about who the real cry-baby is.

I know this is a gung-ho approach to Feminism 101 when it comes to your 8 year old daughter, but I need to grab every opportunity. It's a jungle out there, and sisters need to be doing it for themselves.

The Mother Trap

My husband and I have started counseling to iron out some of the stress-related issues we have, and we came to this conclusion: US is finally getting to me.
The overwhelming feeling of not being in control over my life is consuming me from the moment I wake up til the second I go to sleep at night. The fear of forgetting to do something, everything - the constant worry that my elaborately designed work-flow will collapse around me and that I will fail.
I have been caught up in the Mother-Trap, the very trap I have been writing about and heavily criticized for the last year.
This shall be continued....

And here we are complaining about today's youth.

Kate's friend asked me for a cinnamon bun after school and I happily gave her one from my bag (no, I didn't make them, a friend did...).
- Thank you. You are so polite, said the little eight year old.
- How sweet, I said to Kate as we walked to the car.
- Yes. She's very mild mannered, Kate replied.

8 going on 65?

Pre school update

So sheer determination, or rather: good old-fashioned hard cash, paid off, and next week I have two tours at pre-schools with guaranteed availability.
Fingers crossed I will like them.
That would be one less stress to cross of my very long list of things that keep me up at night.

More pre school

I had a meeting with the "school-hunter" today. They had a couple of suggestions lined up for me that I tried out as soon as I got back home.
On the whole, they didn't do anything that I couldn't have done on my own, with some sheer determination and stubbornness, but I tell myself that their name weighs heavier than mine when it comes to the phone calls.
Fingers crossed - I'll keep you posted.

Flying without baggage

I belong to a mother/toddler group where most mothers happen to be expats, just like myself. We do the usual stuff, playground get-togethers, the occasional early dinner with a glass of wine, and an emailing list for general chit chat and advice.
The other day I got this email:

I am planning to fly to Europe this summer, with my two children (5 and 1 years old) - if anyone is planning on flying around the same time it would be great to have some company. It would make kids entertaining and potty visits much easier.

I am the first one to admit that mother's have to stick together, and we should really be there for each other.
But on an 10 hour plus flight, I really want to get my kids of to sleep and then try to get some much needed sleep myself before hell breaks loose again at the luggage claim and passport control. Getting in sync - and looking after - another two kids is not my idea of even a remotely less stressful journey.

I apologise profusely, but I won't be good travelling company.
Sorry

In the papers

Yet another article from the British newspaper The Guardian, dealing with the constant guilt that overwhelms mother's who feel useless and as if what they are doing is never good enough.

Solutions?

I am throwing money at the problem, and will pay a professional "school-hunter" to find a preschool place for Leo.
Its either that or basically have no sleep from now until mid-August.
I am meeting with her on Tuesday.

Girl trouble

There are trouble in Kate's world. Her two BFF's are kind of clicking up and carefully giving her the elbow. They make her feel left out. Often she comes home from school sad and quiet and in her own thoughts.
It kills me watching her, and having to try to give her pep talks when all I want to do is go down there and give those girls a piece of my mind. The thing with Kate is, for all of her eight years, she's incredibly loyal and without a doubt the best friend anyone could ever wish for. I really feel that she deserves the same thing back. I really would like to tell her to just turn her back on these girls, go re-group. Sometimes I do. Sometimes I keep quiet, because I can tell it doesn't do her any favors. There are plenty other girl friends out there. But Kate's loyalty (or insecurity?) tells her to stick with what she's got. And so the circle continues.

I give her very big hugs every night, and I keep telling her that she's an incredible little girl. That's all I can do for now.

