This week we have had an introduction to school shootings.
My daughter's elementary school is near a halfway house for mentally ill adults. When she started school we had no idea that the facility was there. In my mind this is testament to how well the house was being run. Residents were accepted into society and were integrated.
The organization has been in operation for almost 40 years and until now there had been no serious incidents.
On Tuesday one of the residents was out and, I am summarizing so bear with me, was stopped by the police. He brandished a knife and threatened the police, who used a tazer; this had minimal effect. Said resident refused to back down and police opened fire, fatally wounding the man.
The school was on temporary lock down and it is doubtful that the children had any idea of what happened. The counselor was available to talk. I know my daughter does not have the slightest inkling. Had the incident taken place 30-45 minutes later in the day when the children were on lunch break I shudder to think......
This is such a sad incident on so many levels and I really don't know what to think or how to feel.
I do know that knife-wielding adults and children don't mix but maybe the reaction was too dramatic.
We want to protect our children at all costs and this is base instinct. Where do we draw the line on mental illness and its acceptable faces?
I was saddened by a recent email to the Principal suggesting closure of the facility and a practical exclusion zone. Yet again we are thinking of removing the so-called cause not symptoms. We live in times when spin and hype lead to a climate of fear. We fear what we do not understand. We live in the shadow of Dunblane and Columbine, amongst others. There is constant uncertainty about who is near our children and what security measures are in place should a situation arise.
Mental illness has many sides, including depression, and is often misunderstood. Would we be so quick to protest if this were a facility for adults with Down’s syndrome? I have heard this described as a mental illness too. This population is often forgotten by the system and neglected or ridiculed by the masses. Gone are the days when people were just seen as simple. Many resort to crime as they have no other choice.
In a previous life I was a case officer for Sexually Violent Predators and Paedophiles- not the nicest group of people- but still ones who needed help and very delicate and orchestrated integration back into society. They were aware of their limitations and the restrictions enforced by parole. It was an emotional tightrope. As I am a parent now I am not sure if I could do the job but at the time I believed I was helping people re-integrate into society. I believe that this organization believed they were helping people too.
Integration into society with mental illness in its various forms is a very difficult subject to broach. On the one hand we see ourselves as a compassionate society which can forgive and ensure that everyone gets a chance. On the other we are primal and will stop at nothing to protect our children, as we should, and all other values are forgotten; it is mob rule when it suits us.
This is an emotive issue with far-reaching ramifications.
I am not advocating that all manner of facilities be near schools but just because our children are safe does not mean that others are not at risk but would like some compassion. Yes we need to protect our children but do we not owe a little to those we could help? These facilities still need to go somewhere but putting them in peripheral locations only seeks to alienate the residents. I am over-simplifying this whole issue.
It is the diversity in society that makes us better understand ourselves and others but to what extent do we feel threatened by this self same diversity?
I am sure I am not addressing all the issues or phrasing this as wonderfully as I could but I wonder if it were my child who needed a facility ……
I am so confused. I just know that this all about balance.
As a note: the facility closed and the remaining residents are currently with their families.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Addendum to Hermit
... I realised that I don't wish to escape from the world, just my children.
Sometimes I don't wish to have another demand made of me; so I hide.
Sometimes I don't wish to have another demand made of me; so I hide.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Having children has brought out the worst in me
.. or 5 personality traits I would prefer to hide. These sides of my nature need to be buried once more and only exhumed when I need to laugh and not exert my will.
1. My Inner Screaming Banshee
.......or not so inner anymore. I have become a fishwife and shout when it really doesn't make any difference but psychologically it helps, or so I believe. I have tried the breathe and count to 10 thing but it doesn't help. There are times when shouting seems like the only option but maybe I need to think more carefully first.
2. My Inner Drama Queen
I have always had a penchant for the dramatic but having children has really shown my acting abilities are still amateurish. I utter such statements/ questions, as:
"I do not understand why people think reproduction is a good idea."
"I have had enough of children."
"I want to be an adult"
This last one is particularly worrying as it so blatantly childish. It is a cry for help. Staying at home with the girls is the most challenging job I have ever had and probably ever likely to hold. I will never get an Oscar for my performances so I best leave acting to talents that warrant the accolade.
3. My Inner Control Freak
"There are 2 ways of doing things", as my paternal Grandmother said, "mine and the wrong." It has happened it my household that I make most of the rules and am a firm believer of limits for children but sometimes I can be draconian in my measures.
