Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Why the Stay-Home-Mum vs Working Mum argument is silly

I'm sure I'm not alone in being completely sick of the stay-at-home vs working-mum debate. Although, in this context, "debate" makes the whole argument sound far more civilized than it actually is. Perhaps I should call it a mud-slinging match instead? Or, a version of fisty-cuffs in which parents throw figurative filthy nappies at one another? 

Whatever you call it, though, the whole argument's silly. Here's why:

1. We all love our kids. We all want what's best for them. We're all making the best decisions we can, with the resources we have, and taking into consideration the support, job options, and children we have. And, whether we work or not doesn't change how much we love our kids. It's not like parents sit around and decide on a course of action after detailed analysis indicates they only love their children 75% of the time, or only on Mondays. And in the sad cases where parents don't love their children and don't make what they consider to be the best decisions for them, whether or not these children have working or stay-at-home parents is the least of their problems.

2. We all have different pre-children selves. Again, this isn't rocket science, but it's remarkable how many people seem to approach this issue like we're all robot clones. Someone who loved their job and career path pre-children is much more likely to find going back to work rewarding than someone who wasn't in a career path or profession they enjoyed in the first place. Someone who loved being a domesticated goddess even before having children is more likely to enjoy staying at home once they're born. We also have different partners, and earn differing amounts of money, so the decision to be a working or at-home parent is - you guessed it - different for each woman, and has different implications for each child.

3. In this case studies can prove anything, and say all sorts of things. Not only that, but selection bias will mean that we'll gravitate toward the deep corners of the internet to find those that justify our own life choices. There are also many mitigating factors to be taken into consideration in studies looking into this issue, such as the quality of care outside the home, the quality of parenting inside the home, and who's being studied. Nor is anecdote fact or representative. I wore a blue t-shirt today and it rained. That doesn't mean that everyone who wears a blue t-shirt will always get rained on. Just like one example of a child's experience at home/in care doesn't make it representative of all children. 

4. There are 2,134,983 different factors that will influence the adults that our children will become. Genetics, parental income, parents' temperaments, children's temperaments, experiences, birth order, number of siblings, and so on and so on. It doesn't make sense to hinge so much on just one of so many factors. 

5. We'll probably be both at some stage anyway. I've worked full-time with my husband as the at home parent, worked part time, been on parental leave, and been a bona-fide no-end-in-sight stay at home mother. Between now and when my children fly the coop, I imagine that between my husband and I we'll have any number of arrangements to make things work out for our kids. It's not like you are in one tribe or the other, and have taken a blood-oath that you will sit in one camp until you die. Most women will be both working and at-home mothers at some stage of their children's lives, and often their husbands will be too. Before chucking those figurative nappies into the other camp of the working/at home divide, it's worth remembering that you might be just criticizing yourself of the future. 

6. It's not all or nothing. It's really not. I know working mothers who are with their children over half the week, and women who call themselves stay-at-home mothers yet work casually, on the weekends, or work from home. It's not black or white, especially given how many women earn a living doing something other than the corporate 9-5.

There is also a difference between time spent with your children, and quality time spent with them.  I spend much more time with my kids now I am at home with them, but they also watch much more telly and eat more junk food. Having done both I honestly believe that the quality of my parenting is the same either way.

7. What about the fathers?  It's as if, in the course of all this bickering, everyone seems to forget that it takes two people to make a baby. And, whatever the mum ends up doing, the father is probably part of the decision making process as well, so if you're going throw nappies at each other, you need to at least be even-handed and throw some at the man as well.

8. Judging other people's parenting is mean. Especially when you are judging decisions they've made with their family in mind, and giving yourself a smug pat on the back in the process. Or taking snapshots of their lives (He watched too much TV that one day a month we spent together! She hit another child at nursery once!) and assuming it's representative of everything.

At the end of the day, what we should really be doing is celebrating that, unlike the women Modern Mothercraft was written for in 1945, we have a choice at all. Wouldn't that be much more fun than looking at each other with scorn and judgement? At the very least, it will be much more pleasant for us all, irrespective of what our own decisions may be.

Tuesday, December 16, 2014

Parenting: what's surprised me the most

When you're pregnant, you are constantly told what to expect once your delightful progeny arrives. Some things are repeated ad-nauseum: the tiredness, gross incidents with bodily fluids, the pain of labour, the fact you may not sleep through the night again until 2033 when your youngest child leaves home.

