It's a curious thing.
I am the unfortunate owner of an unfortunate nose. I have noticed lately - and when I say 'lately' I mean in the last couple of years - that often, when I'm talking to somebody, that somebody will be self-consciously scratching, touching, wiping their nose. Of course it makes me feel self-conscious about the state of my own nose. Are they trying to tell me something? Hinting that maybe I have an errant piece of snot hanging off my nose? Yes, I'm sure I can feel something tickling in my nostril. So I worry and start touching, scratching, wiping at my nose. Which only draws more attention to the unfortunate size and shape of my unfortunate nose. As soon as I can get to a bathroom I check in the mirror and usually - thank god - there is no sign of that errant bit of snot.
But the fact that this happens so frequently has got me wondering. Is this all about my nose? Do people find it confrontational to come face-to-face with me and my nose? When they look at me do they automatically think 'nose' and when they think 'nose' they start to worry about the state of their own nose: "Is there snot showing? Oh dear, I'd better give it a surreptitious wipe just in case."
Or is it just coincidence that this seems to always happen to me? Am I seeing things because I am overly sensitive about my nose? Or is it that everyone is always scratching their nose? Are there just a lot of itchy noses out there?
If there are any readers out there, please help enlighten me on this issue.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Kids and the cafe society
A few weeks ago I took the children to the hairdressers and had some time to spare on the High St, so we stopped at a local cafe for a treat. We bypassed the large spacious cafe we used to favour: I have stopped going there since my last visit, when I noticed an oversized chalkboard in the entrance that says "To parents and guardians, while we welcome children in this cafe they must be kept under control, remain seated and well-behaved at all times ... "
So we went to the friendly little cake shop next door instead. All the biggest, creamiest, loveliest looking cakes were on display at the front. They were the first (and only) things we saw when we walked in. My children were like kids in a candy store (well, yes, a cake store). The oldest, a fussy eater, immediately identified one he had tried before: "I'll have THAT one." The middle one was indecisive: "I want that one OR that one." The youngest was indiscriminant: "I want that one AND that one AND that one AND that one." We were attracting bemused looks from the two teenaged girls sitting in the corner. Of course each of the kids had pointed to different cakes. I tried to suggest that we buy one and split it three ways (okay, four ways: I was going to have some too). But the kids were not happy with this plan. The woman behind the counter looked at me sypathetically and suggested I might like to choose from the smaller biscuits and cakes housed in the cabinet around the corner, completely out of our immediate view. We did manage to select a small treat for each of us, keeping the kids quiet for at least five minutes (sadly, not long enough for me to finish my cup of tea in peace). It was, though, very pleasant, and I am sure we did not disturb the other patrons (too much).
I love going to cafes with my kids. It might mean I'm a bad mum, dosing them up on sugary treats, but it is a pleasant way to spend our time together and it usually means a few minutes' rest for me (something I crave when we are out shopping).
It did get me thinking, though, about the sign at the front of the cafe next door. I have noticed a similar sign at the bookshop cafe I favour in the local shopping centre. That one reads: "Parents – Keep control of your children!"
While I understand the reasoning behind these signs – it's clearly a health and safety hazard to have kids running around in a cafe/bar/restaurant while waiters are trying to get through with trays of hot food and drinks – I still find my hackles rising when faced with this sort of admonition. The problem, for me, is with the word "control" and the assertion that all children should be under their parents' control.
I am not quite sure how one is supposed to have complete control over another human being. Yes, when my children are behaving badly I can try to reason with them, threaten them, plead with them. But there is no guarantee it will work. And the more tired/bored/hungry they are, the less likely that any appeals to reason will be successful. Even more so if they are in the middle of a complete meltdown: then NOTHING will work. This is especially so for my middle child who is completely inflexible and cannot cope at all when things don't go his way (much like many adults I know). He is also far too big and strong for me to physically move him when he is in that state. So if he does have a meltdown in a public place, removing him from the scene is just not an option for me. Happily this is not something that happens very often but when it does happen I do not have control over the situation. I just need to ride it out, and hope that those around me are sympathetic rather than angry.
This issue seems to be a hot topic at the moment. Last year I read a newspaper article, helpfully titled "hey parents, leave your kids at home." The article was directed, mainly, at parents who take their kids into pubs, rather than cafes, but the sentiment is much the same as that I've heard expressed by some people about kids in cafes: "I am an adult, I want to go out and be an adult without being burdened by the noise and chaos of other people's kids."