Thank you

Thank you so much for the two lovely comments on yesterday's blogpost.
Now I just need to get my seven twitter followers to stay too. I twitter maybe once a week. I have a feeling that's not the kind of traffic they intended when they came up with the tweeting idea...
There is a lot going on at the moment. I have sleepless nights worrying about Leo's pre-school situation, and things are heating up between Kate and her two BFF's. They have decided to quietly give her the elbow. Her service's as friend are no longer needed. She comes home from school upset and sad. I feel helpless and useless. And also have strong bouts of de ja vue. It's like being back in school again - literally, reliving every single excruciating moment of the horrible time that was school, and so badly not wanting your daughter to have to go through the same thing herself. She'll be OK though. She's a tough cookie.
On top of that, the husband and I are beginning counselling next week.
This is an anonymous blog, so I can write about this. We need some help getting out of the negative spiral that is the every day of stressed out parents. Nothing to be ashamed about.
But it's all time-consuming, and time, as all parents know, is valuable, and scarce.
Thanks for staying with me,
love
angrymother

I am so sorry

I feel very ashamed because I haven't blogged for a long time now. The seven readers I have must be giving up on me by now. I am not proud of myself. I really wanted my blog to be buzzing with angry rants and cool tips about parenting, instead, there are occasional musings and long silences in between.
All I can say is that a mother has to take breaks too. A mother suddenly finds herself lost for words and overwhelmed with the daily stress of plain life.
Please, stay with me - I will come back.
I promise!!!

More about yesterday

So before getting all depressed about Leo's pre-school I had an acupuncture appointment and as I was talking to my Doctor she inquired about my general health. I started complaining about terrible PMS, bloating and discomfort.
- On top of that I am three days late.
She gave me a funny look.
- So you're not pregnant, then?
- No.
- How do you know?
- I don't believe in immaculate conception.
She laughed:
- Why not the second coming? Don't you think San Francisco would be ready for a Jesus?

After my appointment I went straight to Walgreen's and my husband, who sometimes reads what I write, will be pleased to know that Jesus is not coming to town, or, if he is, I am not his mother Mary.
Today was a little quieter, more of a normal, boring, kind of day. I like those days better.

Not a great start to the week

So all four of Leo's pre school app's have now been rejected, and I am finding myself feeling zapped of energy. The hard work has not even begun yet.

I didn't realize I would take it as personally as I did, especially by the one pre school who's actually met Leo as they had a personal play assessment with him - what do they mean by rejecting him? How dare they? He's the sweetest, funniest, and most adorable boy ever, have they no shame??

Home schooling seems like the most likely option right now.
And potty training, of course.
And moving back to Europe.

the List

Last night I watched the mediocre and only slightly funny movie Motherhood on DVD, you know the one starring Uma Thurman as a NY writer mom trying to juggle home, children and a sense of self (sounds familiar?) whilst all the elements go against her on a daily basis. Yeah, I don't think you have to fight street cleaning in the trendy Village neighborhood to feel that you are a lost cause, but there was one thing that struck a familiar chord with me, namely The List.

My lists, which are everywhere, multiple copies and nicely duplicated, don't read:

milk
dry cleaning
order birth day cake

No, a list is by the second re count of my life, down to the very last sip of coffee. Without The Lists, I would not function, and my family would collapse:

wake up
get dressed
throw PJ's in laundry basket
make breakfast
pack lunch
street cleaning (doesn't matter - we get tickets anyways)
fold laundry
make coffee
write email
write in email: Hi, would you like to come to dinner Saturday.
Call Doctor
Ask Doctor for renewed prescriptions of Everything
Email x, y, and z for playdates
pick up at school
bring snack in car
laundry in tumble dryer
fold laundry
food shopping (refer to another List)
call husband, tell him you love him
make lists for tomorrow
make lists for weekend
cross of things you've done on List
make coffee
peel potatoes
homework
don't forget to eat dinner
don't forget to drink 8 glasses of water
bed time
story time
relax
read book
don't forget to wash face before bedtime
check to make sure kids are in designated beds
kiss them good night
tuck them in
make sure you go bed before falling asleep on sofa
kiss husband goodnight
tell him you love him
sleep
wake up

Here we go

I had my first pre-school rejection letter yesterday. OK, so it was from one of the schools I applied to but didn't follow up with the tour since it was too expensive and not really my choice anyway, but there you go: the start of what might be a long line of very sad letters...

Couples maths

A friend of mine is going through a rough marital patch and has turned to couple's counseling.
- The worst thing is, I always felt that counseling was the first stop on the way towards the inevitable end, she says. It's like we're just giving ourselves a grace period because we're too chicken to take the finally step, too scared to face the truth. And ultimately, I think we actually both would like to go our separate ways.
They have two children in private school, and only one income. They live in a decent single family house that they are paying a big mortgage on, and the kids take a number of after school activities.