Due to all of this well-meaning advice (and not so well-meaning advice), "Oh! I thought that once I had a baby I would be able to sleep like I did before!" said no parent of a baby ever. While pregnant, I also read parenting books, talked to people, watched mothers, and spent hours on parenting forums. But, in spite of all of this, there are still some things about this parenting gig that have completely taken me by surprise:

1. Beady all-seeing eyes. One thing I didn't expect to find as difficult as I do is being constantly observed by my toddler's beady all-seeing eyes, First, it makes surreptitious junk-food guzzling much trickier, especially if it's food that I don't want to rot his teeth with. Then, there's the casual comments ("Mummy. You love Coke [Zero], don't you?") that make it hard to maintain a state of denial about my own bad habits. Now my son is three, it's also impossible to have certain conversations with other adults in his presence. He might not seem like he's listening, but it turns out that only a few centimetres from his all-seeing eyes are ears that are expertly tuned to pick up any hint of the salacious, scandalous or secret. 

2. Being constantly attuned to danger. I'd been told about this beforehand, but hadn't listened. It wasn't until I moved a hot cup of tea away from the edge of the table in a cafe where no-one under the age of 18 was present that I realised just how deeply this was entrenched into my sub-conscious behaviour. At least in this case, unlike my desire to continue to guzzle Coke Zero without judgement from a three-year old, I can probably blame biology and evolution. 

3. Just how much I would hate looking at poo. Again, I was warned, but didn't listen. There have been days when I've changed multiple nappies, and had to clean poo off the floor and scrape it off clothes.  And, in the case of one particularly traumatic incident, my forehead and fringe.

4. That I wouldn't miss things from my child-free days that I thought I would... The movies, going out for a dance, adult parties, backpacking around the developing world. Sure, these things would still be fun to do, but I don't really miss them either.

5. ... And that some things, I'd miss terribly. Going for a long walk, alone, with no-where I have to be. Sleeping in. Reading a book in the sun without interruption. Leaving the house without a bag. Being able to drive a long distance without having to have at least one stop at a McDonalds. Not having to think twice about wearing clothes that are dry-clean only.

6. How some things are so much more exciting now. Like Christmas. Now I have a toddler, I haven't enjoyed Christmas so much since I was a child myself. The decorations! The tree! Wrapping presents! When we paid Father Christmas a visit the other week, I suspect I was even more excited than my son was. There are also other things that I'd barely notice before having children that are exciting when seen through a child's eyes: a car carrier truck, a giant yellow concrete mixer, a big, fluffy dog. I love how children make you look through the world with new eyes, and remind you that there is beauty and excitement all over the place if you pay attention.

7. The pride. You know the type, the pride you sometimes feel for your children that makes you feel like you're about to burst. The pride that also makes you forget that any other child in the history of time has ever crawled, rolled, sat, done a pee on the potty or finished a difficult puzzle. And even if they had, they clearly didn't do it with as much finesse and poise as my lovely offspring.

8. The mortification. Sadly, children lack filters between their brains and mouths. Including mine, as is evidenced by a number of recent incidents of telling strangers he doesn't like them, telling people to stop looking at him, and calling a woman with unfortunate facial-hair that she was a man. As I stand in the corner and wish my hardest that I could disappear from these mortifying scenarios, I tell myself that this is the universe's way of keeping the pride in check.

9. How much they'd teach me. My children have taught me so much, in particular the importance of  enjoying the delightful little moments with them as much as I can, as they grow and change so quickly. My son, being a little know-it-all, has also taught me other, more concrete things. Did you know that chimpanzees didn't have tails, or the difference between a gibbon and a monkey? Neither did I until recently. Nor did I know I'd resort to Google to win an argument with a three-year old.

10. That I could change so much ... like, become a person that would not only not miss the movies and parties too much, but would even write about it on a blog. A PARENTING blog! Gasp! On the surface, having children has changed me more than I thought it would: how I spend my free time, how I dress, how I chose to spend my holidays, and what I make small-talk with other people about.

11 ... yet still be the same underneath. But, for all those changes, when I'm at work, or with childless friends, it's as if time hasn't passed at all. My values are much the same, as are my goals. It surprises me sometimes when I realise that I'm still me, just me with two delightful children.

12. And lastly ... that try as I might, I can't stop bragging about them. Point nine above is case in point, albeit boasting by stealth in this instance. I know that it's annoying and know that it's a bad habit, but I just can't help it. Maybe I don't have a filter between my brain and mouth either?