I understand that, I do. But I also think people who express this opinion are being incredibly selfish and not particularly empathic to parents. In my research for this post I found the original article online and was horrified by the anti-parent sentiment expressed in some of the comments. Here is a sample:
A recent article in the Guardian about a restaurant that has banned "noisy children" unleashed even more venomous parent-bashing from readers. It seems that there are a lot of people out there who wish children were hidden away from public view. In fact, reading these comments made me think that we have returned to the Victorian era in which "children should be seen but not heard".
One businessman complained about a time when he was recovering from a long flight and had to put up with the noise and disruption of children in the hotel restaurant. Hello? You were in a hotel restaurant, not your own private cocoon.
Last week there was an article in the Age about children on long-haul flights – this time written by a parent suggesting that it would be helpful (for everyone) if there were play areas in airports. Again, this revealed some astonishing anti-parent and anti-children sentiment in the reader comments (along with many supporting remarks from other parents who could relate to this situation).
Check out this absurd response:
Why is it that people are so intolerant these days? If you're in a public place, surely you are going to have to rub shoulders with other members of society and potentially have your peace threatened. And why are only children (and their parents) the targets of these attacks? What about loud, drunk businessmen? Or groups of giggly teenaged girls? Or obnoxious people having loud conversations on their mobile phone? All these people, and more, can threaten our peace at times but we just have to accept that other people are a fact of life: move away if you have to, or just put up with it.
So we went to the friendly little cake shop next door instead. All the biggest, creamiest, loveliest looking cakes were on display at the front. They were the first (and only) things we saw when we walked in. My children were like kids in a candy store (well, yes, a cake store). The oldest, a fussy eater, immediately identified one he had tried before: "I'll have THAT one." The middle one was indecisive: "I want that one OR that one." The youngest was indiscriminant: "I want that one AND that one AND that one AND that one." We were attracting bemused looks from the two teenaged girls sitting in the corner. Of course each of the kids had pointed to different cakes. I tried to suggest that we buy one and split it three ways (okay, four ways: I was going to have some too). But the kids were not happy with this plan. The woman behind the counter looked at me sypathetically and suggested I might like to choose from the smaller biscuits and cakes housed in the cabinet around the corner, completely out of our immediate view. We did manage to select a small treat for each of us, keeping the kids quiet for at least five minutes (sadly, not long enough for me to finish my cup of tea in peace). It was, though, very pleasant, and I am sure we did not disturb the other patrons (too much).
I love going to cafes with my kids. It might mean I'm a bad mum, dosing them up on sugary treats, but it is a pleasant way to spend our time together and it usually means a few minutes' rest for me (something I crave when we are out shopping).
It did get me thinking, though, about the sign at the front of the cafe next door. I have noticed a similar sign at the bookshop cafe I favour in the local shopping centre. That one reads: "Parents – Keep control of your children!"
While I understand the reasoning behind these signs – it's clearly a health and safety hazard to have kids running around in a cafe/bar/restaurant while waiters are trying to get through with trays of hot food and drinks – I still find my hackles rising when faced with this sort of admonition. The problem, for me, is with the word "control" and the assertion that all children should be under their parents' control.
I am not quite sure how one is supposed to have complete control over another human being. Yes, when my children are behaving badly I can try to reason with them, threaten them, plead with them. But there is no guarantee it will work. And the more tired/bored/hungry they are, the less likely that any appeals to reason will be successful. Even more so if they are in the middle of a complete meltdown: then NOTHING will work. This is especially so for my middle child who is completely inflexible and cannot cope at all when things don't go his way (much like many adults I know). He is also far too big and strong for me to physically move him when he is in that state. So if he does have a meltdown in a public place, removing him from the scene is just not an option for me. Happily this is not something that happens very often but when it does happen I do not have control over the situation. I just need to ride it out, and hope that those around me are sympathetic rather than angry.
This issue seems to be a hot topic at the moment. Last year I read a newspaper article, helpfully titled "hey parents, leave your kids at home." The article was directed, mainly, at parents who take their kids into pubs, rather than cafes, but the sentiment is much the same as that I've heard expressed by some people about kids in cafes: "I am an adult, I want to go out and be an adult without being burdened by the noise and chaos of other people's kids."
I understand that, I do. But I also think people who express this opinion are being incredibly selfish and not particularly empathic to parents. In my research for this post I found the original article online and was horrified by the anti-parent sentiment expressed in some of the comments. Here is a sample:
Over-indulgent parents coupled with complete parental indifference to non-parents means some children develop poor social boundaries and the rest of us are expected to put up with these awful products of poor parenting.
when we get the chance to venture out for an "adult" drink or a meal the last thing we want is pathic (sic) parents with their horrid, undisciplined children running a muck.