"Because I said so" is without doubt the most useless of reasons but still gets used with alarming regularity. I know that with young children you are the voice of authority and lengthy explanations are not necessary as abstract thoughts are still anomalous but I may need to fine-tune my reasons pretty soon.
4. My Inner Fashionista
I have a limited sense of style and this is freely admitted. Black and denim seem to the extent of my knowledge but when my daughter mixes colours, shades and fabrics that make psychedelia look muted why do I not thank her for getting dressed and expressing her own style rather than reacting less positively ? Next time I will embrace her choices and be glad of one less battle.
5.My Inner Hermit
Some would say this was not a bad trait to wish to hide from the world but it runs contrary to being a musician and performing. I think raising children brings these contradictions to the fore.
I know that we change once we have them but can never really quantify how. We just know we are tired and never really get to spend time in ways that was common place before the advent of the little people.
What to do? Laugh, I suppose and ridicule myself. I am human and therefore fallible. I am also in need of coffee.
1. My Inner Screaming Banshee
.......or not so inner anymore. I have become a fishwife and shout when it really doesn't make any difference but psychologically it helps, or so I believe. I have tried the breathe and count to 10 thing but it doesn't help. There are times when shouting seems like the only option but maybe I need to think more carefully first.
2. My Inner Drama Queen
I have always had a penchant for the dramatic but having children has really shown my acting abilities are still amateurish. I utter such statements/ questions, as:
"I do not understand why people think reproduction is a good idea."
"I have had enough of children."
"I want to be an adult"
This last one is particularly worrying as it so blatantly childish. It is a cry for help. Staying at home with the girls is the most challenging job I have ever had and probably ever likely to hold. I will never get an Oscar for my performances so I best leave acting to talents that warrant the accolade.
3. My Inner Control Freak
"There are 2 ways of doing things", as my paternal Grandmother said, "mine and the wrong." It has happened it my household that I make most of the rules and am a firm believer of limits for children but sometimes I can be draconian in my measures.
"Because I said so" is without doubt the most useless of reasons but still gets used with alarming regularity. I know that with young children you are the voice of authority and lengthy explanations are not necessary as abstract thoughts are still anomalous but I may need to fine-tune my reasons pretty soon.
4. My Inner Fashionista
I have a limited sense of style and this is freely admitted. Black and denim seem to the extent of my knowledge but when my daughter mixes colours, shades and fabrics that make psychedelia look muted why do I not thank her for getting dressed and expressing her own style rather than reacting less positively ? Next time I will embrace her choices and be glad of one less battle.
5.My Inner Hermit
Some would say this was not a bad trait to wish to hide from the world but it runs contrary to being a musician and performing. I think raising children brings these contradictions to the fore.
I know that we change once we have them but can never really quantify how. We just know we are tired and never really get to spend time in ways that was common place before the advent of the little people.
What to do? Laugh, I suppose and ridicule myself. I am human and therefore fallible. I am also in need of coffee.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
My Fellow Americans
I never thought I would utter those words but I became an American citizen on Monday having been here for 10 years.
I must admit that I was not happy here for the first 5 years. When we, my husband and I, initially arrived I had no work permit (at that time H4 visa holders were not able to work), no job prospects, no friends, and a bureaucracy that seemed unfathomable. I had never encountered a Health Insurance card before and had no idea what the numbers meant. My husband's family are here but it is not the same.
The bank would not allow me a debit card at first and I had to ask my husband for money. A visa symbol was a big no-no even though I had a decent credit history in England. Alas no history here. In fact one of the client adviser's ignored me and physically turned his chair to face my husband on discovering that I was without a Social Security number.There was great excitement to be able to offer "direct deposit" something we had had in England for over a decade at that point. So this progress was something we already had it? The banking system felt archaic to me.
If this was how I was treated as an English-native speaker and someone who could voice an opinion then I really pitied anyone who did not even possess the language. I was determined to fight for the under-dog.
I did acquire a Social Security number(a non-working one I hasten to add) because I was "obnoxious" at the Social Security office- who isn't? That was the employee's adjective and not mine. I only wanted the number for identification purposes as I was having to carry my passport with me and even that was not being accepted. It seemed ironic that the superlative form of identification from a government was being refused.
As an independent woman I felt confined, disappointed and angry. I was completely and utterly beholden to my husband. He was and is my tower of strength, logic, rationality and common sense. He can calm the waves before they hit the shore. I felt stripped of my identity and freedom and if anyone had had the gall to tell me how free the country was I would have risked deportation by resorting to violence.