What has surprised you the most about parenting?

Friday, November 21, 2014

On "dumpster diving" and food waste

Hungry and in need of a bite? A peruse through your cupboards shows them to be as empty as Old Mother Hubbard's.  Do you:

A: Go to the supermarket?
B: Pop online and do an online shop? Or
C: Go out to the local shops in the dead of the night and rummage around in the dumpsters until you find a tasty morsel?

Turns out, if you answer "C" to that question, you are doing a fascinating new thing I heard about on the radio last week, dumpster diving. Now, my first thought when I heard about this wasn't exactly unbridled enthusiasm at the idea of a new hobby. Quite the opposite, in fact. I wanted to dry-retch when my own rubbish spilled all over the kitchen floor after a bag malfunction the other week, and at least that rubbish was mine and only from the last three days. The idea of sifting through someone else's dustbin and eating - EATING! - food found within turns my stomach, Finding a step by step guide to dumpster diving didn't have me rushing toward the nearest dumpster either, especially the warning that dumpsters are dirty and can spread diseases, and that if you get trapped in a rubbish truck you are likely to get crushed.

But, according to Dr Giles, the anthropologist who introduced me to the concept of dumpster diving, we in the West waste an awful lot of food. Apparently over 50% of food produced in the USA isn't eaten; I've no idea about the stats about that here, but imagine it's not great here either. It's not just people like me throwing out fruit and veges I bought but never got around to cooking, either. It's bakeries, supermarkets and restaurants throwing out food that isn't perfectly fresh. Or, in the case of produce, it isn't aesthetically pleasing. Supermarkets don't like selling ugly apples, regardless of how they might taste. Dumpster divers aren't chowing down on bread crusts and apple cores. After doing research and locating the right dumpster, they're eating packaged food that's come right of the shelf and only a day old. and food that's actually ok to eat. Assuming, of course, something minging didn't have to be peeled off it first. 

When Modern Mothercraft was published, most people didn't have fridges. It notes that milk can be kept cool by cutting a kerosene tin in half, then "in this place an unglazed brick with sufficient cold water to cover it." The last step is to put the tin in a cold place, and place the milk jug inside. Due to this lack of a fridge, my grandmother probably had a much better sense than me about when food was actually off as well. Besides, her generation had lived through World War Two and the Depression. I don't imagine they would have snubbed an apple because it was a weird shape. Or, not bought bread because the best before date was in two day's time: old bread could be used for bread pudding, or croutons. I found myself nodding along as Dr Giles talked about how my generation are so used to food being fresh, we don't know when food ceases to be edible, so err on the side of caution and usually chuck it out. It's a strange paradox that because we have fridges to keep food fresher, we are more likely to throw good food away. This is probably compounded by confusion about the difference between 'used by' and 'best before dates', and many people not realizing that most foods are still fine after their best before date. 

I don't have any answers for this.  I don't want to go to a restaurant and be served yesterday's chicken, or food that has been scraped from someone else's plate. And I am certainly not planning on dressing like a stealth ninja and go foraging around the dumpsters behind the local supermarket in search of sandwiches that expired yesterday and apples that look like buttocks. On the other hand, I don't like the idea of all of this waste, either. So, maybe I will just be a bit more careful when buying food in the future, and try and throw less out. That way, hopefully, I'll at least raise my children with at least a semblance of appreciation for how lucky they are to live in an age where throwing food out is an option at all. 

Sunday, November 16, 2014

My justification for not being a 1950s domestic goddess

I recently decided to harness my dormant domesticated goddess, and make my daughter a dress. I've not sewn a dress since the spangly-stretchy number I made my Barbie in the 1990s, so the idea of making another one is somewhat exciting. Besides, I grew up wearing home-made clothes: the whir of Mum's sewing machine was a big part of my childhood, and I wanted my children to experience that too. So, off I went to buy some fabric, my head filled with scenes of my daughter frolicking around in the fruits of my labour.

Plus, I thought, perhaps sewing one dress is the perfect segue into living a life of domestic idyll, in manner of a 1950s housewife as viewed through the rosiest of rose-tinted spectacles. I'm sure you know about those spectacles - they're the same ones many women use to self-flagellate after adding things like making food from scratch and handcrafting all of their children's clothes to the already long list of Things Mothers Feel Guilty About For Not Doing. As if popping to the supermarket and buying a loaf of bread somehow means we love our children a little bit less than had we been up at dawn to make it ourselves. 