A recent article in the Guardian about a restaurant that has banned "noisy children" unleashed even more venomous parent-bashing from readers. It seems that there are a lot of people out there who wish children were hidden away from public view. In fact, reading these comments made me think that we have returned to the Victorian era in which "children should be seen but not heard".
One businessman complained about a time when he was recovering from a long flight and had to put up with the noise and disruption of children in the hotel restaurant. Hello? You were in a hotel restaurant, not your own private cocoon.
Last week there was an article in the Age about children on long-haul flights – this time written by a parent suggesting that it would be helpful (for everyone) if there were play areas in airports. Again, this revealed some astonishing anti-parent and anti-children sentiment in the reader comments (along with many supporting remarks from other parents who could relate to this situation).
Check out this absurd response:
It is ridiculous to be imposed to out of control children in a cramped and uncomfortable environment. Otherwise make the distribution of drugs either for the children or the tortured other passengers mandatory.
What makes anybody think that a toddler will in anyway benefit or enjoy an international holiday. They would have forgotten the experience before lunch. Parents with toddlers should have their passports confiscated. What is worse, smuggling drugs on board or smuggling a toddler on board??
Why is it that people are so intolerant these days? If you're in a public place, surely you are going to have to rub shoulders with other members of society and potentially have your peace threatened. And why are only children (and their parents) the targets of these attacks? What about loud, drunk businessmen? Or groups of giggly teenaged girls? Or obnoxious people having loud conversations on their mobile phone? All these people, and more, can threaten our peace at times but we just have to accept that other people are a fact of life: move away if you have to, or just put up with it.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Father's Day
There was a lovely article in this morning's Age about modern fathers: a discussion about how it has become the norm for fathers to play an active role in their children's upbringing. Gone are the days when men were derided if they were seen to be pushing the pram. Now men are more likely to be derided if they are not seen to be doing their bit with the kids. Certainly, at my son's school there seem to be as many fathers as there are mothers doing the daily school run. And the swimming pool on a Saturday morning is mostly a "dads and kids" zone. Yesterday at the pool I was touched to see a young father playing in the water with his daughter. Of course, it's always touching to see the dads playing with their kids. But this dad looked as though he was only about 25 years old. I had become so accustomed to seeing parents in their thirties and forties (and often dads who look to be in their fifties) that I found it refreshing to see such a young parent out with his kid.
Today's article on fatherhood included a profile of a very young new father: just 16 years old. It brought tears to my eyes to read about how much he was enjoying fatherhood and the active role he was playing in his baby's new life. Why is it that I found this so touching? Well, I am a big softy so it doesn't take much to make me tear up. But I think it's got something to do with seeing someone who bucks a stereotype, especially seeing a teenage boy expressing love and tenderness and responsibility. See, they're not all that bad.
The article also mentioned Reservoir Dad, a Melbourne stay-at-home-dad who blogs about his experiences. He said he has been surprised to find many people question his motives and don't seem to understand why he has given up work to look after the kids. His wife enjoys her job and wanted to return to work. He was not happy at work and wanted to look after the kids so his wife could work. It seems like a no-brainer to me. Funny that there might still be some resistance to this reversing of stereotyped roles.
Personally I have found plenty of resistance to the role-reversal idea. Unfortunately the resistance has come from my own family. Now don't get me wrong, my husband is a great father. He spends lots of time with the kids. He works from home, so there is no long commute and he is usually there to eat an evening meal with us. Okay, we have to bang on his office door and tell him it's time to come out for dinner. But at least he is there. And working from home means he can drop the kids off at childcare/school on the two days a week that I'm at work. And on the weekends he takes the kids swimming, he takes them to the park, he does heaps with them. From an outsider's point of view it looks like I'm married to the perfect hands-on dad. But it's not all as it seems.
Last year, when my husband was made redundant, I was privately thankful. Finally, I thought, I'll be able to get a bit of time to finish some writing I'd been working on. I thought my husband would take a week off to spend with the kids before looking for more work. I thought he would want to do this. But when I suggested this to him he was not happy. "Looking for work is a full-time job," he said, and "you always take the piss with my time." Well, I don't and he knows this. I was not asking him to look after the kids so I could get my nails done, I just needed a few days to finish some work. I needed to spend a little bit of time nurturing my own career. Of course, this was an extremely stressful time and he was in a panic. And as it turned out he didn't need to be. Within a week he was offered a short-term contract with his old employer, which has since become a permanent contract.