My impressions were not favourable and I had a negative slant on life here for quite some time. Never before had I been treated this way and I had just returned from a year in the Czech Republic, not Prague but harsh North-Western Bohemia - an incredible place, with warm people who were erudite, educated and politically aware.
The years past and I made friends and still have them and had children. My American friends, though they may not share my heritage, are incredible people and I love them each and every one. Through them I have a greater understanding of who I am and what I and what my country represents. I have learnt to publicly express emotions and we did not do that back home. I know that nationality is not everything and that we are, ideally, one. As the dollar bill states, "e pluribus unum".
I learnt how to use the Health Insurance Card. Found amazing doctors who listened and tested everything. You don't get this in England- you wait and get an appointment if you are lucky. There is a zip code lottery so be careful where you live.
I joined a band and am recording a CD- The Mad Maggies rule! Discovered that anything was possible, got a MA in Adult Education and worked with my beloved underdog, teaching disadvantaged adults. One day I will return to teaching.
Now I am trying to establish the US side of operations for an English jewelry company. I would never have been able to do this is England. If you do not follow your allotted profession (I was a teacher) it is frowned upon. You don't have a dream and follow it is the English mentality.
The English are a pessimistic bunch and like nothing better than to be able to gloat when things fail. I am sure this is the primary reason for not joining the Euro- just to say it didn't work.
What made me become a citizen? That is what this is about unless,dear reader, you tuned out. I had to grow up and face the reality that my husband's job, career and prospects are here and my children are American. This is the country that has been very good to us. I am not really part of life back home and had been peripheral here but now I could be a full member of society and would be able to vote. I also hanker a desire to be Secretary for Education and could not do that as a non-citizen.
Application completed and all formalities over. I headed to the ceremony. What concerned me most was not how it felt to technically relinquish allegiance to the country of my birth but what music I should play on the journey there. Was it too obvious to have the pairing of Elgar, Vaughan Williams and Delius on the way there and Sousa on the return? Sousa to me is American patriotism in its best form- triumphant with The Stars and Stripes Forever. I opted for Kula Shaker (second album )and The Kaiser Chiefs.
The ceremony was warm and fuzzy. The gentleman representing the USCIS (formerly INS) greeted attendees in 6 languages and told some decent jokes. There was a feeling of celebration and solidarity. As if what we had to share and contribute was something special. We were here to be united as one but still aware of our 95 countries.
Colours were presented to highlight the formal and official side of proceedings and the national anthem sung.It was the first time I had heard this not sung by a bunch of drunks so hearing and seeing the words made a huge difference.
Oaths sworn and pledges pledged. The lady who led the new citizens was a stunner- easily 5'9", blonde, tight short suit, heels and a lovely pair of lungs. In fact the gentleman representing USCIS found that his attention was drawn to these young lady's assets. Something tells me she picked for a reason.
Had there been equality the pledge would have been led by someone who had really had to fight to be here, or had left behind dire circumstances and would have really relished being able to lead such a symbol. Who said I was a cynic?
I was supposed to renounce my allegiance to my old country but I lost my voice at that part. I cannot forget how I was raised and my heritage and that makes me a better person.
The downside of the proceedings was a smooth jazz version of "God Bless The USA". Smooth jazz to me is a form of torture and best kept away from the young and impressionable. See previous reference to Sousa- if you had wanted me and others to feel as if we were part of the country and patriotic play Sousa and I can guarantee not a dry eye in the house.
I don't like the afore-mentioned song as it suggests favouritism. Should there be a God then He/She should bless all countries and like a good parent not have favourites.
There were even some video presentations- fillers when the assembled sit still and watch TV- including an address from Dubya. Enough said. I get the message. This is a great country and we are lucky to be here and now even luckier because we have been embraced into the fold.
I do not think that the enormity of what I have done has hit me yet. I can vote, have a passport, not get deported and be a full citizen though my accent will always betray me.
My husband had hung a huge US flag outside the house on my return from the ceremony and I had to explain to the girls why I found it amusing. It was a great gesture.
Now it is off to realise my American dream and thank you for having me!
I must admit that I was not happy here for the first 5 years. When we, my husband and I, initially arrived I had no work permit (at that time H4 visa holders were not able to work), no job prospects, no friends, and a bureaucracy that seemed unfathomable. I had never encountered a Health Insurance card before and had no idea what the numbers meant. My husband's family are here but it is not the same.