It wasn't until I'd fitted my smug and overgrown head back into the car that I realised  that the cost of the fabric was more than the price of a lovely, new dress in the shop. And, that was in spite of the fabric being half price. It seems that while making clothes was once a necessity to save money, now it's more of a luxury. My mum made us clothes because she had to. Nowadays, it's far cheaper to pop online, or to the nearest shop filled with clothes made in an overseas sweat shop. 


The original Modern Mothercraft handbook is filled with tips on how to make clothes and food, and the entire back section is dedicated to recipes. This is a sharp  contrast to the current Plunket manual, Thriving Under Five, which, while still filled with useful information, contains coupons to be redeemed at the supermarket rather than tips on how to make things yourself. I know very few people who make clothes for their kids, let alone making preserves, cooking from scratch and all of the other things our grandmothers would have taken for granted having to do. Not to mention all of the other things that never would have occurred to me before reading Modern Mothercraft, like preparing special milk for your baby rather than buying formula. It's no wonder we put on those ridiculous rose-tinted spectacles when we think about the 1950s woman, especially given how they were so much more practical than us. 

Then, I asked my Mum: if clothes had been cheaper when I was young, would she have made us so many? Her answer: Probably not. Maybe for special occasions, but not for everyday wear. After all, why would she? It might be fun to make a dress or a costume, but having to make clothes all of the time would have just turned into an unpleasant chore. 

I imagine that the 1950s woman would have been the same - if they had access to cheaper goods or had more choices, they wouldn't have necessarily been such practical domesticated goddesses either. Some may still have chosen to spend their days ironing, sewing, cooking and cleaning. But plenty of others would probably have spent their free time on Facebook, and looking at funny pictures of cats online. Our grandmothers and mothers deserve respect and acknowledgement for all that they did, but that doesn't mean we need to beat ourselves up that we aren't more like them.

And, in the meantime, I really should get on with making that dress for my daughter. Whether it be for a hobby or for necessity, I feel that my children ought to hear the whir of a sewing machine at least once this year. If they don't, I really ought to have just bought that dress new. 

Friday, September 19, 2014

Living life behind a camera phone

I read recently that the Queen has complained that no-one looks her in the eye anymore. Apparently, whenever she does public engagements, most people grab for their phones and fumble around in order to video her, take a photograph of her, or try and take a selfie with her in the background. In doing so, she grumbles, people aren't actually looking at her any more. Not in the eye, anyway. Just through their phones. 

Now, my first thought when reading this was of course I'd try and take a selfie with the Queen if I had half the chance. Even if I looked terrible in the selfie, or the Queen was half obscured by a hat or corgi, I'd still love having the photo. I'd probably even make it my profile pic on Facebook, so all of my friends could marvel at my selfie-taking prowess. I would share the photo with everyone who wanted to see it, and probably plenty more who couldn't care less and just feign politeness before calling me a show-off behind my back. 

On second thought, though, I think it's sad that people don't look the Queen in the eye anymore, and that an experience with meeting Her Majesty is just one of many things now experienced from behind a camera phone. I realised that while I haven't rubbed shoulders with any royals recently, I too am guilty of trying so hard to record things for future reminiscing that I've missed out on actual real, fun moments while trying to record them, especially with my children. Just the other week I was at a baby class with my girl, and she looked so cute while playing with the toys, I just had to take a photo. Trying to get the perfect shot, I took at least a dozen. Thing is, none of them came out well. So not only did I miss out on actually playing with her, but the only thing I have to remember the event by is a series of blurry photos that I'll probably delete anyway. Plus, I have hundreds and hundreds of photos of her. I didn't need a few more to add to the file. I should have given her my full attention instead. I should have looked her in the eye, rather than via a small screen.

Of course I will keep taking photos of my children. I love photos, and unlike many, I still print them out and put them in albums like it's 1999 again. I'll just take them a little more sparingly. After all, in 1999, I took about 150 photos, and that's more than enough to remember the people and places that defined that year. I don't actually need the close to 100 that I've taken over the last month alone. We have much better quality photos now digital cameras have been invented, but just because you can take a trillion without having to pay to get a film developed, doesn't mean we should. I'll also have to think of the Queen every now and then, and make sure that I'm still looking people in the eye. Especially my children. After all, they are only small once, and it would be a shame to have all of these photos of them, when the photos came at the expense of lovely moments. 