- The best thing for us would be to separate, and live apart, so that our arguing doesn't interfere with the kids all the time, but we simply can't afford it. We have to work this out. It's a financial cul de sac. We're spending a shed load of money to stay together because we can't afford to spend any money to move apart. Never mind the kids having their parents in the same house - this is cold, hard cash we're talking about.

So you paid for the over the top wedding, probably spending a little more than you could realistically afford on the caterer and the flower arrangements, and then you went all out on the family abode, now you are being punished for your audacity to be a little extravagant, and 'til love do us part is really just another way of saying: you made your financial bed now sleep in it you sucker.
So the best financial investment you can do as a family is to not make any financial investments, that way you can afford to have second thoughts somewhere down the road, should it not work out.
As for my friend, she's seeing the therapist once a week until she can't afford to any longer. By then she's keeping her fingers crossed that they can be civil enough to keep it together until the kids are in college.

Bad language

I don't mince my words when I get angry. In fact, it's like opening the floodgates to the well of doom.

When Kate grew up, a few bad one's slipped out every now and then, but Kate being the sensible daughter she was - and is - always knew that my choice of vocabulary was never to be copied.
Leo is a completely different matter.
Yesterday, he was sitting next to me, eating plums, while I was trying, and failing, to open a document on my lap top. Finally I let out a big sigh.
- Oh, f***, says Leo, spitting out a plum stone.

Later, I tell my husband. He laughs, and says:
- You need to go back to work full-time so that we can let the babysitter raise our son, 'cos you are a terrible mother.
I know he's right. Either that, or I need to go to charm-school.
- Oh, and I also think I might have heard him say s*** the other day.
- I rest my case, says husband. You're out.

When you are a failure

How long shall I keep on pretending that all is OK and that I have a normal child when there is clearly something wrong?
Went to play group today and within five minutes, Leo had managed to throw him self on the floor, kick and screaming, because one of the teacher said 'hello', he had snatched a toy out of a 4 months old hand, and pushed another girl three times, whilst growling at her.
Five minutes.
So I packed up and left.
I can't do the softly-softly voice anymore, negotiate and tell him, yet again, that we don't push, let's play nicely, and share.
Can't do it.
So I guess I am going to be pretty isolated from now on, and Leo will just become even more of a monster.
There is nothing that can make you feel like you've failed so utterly miserably as when your child as acting out in all the ways you thought you had raised him not to.

I've had friends who've told me that they stopped going to certain playgrounds or play groups, because their child couldn't behave. I always thought they gave in too easily. I thought: don't let your child run the show, and dictate the terms. It's your life, your day too, show him that he can't spoil it for you.
I know exactly what they are talking about now.

Ever heard of making it easy for yourself?

It's March, and I am im/patiently waiting to hear from the only two pre-schools we applied to, if Leo has a place after the summer.
Going against the grain, as I usually do, I decided against applying to 30 different schools, mostly because I didn't find 30 schools I like, and also because my life is not just about doing pre-school tours. I also don't have the money required for all the application fees. If my son's future will suffer from this, so may be it.
I also had to limit my choices extensively since I wanted a school that takes non-potty trained children. This is a huge deal breaker for me. I think life with a toddler is hard enough without added pressure. I also believe that potty training is something that the child should be ready for. If you start too early, and the child is not intellectually ready for this process, you are often in for a lot of hard work (and many, many changes of clothes and bed-linen).

This said, out of the two pre-schools I found, and that I really liked and applied to, one of them I have a slim to no chance at all in getting in to. It is hugely popular and the wait list is out of this world. So hat leaves me with only one choice. My number one choice, my only hope.
I have no idea how this will turn out.
I will find out, at some point this month.

There is always home schooling, I guess. Or we just have to live with the fact that while Kate is going to university, Leo will stay at home with us, for ever and ever.....

It's a hard knock life for us

The Booker Prize winner Hilary Mantel raised some interesting questions about motherhood in an article in the Guardian today, when she suggested that many women would benefit from having babies earlier in life rather than later, but that today's society is build around men's timetables and their idea of education and career as something that needs to be completed first.