The bank would not allow me a debit card at first and I had to ask my husband for money. A visa symbol was a big no-no even though I had a decent credit history in England. Alas no history here. In fact one of the client adviser's ignored me and physically turned his chair to face my husband on discovering that I was without a Social Security number.There was great excitement to be able to offer "direct deposit" something we had had in England for over a decade at that point. So this progress was something we already had it? The banking system felt archaic to me.
If this was how I was treated as an English-native speaker and someone who could voice an opinion then I really pitied anyone who did not even possess the language. I was determined to fight for the under-dog.
I did acquire a Social Security number(a non-working one I hasten to add) because I was "obnoxious" at the Social Security office- who isn't? That was the employee's adjective and not mine. I only wanted the number for identification purposes as I was having to carry my passport with me and even that was not being accepted. It seemed ironic that the superlative form of identification from a government was being refused.
As an independent woman I felt confined, disappointed and angry. I was completely and utterly beholden to my husband. He was and is my tower of strength, logic, rationality and common sense. He can calm the waves before they hit the shore. I felt stripped of my identity and freedom and if anyone had had the gall to tell me how free the country was I would have risked deportation by resorting to violence.
My impressions were not favourable and I had a negative slant on life here for quite some time. Never before had I been treated this way and I had just returned from a year in the Czech Republic, not Prague but harsh North-Western Bohemia - an incredible place, with warm people who were erudite, educated and politically aware.
The years past and I made friends and still have them and had children. My American friends, though they may not share my heritage, are incredible people and I love them each and every one. Through them I have a greater understanding of who I am and what I and what my country represents. I have learnt to publicly express emotions and we did not do that back home. I know that nationality is not everything and that we are, ideally, one. As the dollar bill states, "e pluribus unum".
I learnt how to use the Health Insurance Card. Found amazing doctors who listened and tested everything. You don't get this in England- you wait and get an appointment if you are lucky. There is a zip code lottery so be careful where you live.
I joined a band and am recording a CD- The Mad Maggies rule! Discovered that anything was possible, got a MA in Adult Education and worked with my beloved underdog, teaching disadvantaged adults. One day I will return to teaching.
Now I am trying to establish the US side of operations for an English jewelry company. I would never have been able to do this is England. If you do not follow your allotted profession (I was a teacher) it is frowned upon. You don't have a dream and follow it is the English mentality.
The English are a pessimistic bunch and like nothing better than to be able to gloat when things fail. I am sure this is the primary reason for not joining the Euro- just to say it didn't work.
What made me become a citizen? That is what this is about unless,dear reader, you tuned out. I had to grow up and face the reality that my husband's job, career and prospects are here and my children are American. This is the country that has been very good to us. I am not really part of life back home and had been peripheral here but now I could be a full member of society and would be able to vote. I also hanker a desire to be Secretary for Education and could not do that as a non-citizen.
Application completed and all formalities over. I headed to the ceremony. What concerned me most was not how it felt to technically relinquish allegiance to the country of my birth but what music I should play on the journey there. Was it too obvious to have the pairing of Elgar, Vaughan Williams and Delius on the way there and Sousa on the return? Sousa to me is American patriotism in its best form- triumphant with The Stars and Stripes Forever. I opted for Kula Shaker (second album )and The Kaiser Chiefs.
The ceremony was warm and fuzzy. The gentleman representing the USCIS (formerly INS) greeted attendees in 6 languages and told some decent jokes. There was a feeling of celebration and solidarity. As if what we had to share and contribute was something special. We were here to be united as one but still aware of our 95 countries.
Colours were presented to highlight the formal and official side of proceedings and the national anthem sung.It was the first time I had heard this not sung by a bunch of drunks so hearing and seeing the words made a huge difference.
Oaths sworn and pledges pledged. The lady who led the new citizens was a stunner- easily 5'9", blonde, tight short suit, heels and a lovely pair of lungs. In fact the gentleman representing USCIS found that his attention was drawn to these young lady's assets. Something tells me she picked for a reason.
Had there been equality the pledge would have been led by someone who had really had to fight to be here, or had left behind dire circumstances and would have really relished being able to lead such a symbol. Who said I was a cynic?
I was supposed to renounce my allegiance to my old country but I lost my voice at that part. I cannot forget how I was raised and my heritage and that makes me a better person.
The downside of the proceedings was a smooth jazz version of "God Bless The USA". Smooth jazz to me is a form of torture and best kept away from the young and impressionable. See previous reference to Sousa- if you had wanted me and others to feel as if we were part of the country and patriotic play Sousa and I can guarantee not a dry eye in the house.
I don't like the afore-mentioned song as it suggests favouritism. Should there be a God then He/She should bless all countries and like a good parent not have favourites.