But it doesn't end there. I had hoped that contracting would mean he could have some flexibility with his hours. When I was offered a .5 contract later that year, going from 2 days a week to 2.5, I suggested he might like to reduce his hours and look after the kids for one day a fortnight: he would work a 9-day fortnight while I worked a 5-day fortnight, and the kids would remain in childcare for two days, rather than three days, a week. This suggestion was met with extreme resistance. In fact, let's me honest, it was met with anger. Similarly the idea that perhaps it might be time for me to look for full-time work while he goes part-time (there were lots of opportunities out there for me at the time). Okay that was never going to happen: he earns far more than I do. But I am never going to be in a position to increase my earning potential if I can't get the experience necessary, and so long as I am confined to part-time work I am going to be confined to fairly junior roles. There's the rub.
But it's not really about my career. It's about both of us getting the balance right. My husband does not like to pick my son up from school on the days that I am at work. He is at home, only five minute's walk away from school. I understand that he needs to protect his work time. But it would do him good to have a walk and it would be a great opportunity to chat to his son about his day on the way home. This does not happen. Instead I arrange for another parent to pick him up and drop him off at home. It saddens me that my husband cannot see what he is missing.
Yesterday I heard of the best mum/dad childcare arrangement I've come across. Both partners work 7-day fortnights. The kids are in childcare two days a week. Mum is at home with them one day, Dad is at home with them another day, and Mum and Dad alternate on the remaining day. This seems ideal to me. I told my husband about it last night: "Doesn't it sound like the perfect arrangement?"
"No," he said, "it sounds awful." Why did he think that? Does he just not like being at home with the kids? No. The problem is he thinks that if he spends any less than 50 hours a week working he will become unemployable. Clearly I am going to be fighting an uphill battle if I am hoping for a role-reversal.
Today's article on fatherhood included a profile of a very young new father: just 16 years old. It brought tears to my eyes to read about how much he was enjoying fatherhood and the active role he was playing in his baby's new life. Why is it that I found this so touching? Well, I am a big softy so it doesn't take much to make me tear up. But I think it's got something to do with seeing someone who bucks a stereotype, especially seeing a teenage boy expressing love and tenderness and responsibility. See, they're not all that bad.
The article also mentioned Reservoir Dad, a Melbourne stay-at-home-dad who blogs about his experiences. He said he has been surprised to find many people question his motives and don't seem to understand why he has given up work to look after the kids. His wife enjoys her job and wanted to return to work. He was not happy at work and wanted to look after the kids so his wife could work. It seems like a no-brainer to me. Funny that there might still be some resistance to this reversing of stereotyped roles.
Personally I have found plenty of resistance to the role-reversal idea. Unfortunately the resistance has come from my own family. Now don't get me wrong, my husband is a great father. He spends lots of time with the kids. He works from home, so there is no long commute and he is usually there to eat an evening meal with us. Okay, we have to bang on his office door and tell him it's time to come out for dinner. But at least he is there. And working from home means he can drop the kids off at childcare/school on the two days a week that I'm at work. And on the weekends he takes the kids swimming, he takes them to the park, he does heaps with them. From an outsider's point of view it looks like I'm married to the perfect hands-on dad. But it's not all as it seems.
Last year, when my husband was made redundant, I was privately thankful. Finally, I thought, I'll be able to get a bit of time to finish some writing I'd been working on. I thought my husband would take a week off to spend with the kids before looking for more work. I thought he would want to do this. But when I suggested this to him he was not happy. "Looking for work is a full-time job," he said, and "you always take the piss with my time." Well, I don't and he knows this. I was not asking him to look after the kids so I could get my nails done, I just needed a few days to finish some work. I needed to spend a little bit of time nurturing my own career. Of course, this was an extremely stressful time and he was in a panic. And as it turned out he didn't need to be. Within a week he was offered a short-term contract with his old employer, which has since become a permanent contract.
But it doesn't end there. I had hoped that contracting would mean he could have some flexibility with his hours. When I was offered a .5 contract later that year, going from 2 days a week to 2.5, I suggested he might like to reduce his hours and look after the kids for one day a fortnight: he would work a 9-day fortnight while I worked a 5-day fortnight, and the kids would remain in childcare for two days, rather than three days, a week. This suggestion was met with extreme resistance. In fact, let's me honest, it was met with anger. Similarly the idea that perhaps it might be time for me to look for full-time work while he goes part-time (there were lots of opportunities out there for me at the time). Okay that was never going to happen: he earns far more than I do. But I am never going to be in a position to increase my earning potential if I can't get the experience necessary, and so long as I am confined to part-time work I am going to be confined to fairly junior roles. There's the rub.
But it's not really about my career. It's about both of us getting the balance right. My husband does not like to pick my son up from school on the days that I am at work. He is at home, only five minute's walk away from school. I understand that he needs to protect his work time. But it would do him good to have a walk and it would be a great opportunity to chat to his son about his day on the way home. This does not happen. Instead I arrange for another parent to pick him up and drop him off at home. It saddens me that my husband cannot see what he is missing.