Hilary Mantel argues an interesting point, and there is a lot that could be said about her opinions. Women have been fighting for decades for equality and their right to work outside the home. Should we suddenly turn out back on all this and go back to a notion where women are only designed for having babies?
Well, Mantel isn't saying that women should return to homemaking, but what she is saying is that the time when women reach their peak, in their twenties and early thirties, is when society pushes them in to finishing their educations and working hard for a career. This is what they have to do in order to compete with their male counterparts.
But if we could change society's perception of education and career, and rather see this as an on going process that can be developed in bursts throughout our lives, then we could focus on having children at an earlier time as well as fulfilling our working potential.

Not my day

Whoever thought it would be a good idea for Leo to get ill on the same day the DVD player brakes?
How do you explain to a short tempered 2 year old that he can't watch Thomas, but he can watch Mickey Mouse club house, and that he just has to sit through the commercials.....

We need to trust our teacher

I couldn't help but listening in to a conversation in the gym locker room this morning. Two mothers exchanged Kindergarten experiences and it seemed they were both very unhappy with the level of communication between teachers and parents.
Turned out that they wanted to know, on a daily basis what little James and Caitlin has been up to. Did they enjoy music, did they have a healthy appetite, did they play, and with what and with whom? Did they solve their maths problems and did they know their alphabet.
- PTC twice a year simply isn't enough, said one of them. If the teacher don't want to talk to me at pick up, at least, we could get a weekly report on, like, a Friday, to tell me what's going on.

This seems to be a common problem here. Parents wants to know everything that is going on in their children's life, and I mean: everything.

I'm not a teacher but the average school class is 20-25 students. If the already over-worked teacher had to write 25 weekly student reports, where would he/she find the time.
This is one of those situations where you, as a parent, simply have to accept that James and Caitlin are growing up, and it is time to cut the cord. And let the teacher's do the job they were trained and hired to do.
Believe me: if the teachers has a reason to talk to you - they will contact you. If you don't hear from them, chances are you have nothing to worry about.
Maybe it is time to work on James' and Caitlin's communication, and not demand more of it from their teachers.

Things that make me see red

A snotty, out of control three year old who's kicking my son son three times, and hitting him over the face on a play structure whilst his mother his happily chatting away to her friends a few yards away. Once is excusable - we all have children with their bad days and manners and moods. Twice is dubious. Maybe keep him under close watch so that you can quickly intervene if it happens again.
Three times? Come on - it's time to remove him from the playground and ban his afternoon snack.

This is why we love each other

Some of my SAHM sisters has taken it upon them to make sure that there is always dinner on the table (or at least in a Tupperware in the fridge) for their husbands when they get home from work. This is their part of the deal. He brings home the bacon, she cooks it and places it nicely on a plate for him.
I didn't sign that contract so my husband can't always expect dinner (nor can he expect the kids to always be bathed, in pyjamas, homework done and bed time story out of the way but that's another blop post).
I usually cook something easy for the kids, like pasta or organic sausages with veg. Their schedule is different from ours. They have activities, homework and are hungry earlier than we are. Reheated pasta tastes awful, so there is no point in me cooking enough for myself and my husband to have later. And I'll be damned if I cook two sets of meals every night, I love my personal time after the kids are in bed far too much for that.

- They have it good, he sometimes says, referring to one of our male friends. She's such a good wife to him.
Those of you who don't know my husband might think he's serious but those of you who do know him, knows that he's not.
- Is there dinner, or should I pick something up on my way home? he asks.
- Take out? I retort, more often than I should.
We end up eating scrambled eggs and salad in front of the TV. Or tea and sandwiches.
- You are the best wife, my husband tells me. I don't expect you to cook for me. I don't want you to be one of those wives.
If he really means it, or if he's just telling me what he thinks I want to hear, I don't care to dwell on.
As far as I'm concerned, we're a perfect match.

down in one

Elin, whatever your decision with regards to your marriage to Tiger Woods, I will support it.
But if you do decide to stay in this marriage, please let it only be so that you can milk him of more money when you divorce him at a later date.
Today, he showed, once and for all that he really, really doesn't deserve you by his side.
The apology was staged, week and insincere.
Oh, and three months too late.
Truly pathetic.