There were even some video presentations- fillers when the assembled sit still and watch TV- including an address from Dubya. Enough said. I get the message. This is a great country and we are lucky to be here and now even luckier because we have been embraced into the fold.
I do not think that the enormity of what I have done has hit me yet. I can vote, have a passport, not get deported and be a full citizen though my accent will always betray me.
My husband had hung a huge US flag outside the house on my return from the ceremony and I had to explain to the girls why I found it amusing. It was a great gesture.
Now it is off to realise my American dream and thank you for having me!
Monday, September 15, 2008
What was I worried about?
Gentle reader, I apologise for my last self-pitying entry- we all have our moments. I have pulled myself together and realised that no one is perfect. I must stop being hard on myself, eat more chocolate and drink more tea.
Back to a previous topic of my eldest starting school- I was worried, she wasn't.
The first few weeks of school are now behind me and what was the fuss all about? My daughter is in a nurturing environment which she loves and is steadily making new friends. She is having a blast and is so excited to be there that each morning is greeted by her pleas to go to school. You cannot ask for more.
Her first day of school was not as emotional as I had imagined. My daughter saw one of her little friends from camp and off she trotted unaware that this was the first day of her school life. This was the right start- no crying parents and tortured good byes just a child who was ready to learn and start a new adventure. I am not entirely sure what they are learning just yet so the jury is out. So far so good.
One of the perks of this school is the principal; I have yet another crush. I was met with this glorious vision of a sculptured back with a perfect triangular shape pointing down to a pert bum- I almost drooled! I will add him to the list which includes James McAvoy, Russell Crowe and Brad Pitt to name a few. I have a feeling that several ladies have the latter if not all of these fine specimens on their to-do list.
I am happily married and will remain that way but I still have a pulse if you get my drift. Who am I not to admire the scenery ?
I have always had a thing for older men- so my husband fits the bill. My first serious crush was when I was 17 and an au-pair in Switzerland. He was 40, Italian and quite simply gorgeous. Nothing happened as he was the father of the children under my care but my nights were spent in serious fantasy.
To return to the topic. I am guilty of imagining the worst and ending up with an anti-climax. So I should just chill.
Talking of worrying the world is on the verge of financial collapse but something tells me that as long as Victoria Beckham has a new haircut and tight outfit we shall all be happy and forget these woes.
Back to a previous topic of my eldest starting school- I was worried, she wasn't.
The first few weeks of school are now behind me and what was the fuss all about? My daughter is in a nurturing environment which she loves and is steadily making new friends. She is having a blast and is so excited to be there that each morning is greeted by her pleas to go to school. You cannot ask for more.
Her first day of school was not as emotional as I had imagined. My daughter saw one of her little friends from camp and off she trotted unaware that this was the first day of her school life. This was the right start- no crying parents and tortured good byes just a child who was ready to learn and start a new adventure. I am not entirely sure what they are learning just yet so the jury is out. So far so good.
One of the perks of this school is the principal; I have yet another crush. I was met with this glorious vision of a sculptured back with a perfect triangular shape pointing down to a pert bum- I almost drooled! I will add him to the list which includes James McAvoy, Russell Crowe and Brad Pitt to name a few. I have a feeling that several ladies have the latter if not all of these fine specimens on their to-do list.
I am happily married and will remain that way but I still have a pulse if you get my drift. Who am I not to admire the scenery ?
I have always had a thing for older men- so my husband fits the bill. My first serious crush was when I was 17 and an au-pair in Switzerland. He was 40, Italian and quite simply gorgeous. Nothing happened as he was the father of the children under my care but my nights were spent in serious fantasy.
To return to the topic. I am guilty of imagining the worst and ending up with an anti-climax. So I should just chill.
Talking of worrying the world is on the verge of financial collapse but something tells me that as long as Victoria Beckham has a new haircut and tight outfit we shall all be happy and forget these woes.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
I am not the parent I thought I would be
I was never one to coo over babies I preferred puppies with their soft fur. Babies seemed loud, stinky, tiresome and tiring. I was not wrong.
Having children was something I had not really considered until I was 30. There was a slight concern that having a baby might not happen so having a child was my priority and I was determined to be a wonderful mother.
Raising a child would always be amazing and delightful- wrong!To say that child-rearing has been challenging would be saying that the Atlantic Ocean is quite big. I was utterly unprepared for the physical and emotional demands. I was, and am, at times a wreck. Should I admit this? Yes.