Yesterday I heard of the best mum/dad childcare arrangement I've come across. Both partners work 7-day fortnights. The kids are in childcare two days a week. Mum is at home with them one day, Dad is at home with them another day, and Mum and Dad alternate on the remaining day. This seems ideal to me. I told my husband about it last night: "Doesn't it sound like the perfect arrangement?"
"No," he said, "it sounds awful." Why did he think that? Does he just not like being at home with the kids? No. The problem is he thinks that if he spends any less than 50 hours a week working he will become unemployable. Clearly I am going to be fighting an uphill battle if I am hoping for a role-reversal.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
More on "Motherhood is Easy" ...
In today's Sunday Life magazine, Mia Freedman gave a measured response to Jacinta Tynan's piece from a few weeks ago that caused such an uproar. I generally like Mia Freedman's column and was hoping she would provide a response, given that readers had made over 1000 comments about this issue on her website recently. Her response was carefully non-critical, although she did point out some flaws in the original argument: for instance, Jacinta's point that mothers never used to complain about their lot in life. This, according to Mia, was not necessarily a good thing:
Mia's main point is that all experiences of motherhood should be voiced and heard, the positives as well as the negatives. It seems that many feel Jacinta Tynan was being vilified for talking about her positive experience. I would like to think that is not actually the case. Personally, I was angered by the judgemental tone in her article, the implication that those who are finding it hard should just put up and shut up. And that is not helpful: we need to be able to ask for help sometimes.
There were no outlets for mothers to express negative feelings or admit their fears, frustrations and anxieties. So they drank. Or took Valium. Or became depressed. Or suffered in silence. Sometimes they harmed their children, harmed themselves or just walked out.My great-great-grandmother walked out. Her daughter – my grandmother's mother – was apparently scarred by this abandonment. This would have then affected her own experiences of motherhood and my grandmother's upbringing. My grandmother herself had five children within seven years, lived (and worked) on a farm and did not drive. I often wonder about how she coped. Life would have been so difficult for her. And of course my grandfather would not have been particularly supportive or understanding. My grandmother is not a happy person, and I don't think she feels she has had a good life. Personally, I think it is good that today we recognise how hard motherhood can be, that mothers are able to talk about it and not feel ashamed of asking for help (although of course we still do feel ashamed).
Mia's main point is that all experiences of motherhood should be voiced and heard, the positives as well as the negatives. It seems that many feel Jacinta Tynan was being vilified for talking about her positive experience. I would like to think that is not actually the case. Personally, I was angered by the judgemental tone in her article, the implication that those who are finding it hard should just put up and shut up. And that is not helpful: we need to be able to ask for help sometimes.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Multiple identities
It was not a good week. One of the kids had diarrhoea on and off for several days and I spent a great deal of my time cleaning up little (and big) accidents. It was not pleasant and by the end of it my back ached from spending so much time doubled over, cleaning up. The worst of the accidents happened while we were out shopping and it is probably best that I don't say too much about it as the details are rather unpleasant, but it did involve me on my hands and knees with a packet of wipes cleaning the floor in a crowded shopping centre. My poor little boy was absolutely mortified by the whole experience (“this has been my worst day ever”). I have to remember that while it was pretty unpleasant for me it was far worse for him. And thankfully it is all over now, and I now have a new parenting experience to add to my growing list!
But I have not chosen to blog about this little episode to add armour to my side of the “motherhood is easy” debate. No, as I was heading back to work this week I thought about what I would say to my colleagues when they asked, as they often do, “How has your week been?” Do I tell the truth? Do I tell them it's actually been pretty shitty (literally). Or do I brush it off and say, as I normally would, “it's been okay”?
Of course it doesn't really matter what I answer. The details about the sick kid aren't pleasant and probably wouldn't be appropriate for workplace conversation. But it did get me thinking about how different my work life is from my home life. How much do my colleagues really know about me? I consider them to be good friends and we do know a lot about each others' lives – details amassed over years' of casual conversations over coffee. But my life outside work is so vastly different from my life inside work that I sometimes wonder if I am leading a double life. What would my colleagues think of me if they knew what I was really like at home, if they knew the details of what goes on in the “real” world for me? At work I sit in a quiet office, I get to wear nice (clean) clothes, I write, I talk to adults, I am asked what I think and my opinion is (usually) respected. At home, on the more challenging days, I get yelled at, I rush around attending to multiple demands, I cook, I shop, I hang out the washing, I clean (sometimes). And sometimes - on the REALLY bad days - I spend hours on end cleaning up poo.