To get by with a little help from a friend

We talked about our ambivalent feelings towards out lots as mothers in play group one day. Since I was the one with the longest track record as a SAHM, one of the other, part-time working mothers, asked me: how have you been able to do it for so long, without going absolutely completely insane?
Well, believe me, my sanity is long gone, and I am a mere shadow of my former self, but my reply was, without hesitation:
- You have to find a friend. Someone in the same situation, with children roughly the same age. But not only that. She has to be someone you would have been friends with even if you didn't have children.
That's the tricky part. You have to go out there and look long and hard until you find someone that you really can talk to. Where do you find this fellow mother?
Well, she's out there, somewhere you just have to look. Pushing a screaming toddler on the swing or doing the library reading time for the fourth day in a row - she's there.
Talk to her.
But if she insists on sharing teething traumas and best food mixers for purees, politely but adamantly steer the conversation away. You want to know if you like the same music. Watch the same movies. Knitting or crocheting? Cats or dogs? Camping or five star accommodations. Should Brad go back to Jen?
This is very important.
Because if you can't talk about the other stuff, you will never be able to really support each other through the baby-shit. This is someone you will spend a lot of time with. If you find the right mate, you might end up spending several hours, several days a week with this person. This will be the person that makes your life worth living. She will see your good sides, but more often, she will see your bad sides. So it is important that you are comfortable with her doing that, otherwise you won't be able to be your self. Trust me on this one. When the guards are down and you haven't had any sleep for five days and you're about to deal with the eleventh tantrum in an hour, could you really do this comfortably in front of someone who thinks Brad should stick with Angelina?
And when you are so baby-talked out that you will hit the next person who tries to share yet another cutesy story about some trivial baby revelation, you need to know that your friend will be OK if you move on to a quick re-cap of the latest Survivors.
Think about it. It has to be a perfect match for this to work.

Yep. Your fellow mother will be right hand woman, partner in crime, confidante and shoulder to cry on. She will become your new BFF through your journey as a mother and should be picked with great care and finesse. And if you find her, your life as a mother will suddenly have a new meaning. It will suddenly feel OK to be a SAHM.
She is out there, there is always someone for everyone. Take your time, try some on for size, see which ones fits the best and then make your decision. I am a great believer in soul mates:).
Dedicated to M and J - without you things back then would have been very, very different, xxxx

Noise is noise but sounds different to everyone

Any one who has tried to keep a toddler to play quietly for more than 10 seconds know that this is something of an impossible contradiction in it self. Toddlers, and children all ages, just don't play with the volume turned down. They can be quiet for a while, but rest assured, they all go up to eleven, sooner or later.
This has been recognised in Berlin, Germany today when a law was amended to exempt children from noise pollution. They can run, play, bounce balls, and generally cause a wild rumpus as long as they comply to the normal standards of quiet time, IE Sundays, and evenings.

An older friend of mine in the UK had recently moved in to her dream apartment, a ground floor flat overlooking a beautiful shared back yard which she shared with another five tenants, when she noticed that two other families had small children ranging from the ages of 2 and 7. The kids behaved as all kids. They woke up early, played chase around the flat, ran scooters up and down the badly isolated hard wood floors, and after breakfast they would all gather in the back yard and play ball and hide and seek, all the while using the full resources of their young voices while calling out for each other.
My friend found this intolerable. She couldn't understand the nerve of the parents who'd let this go on while decent people, like herself, tried to rest up on a Saturday morning after a long week at work. She felt that her privacy, and her dream, had been invaded by barbarians. She would wake up early in the morning and just lie in bed wide awake, waiting for the noise to start. She no longer felt she could keep the windows open to the yard for fresh air, she couldn't enjoy her coffee and papers in the afternoons. Her routines where no longer her own. Even though she was single and had no children of her own, she had to take other people in to consideration, and plan around other peoples lives in order to live her own life as she saw fit. She was distraught.
I suggested that she should, politely and humbly, talk to the families and see if they could come to some sort of compromise.
- Let them know what time you usually wake up in the mornings and maybe they could stick the kids in front of the TV until then. But living in a big city, noise kind of comes as part of the package.
It wasn't good enough. She stayed for another two months, then decided to sell up and move further out.
I understand how she felt. All she wanted was some peace and quiet.
But I can also understand the poor families with their children and their games, and toys. Try to keep it down? Eh.... what?
There are limits to anyone's patience, and I am a self-confessed bi*** when it comes to unruly children. But normal noise is normal.
If you don't like children - don't live next to a school. If you can't stand kids crying and screaming, don't sit next to them on the bus.
But parents: please respect that not all people think that little Charlie's cries of joy, and his snotty nose, and his incessant rants about snacks and his tantrums are as charming as you do when we all share a crowded bus on our way home in rush-hour traffic or try to have a lie in on a Saturday morning.

