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?