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

The Great Unwritten Novel

A few years ago I drew up a bucket list, and writing a novel was the first thing on it. I'd convinced myself that I had a Great Unwritten Novel in me, and was only a few sessions at the computer away from becoming the next Booker Winner/JK Rowling/Marian Keyes. I just needed to find the time to write. I love to read, so I'd be great at writing. Right? 

Eventually, I did get around to it. I wrote my first novel while on maternity leave with my son, after feeling like my brain was slowly seeping from my ears and wanting to stop it before all intelligent thought disappeared into a fog of nappies and messy food and plastic toys. Writing gave me something to think about when I couldn't get back to sleep after those night feeds, and something to do during his naps. The finished product was a novel about two women that could be best described as "chick lit with heart", and if it were published would probably end up with shoes on the cover, even though none of the characters ever talk about or notice what is on their feet. I haven't submitted it to be published, as realize that even though it's on its fifth draft, it still needs work. But, I'd at least be able to tick writing a novel off on my bucket list, right? Wrong. I decided that the Great Unwritten Novel still lurked within me; all I had was a the Great Unwritten Novel's  annoying cousin, the Mediocre Written Novel. I now wanted to write a fabulous novel. Plus, I found I had another story in me that I wanted to tell. 

So, while on maternity leave the second time over the past year, I wrote my second novel. My second novel is longer than the first, and would come under the heading "speculative fiction". If it were ever published, the title would be written in thick, black text. I think it's better than the first, but haven't had a second opinion on that yet as my dutiful husband is currently in the process of reading it. Besides, I am clearly biased when it comes to looking at its merits. 

Surely, by now,  I'd feel like I could tick that item off my bucket list? Sadly, no. My second attempt isn't my Great Unwritten Novel either. It's my Learning the Craft Novel. Besides, I've now had an even better idea for a third novel, so feel that unless I finish the third novel, I can't tick this item off my bucket list at all! I am only about a third of the way through my third novel, but think I'm improving each time I go back to the drawing board. My third novel is Young Adult Dystopian, so if it ever got published it would probably be given a title that looked a bit like that found on the Hunger Games, although it's not like the Hunger Games at all. 

Sadly, though. I am heading back to work so will have much less time and energy to write. As tempting as it is to have a third baby for a third shot at finally feeling like I've completed this goal, I have to concede that would probably constitute one of the worst reasons to have a baby ever. I plan to keep working at it in between doing everything else, but I suspect that this is one item on my bucket list that may still be a little way away from feeling done. But, who knows. Maybe one day, my Great Unwritten Novel will exist somewhere apart from the deep corner of my mind.


Friday, July 18, 2014

A tragedy unfolds and the perils of social media

The Malaysian Airlines plane MH17 being shot down over the Ukraine is such a sad tragedy I don't have the words to quite express how awful it is. I can't even imagine how terrible the family and friends of those on board feel during this dark time, and keep thinking about those that lost their lives. 

Since finding out, I've been obsessively reading about it online, and watching a number of different news channels' rolling coverage. In between feeling shock and horror at what happened, it's also occurred to me how we ought to proceed with caution when relying on social media and news stations for breaking news. 

First, there are the grisly images. I've not seen any myself, but have heard that they're everywhere. I am absolutely shocked and appalled that these are so easy to find for a number of reasons. On a personal level, they are images that, once seen, can't be unseen, and ought to come with warnings. Secondly, these are images of people who have been dead for under 24 hours. Surely they deserve some dignity in their death? 

Second, there are the stories that are reported loudly as fact, but then quietly corrected as more details come to light. Most people don't ever see the quiet corrections, so the initial reports somehow become recognised as fact. Even over the past few hours I've noticed that a few stories have been quietly taken down or rewritten by the news websites, without any corrections formally noted. I don't know at what point in news reporting the rush to be first to break a story somehow became more important than being right, but I think it's a real shame that this has happened. At the end of the day, we are all worse for the misinformation being spread in this way. 

Third, the internet can quickly turn into a giant rumor-mill, where hearsay and educated guesses turn into facts. Sometimes, it's also as if people forget that this is news about real people, not some sort of Hollywood blockbuster. We don't deserve all of the information, at least not until the families of those who have lost their lives have it, especially when it comes to notifying loved ones of someone's passing.  We need to be more patient that this will happen in the fullness of time. 

Don't get me wrong. I love the internet. I also love that I can access screeds of information from various countries with a few clicks of the mouse. I also need to remind myself, though, that when a global tragedy unfolds, there are a few things that I need to bear in mind when reading about it online.