And at home I am a totally different person. I have no patience. I yell a lot. At work I am calm. I am quiet. I have never yelled at anyone at work.
Thinking about this reminded me of a book I read a few years ago, called “The Bitch in the House”. Edited by Cathi Hanauer, it's a collection of essays written by women about a range of feminist issues to do with modern families, modern life, modern marriages: “26 women tell the truth about sex, solitude, work, motherhood, and marriage”. It features an essay called "Attila the Honey I'm Home" by Kristin van Ogtrop about her double life as a calm, rational, highly successful professional, and a frustrated, angry mother. She compares the words people at work and home use to describe her. At work they say she is “unflappable” and “straightforward”. At home they say things like “you're too mean to live in this house and I want you to go back to work for the rest of your life!” The life she describes sounds infinitely more hectic and pressured than mine but I can certainly relate to this description.
I should add, of course, that I do love spending time at home with my kids. I do have fun with them. I crawl around on the floor playing with cars. I have wonderful conversations that I love relating to my husband at the end of the day. I play endless games of snakes and ladders and pretend to be excited when I win. Don't get me wrong, I love being at home with my kids. It's just that the two worlds – and the two versions of “me” - are so completely different.
And it's not just those of us with young children who lead double lives. How much do we really know about the people we work with and what they're like at home? Last year when I was talking to a colleague, our conversation somehow turned to a news report about an unidentified body and a missing tourist. The parents of the missing tourist were in denial that the body could be their daughter's. My colleague said: “They don't know what they're talking about. I found my mum when she'd been dead for a week and she was unrecognisable.” Needless to say I was shocked. I had no idea that this person, who I had spent a fair bit of time with over the last year or so, had been dealing with something so traumatic.
I think we all, to some extent, lead double lives or have multiple identities. And for many of us the work/home dichotomy is just the tip of the iceberg. There are, for instance, the secret lives that people lead when they're having extramarital affairs. Some of these secret lives are more extreme than others. Remember the case of the missing millionaire Herman Rockefeller whose identity as a swinger only came to light when he died? And there was the recent report from the US of a woman who discovered her husband had “married” his lover when she found wedding photos on the lover's Facebook page. Social networking must make it more difficult for people to lead secret lives and it can certainly blur the boundaries between our personal/work/other lives. Personally I have chosen not to use Facebook to connect with colleagues. I see my colleagues at work and I can call or email them if I need to. I am happy to share personal details with them, which I choose to share at my discretion. But I don't necessarily want to give them all the gory details about my life – like how I found myself cleaning poo off the floor in a crowded shopping centre last weekend.
So yes, I think I prefer keeping my work and home identities separate. How do other people feel about this?
But I have not chosen to blog about this little episode to add armour to my side of the “motherhood is easy” debate. No, as I was heading back to work this week I thought about what I would say to my colleagues when they asked, as they often do, “How has your week been?” Do I tell the truth? Do I tell them it's actually been pretty shitty (literally). Or do I brush it off and say, as I normally would, “it's been okay”?
Of course it doesn't really matter what I answer. The details about the sick kid aren't pleasant and probably wouldn't be appropriate for workplace conversation. But it did get me thinking about how different my work life is from my home life. How much do my colleagues really know about me? I consider them to be good friends and we do know a lot about each others' lives – details amassed over years' of casual conversations over coffee. But my life outside work is so vastly different from my life inside work that I sometimes wonder if I am leading a double life. What would my colleagues think of me if they knew what I was really like at home, if they knew the details of what goes on in the “real” world for me? At work I sit in a quiet office, I get to wear nice (clean) clothes, I write, I talk to adults, I am asked what I think and my opinion is (usually) respected. At home, on the more challenging days, I get yelled at, I rush around attending to multiple demands, I cook, I shop, I hang out the washing, I clean (sometimes). And sometimes - on the REALLY bad days - I spend hours on end cleaning up poo.
And at home I am a totally different person. I have no patience. I yell a lot. At work I am calm. I am quiet. I have never yelled at anyone at work.
Thinking about this reminded me of a book I read a few years ago, called “The Bitch in the House”. Edited by Cathi Hanauer, it's a collection of essays written by women about a range of feminist issues to do with modern families, modern life, modern marriages: “26 women tell the truth about sex, solitude, work, motherhood, and marriage”. It features an essay called "Attila the Honey I'm Home" by Kristin van Ogtrop about her double life as a calm, rational, highly successful professional, and a frustrated, angry mother. She compares the words people at work and home use to describe her. At work they say she is “unflappable” and “straightforward”. At home they say things like “you're too mean to live in this house and I want you to go back to work for the rest of your life!” The life she describes sounds infinitely more hectic and pressured than mine but I can certainly relate to this description.