bed time routine, helicopter parenting gone very wrong

An anonymous mother posted a cry for help on an online parent chat forum about bed-time routines gone wrong:
"We have very good bedtime routines for our 5 year old boy. Massage, TV for 5 minutes and then we take him to his bedroom (we all share the same bedroom). We ask him if he'd like one of us to stay with him until he falls asleep, but he doesn't want to, and we allow him to stay in the bedroom alone and play until he gets tired. When that happens, he gets to go to bed by himself (I can see the bedroom for the other rooms in the apartment, so he is safe). Lately, he is up playing until midnight, and then he complains that he has bad thoughts. So he does this when he is his most tired, and says he thinks about elephants stomping around in the room, and I explain that there are no elephants in his room, and tell him to back to his room to either go to bed or play, but after 5 minutes he comes back again and start moaning about bad thoughts, and after the 4th or 5th time I loose my patience and tell him to just go to his room and stop thinking about it. I can't handle this, I don't think he has bad thoughts, I think that his craving attention, that he has turned down the offer of us staying with him until it suits him. How do I approach this? I feel that it is getting out of hand. Why does he always come to me, why not the father?"
Oh, dear. Where does one begin?
I try to stay away from chat forums as they only spark unnecessary aggression a lot of the times, but this time I felt inclined to answer. My reply?

"You say you have a good bed time routine, but as far as I can see, you have no bed time routine. A five year old is far from old enough to decide his own bedtime, nor should he be forced to make decisions about this (and he's not reverting his decision 4 hours later to spite you, I promise!). He's looking to you to sort this out for him. It is up to you, his parents, to create a solid, consistent routine, one which you won't stray from, and that he will recognize from one day to another. Brush his teeth, wash, read a story, have a little talk in bed with only the bed light on and the good night. And when it's bed time, he needs to stay in bed. It might take a few weeks to sort out, but trust me, you owe this to him."

I wonder what super-nanny would say about this:)?

OK, here we go - again. Why is it a mother's lot to fall ill with whatever flu's and aches her children decide to pass on, and not the father? After all, she is the one who still have to be well enough to take care of them...
I will take advantage of it being a three day weekend and stay in bed.

I need to work on my negotiation skills.
I wanted to go to the movies with a friend at 5, and offered my husband to take the kids to swimming in the morning in return.
This has now turned in to: I'll take the kids from 7 in the morning, give them breakfast, pack swim kit, get them dressed and washed, make sure Kate does her violin lesson, take them swimming and give them lunch and then drop Kate of at a friends house while he sleeps in and has a generally good day.

I really, really need to work on my negotiation skills.....

Different country, same worries

French feminist Elisabeth Badinter is criticizing the new "motherhood brand" in her new book Conflict, Women and Mothers. The 65 year old author claims that new mothering trends dictates everything from long women should breastfeed, what they should be feeding their children, if they should take pain killers while giving birth (no) and this leads to more women staying at home rather than going back to work after the birth of their children.
Being the "perfect mother" is a backlash rather than emancipation, and a trend we should be very careful to follow.

Things you find in hair

Lice check in school today. Why can't parents take their time to wash their kids hair before sending them to a lice check.
I found:

dandruff - mild or heavier
hairspray - old, stiff, at least a few days old
hairband - tangled up, impossible to get out of hair
glitter - assorted colors, enough to make a valentine's card
glue

No lice though.