I should add, of course, that I do love spending time at home with my kids. I do have fun with them. I crawl around on the floor playing with cars. I have wonderful conversations that I love relating to my husband at the end of the day. I play endless games of snakes and ladders and pretend to be excited when I win. Don't get me wrong, I love being at home with my kids. It's just that the two worlds – and the two versions of “me” - are so completely different.
And it's not just those of us with young children who lead double lives. How much do we really know about the people we work with and what they're like at home? Last year when I was talking to a colleague, our conversation somehow turned to a news report about an unidentified body and a missing tourist. The parents of the missing tourist were in denial that the body could be their daughter's. My colleague said: “They don't know what they're talking about. I found my mum when she'd been dead for a week and she was unrecognisable.” Needless to say I was shocked. I had no idea that this person, who I had spent a fair bit of time with over the last year or so, had been dealing with something so traumatic.
I think we all, to some extent, lead double lives or have multiple identities. And for many of us the work/home dichotomy is just the tip of the iceberg. There are, for instance, the secret lives that people lead when they're having extramarital affairs. Some of these secret lives are more extreme than others. Remember the case of the missing millionaire Herman Rockefeller whose identity as a swinger only came to light when he died? And there was the recent report from the US of a woman who discovered her husband had “married” his lover when she found wedding photos on the lover's Facebook page. Social networking must make it more difficult for people to lead secret lives and it can certainly blur the boundaries between our personal/work/other lives. Personally I have chosen not to use Facebook to connect with colleagues. I see my colleagues at work and I can call or email them if I need to. I am happy to share personal details with them, which I choose to share at my discretion. But I don't necessarily want to give them all the gory details about my life – like how I found myself cleaning poo off the floor in a crowded shopping centre last weekend.
So yes, I think I prefer keeping my work and home identities separate. How do other people feel about this?
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Easy Peasy
For the past few days I have been fuming about an article I read in the Sunday Life magazine, titled "The Big Easy". The author, Jacinta Tynan, who appears to lead a charmed life, argues that from where she stands "motherhood is a cinch" and she "can't see what all the whingeing is about".
I am pleased to see I'm not the only one who was infuriated by this article. There have been other blog posts and commentaries in the past two days (see Not Quite Crafty and Chalet Girl for instance).
Funnily enough while I was fuming about this article and composing a response in my head I was breastfeeding my tired toddler and waiting patiently for him to fall asleep so I could sneak off to the computer and write it all down. But he did not fall asleep. So I did not get to write it down and was irritable and snappy with the kids for the rest of the day. What was it Jacinta said about the lack of "me time"? Quit moaning about it.
The article is written from the arrogant perspective of a woman who is in the first year of motherhood with an easy baby. She did balance her commentary a little with acknowledgement that yes, she has a baby not a toddler (not even a crawling baby) and an easy one at that. But she was so smug – as so many women are about this stuff – that I feel compelled to respond. By writing about how wonderfully easy it all is, she makes all women who have ever complained about motherhood feel even more inadequate.
Five years ago my second child was born a month early. He was a hungry unsettled baby and I survived for the first six months on four or five hours of (broken) sleep a night. I had zero patience with my two-year-old, and I blame that period of time on his subsequent self-esteem issues. One day during that time my sister-in-law, who was basking in the love and joy of her first baby (an easy settled child, of course) took my husband aside and said to him “why isn't she coping? Other women cope with having two children. What is wrong with her?” I have often reflected on this incident not only because it provides evidence of my in-laws' incredible propensity to judge other people, always negatively (but more on that another time). I have often thought: why didn't she offer to help? Why did she just point out how inadequate I was, how there must be something wrong with me if I couldn't cope? If she was finding life so easy and I was struggling with a hungry baby who did not sleep well and an attention-seeking toddler, why not offer to take her nephew off my hands for a few hours, or provide some freezable meals now and then? But no – practical help was never offered, just judgement. Until you have been in that situation (and yes my sister-in-law did eventually find herself there) you have no right to judge. Yes, you can say that you are enjoying motherhood but don't suggest that those around you who are struggling have the wrong attitude or are not approaching it in the right way.
Jacinta Tynan suggests that because she loves her baby and feels grateful to have him, caring for him is a cinch: "soothing a crying baby who won't sleep for love nor money is a privilege, not a hardship". And motherhood is not hard because she loves it - "hard? No. Exhilarating and rewarding more like it." Well, Jacinta, I'm sure most mothers love their children and have plenty of moments when they find it exhilarating and rewarding. That's why we stick at it, day in and day out. But you are confusing ejoyment with ease. They are not the same thing. Does the fact that I love being a mother make it easy to survive in a sleep-deprived fog for months on end? Does it make it easy to deal with a four-year-old who is screaming so loudly in the supermarket that the manager threatens to call the police? (yes, this really happened: the manager threatened my son but did not offer to help me, despite the fact that I obviously had my hands full with two other children and a trolley load full of shopping). Does loving your child make it easy to battle day after day when he refuses to eat? Does it make it easy to get your oldest kid to school on time when the youngest has a tantrum just as you're heading out the door? Does it make it easy to stay calm and level-headed when your kids are trying to tear each others' eyeballs out because one sat on the "wrong" chair? Does it make it easy to cajole a reluctant learner to do his homework, or to help a child with poor self-esteem who is struggling in the playground?
We complain about motherhood, Jacinta, because it IS hard work. Yes, it is fun and rewarding. But it is hard too. And sharing the load helps. Knowing you are not alone helps. And sometimes we complain because we are really asking for help. But does it help to hear another mother gloat about how easy she finds it? No, it does not.
I am pleased to see I'm not the only one who was infuriated by this article. There have been other blog posts and commentaries in the past two days (see Not Quite Crafty and Chalet Girl for instance).
Funnily enough while I was fuming about this article and composing a response in my head I was breastfeeding my tired toddler and waiting patiently for him to fall asleep so I could sneak off to the computer and write it all down. But he did not fall asleep. So I did not get to write it down and was irritable and snappy with the kids for the rest of the day. What was it Jacinta said about the lack of "me time"? Quit moaning about it.
The article is written from the arrogant perspective of a woman who is in the first year of motherhood with an easy baby. She did balance her commentary a little with acknowledgement that yes, she has a baby not a toddler (not even a crawling baby) and an easy one at that. But she was so smug – as so many women are about this stuff – that I feel compelled to respond. By writing about how wonderfully easy it all is, she makes all women who have ever complained about motherhood feel even more inadequate.
Five years ago my second child was born a month early. He was a hungry unsettled baby and I survived for the first six months on four or five hours of (broken) sleep a night. I had zero patience with my two-year-old, and I blame that period of time on his subsequent self-esteem issues. One day during that time my sister-in-law, who was basking in the love and joy of her first baby (an easy settled child, of course) took my husband aside and said to him “why isn't she coping? Other women cope with having two children. What is wrong with her?” I have often reflected on this incident not only because it provides evidence of my in-laws' incredible propensity to judge other people, always negatively (but more on that another time). I have often thought: why didn't she offer to help? Why did she just point out how inadequate I was, how there must be something wrong with me if I couldn't cope? If she was finding life so easy and I was struggling with a hungry baby who did not sleep well and an attention-seeking toddler, why not offer to take her nephew off my hands for a few hours, or provide some freezable meals now and then? But no – practical help was never offered, just judgement. Until you have been in that situation (and yes my sister-in-law did eventually find herself there) you have no right to judge. Yes, you can say that you are enjoying motherhood but don't suggest that those around you who are struggling have the wrong attitude or are not approaching it in the right way.
Jacinta Tynan suggests that because she loves her baby and feels grateful to have him, caring for him is a cinch: "soothing a crying baby who won't sleep for love nor money is a privilege, not a hardship". And motherhood is not hard because she loves it - "hard? No. Exhilarating and rewarding more like it." Well, Jacinta, I'm sure most mothers love their children and have plenty of moments when they find it exhilarating and rewarding. That's why we stick at it, day in and day out. But you are confusing ejoyment with ease. They are not the same thing. Does the fact that I love being a mother make it easy to survive in a sleep-deprived fog for months on end? Does it make it easy to deal with a four-year-old who is screaming so loudly in the supermarket that the manager threatens to call the police? (yes, this really happened: the manager threatened my son but did not offer to help me, despite the fact that I obviously had my hands full with two other children and a trolley load full of shopping). Does loving your child make it easy to battle day after day when he refuses to eat? Does it make it easy to get your oldest kid to school on time when the youngest has a tantrum just as you're heading out the door? Does it make it easy to stay calm and level-headed when your kids are trying to tear each others' eyeballs out because one sat on the "wrong" chair? Does it make it easy to cajole a reluctant learner to do his homework, or to help a child with poor self-esteem who is struggling in the playground?
We complain about motherhood, Jacinta, because it IS hard work. Yes, it is fun and rewarding. But it is hard too. And sharing the load helps. Knowing you are not alone helps. And sometimes we complain because we are really asking for help. But does it help to hear another mother gloat about how easy she finds it? No, it does not.
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