I had hoped to be able to reason with my offspring and do all those fabulous Mary Poppins inspired activities with a smile on my face. Wrong again- there seems to be a pattern. I have become a fish-wife at times bellowing commands and watching my own temper fizzle before my eyes.
I have become the nightmare neighbour who seems incapable of calm interactions between herself and her children- I shout. Is this the best approach? Probably not. Do I feel guilty when I shout? Yes. I never wanted to shout figuring that gentle directing, choice and positive responses would make loud voices unnecessary. Wrong again. I am getting good at being wrong.
I thought I would always be punctual but alas. My children do not see time the way I do- they dawdle when speed is needed and drive me nuts by needing to search for a blankie just as we are leaving even though I could have sworn it was in their hand. We, adults, see time as a constraint with a mental list of things to do in an alloted space- they see time like a flowing river; it gets where it is going no need to worry about the whys and wherefores. I should really see things their way more often. Maybe therein lies the crux of the matter- I expect them to be what they are not.
Child-rearing has not been the fluffy ride I thought it would be. It has been hard work and the hardest job I have ever done and will ever do. Every day should bring joy and there are moments but today is a day when I curse my generation for making women so competitive in all spheres. I give myself a C as a parent and know there is much to be learned.
I am learning way too much about myself and I am not sure I like what I find. I have less patience and tolerance than I had thought and there are days when I wonder if all the mothers around me who seem to be happy all the time are lying, Stepfordian in some way or they just have better drugs than us mere mortals.
I love my girls don't get me wrong but I find at times that I am unable to step back and watch them grow and enjoy these precious years. I feel trapped like serving time for being a mother- no chance of parole.
This is tonight and tomorrow morning when my littlest climbs into bed with me for a cuddle I will thank everything that I am who she wants and her warm little body against mine will remind me that these snuggles are just for a short time.
Each day brings new starts and tomorrow I will start not to shout as much and remember they are children after all and it is their job to bug me but mine to love them.
Having children was something I had not really considered until I was 30. There was a slight concern that having a baby might not happen so having a child was my priority and I was determined to be a wonderful mother.
Raising a child would always be amazing and delightful- wrong!To say that child-rearing has been challenging would be saying that the Atlantic Ocean is quite big. I was utterly unprepared for the physical and emotional demands. I was, and am, at times a wreck. Should I admit this? Yes.
I had hoped to be able to reason with my offspring and do all those fabulous Mary Poppins inspired activities with a smile on my face. Wrong again- there seems to be a pattern. I have become a fish-wife at times bellowing commands and watching my own temper fizzle before my eyes.
I have become the nightmare neighbour who seems incapable of calm interactions between herself and her children- I shout. Is this the best approach? Probably not. Do I feel guilty when I shout? Yes. I never wanted to shout figuring that gentle directing, choice and positive responses would make loud voices unnecessary. Wrong again. I am getting good at being wrong.
I thought I would always be punctual but alas. My children do not see time the way I do- they dawdle when speed is needed and drive me nuts by needing to search for a blankie just as we are leaving even though I could have sworn it was in their hand. We, adults, see time as a constraint with a mental list of things to do in an alloted space- they see time like a flowing river; it gets where it is going no need to worry about the whys and wherefores. I should really see things their way more often. Maybe therein lies the crux of the matter- I expect them to be what they are not.
Child-rearing has not been the fluffy ride I thought it would be. It has been hard work and the hardest job I have ever done and will ever do. Every day should bring joy and there are moments but today is a day when I curse my generation for making women so competitive in all spheres. I give myself a C as a parent and know there is much to be learned.
I am learning way too much about myself and I am not sure I like what I find. I have less patience and tolerance than I had thought and there are days when I wonder if all the mothers around me who seem to be happy all the time are lying, Stepfordian in some way or they just have better drugs than us mere mortals.
I love my girls don't get me wrong but I find at times that I am unable to step back and watch them grow and enjoy these precious years. I feel trapped like serving time for being a mother- no chance of parole.
This is tonight and tomorrow morning when my littlest climbs into bed with me for a cuddle I will thank everything that I am who she wants and her warm little body against mine will remind me that these snuggles are just for a short time.
Each day brings new starts and tomorrow I will start not to shout as much and remember they are children after all and it is their job to bug me but mine to love them.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
The "C" word
Before you get too irate, excited or plain irritated the "c" word here refers to that luscious velvety substance that once was intimately connected to the cocoa bean. What else could it mean?
There are times in a girl's life when only chocolate, chocolate fudge or chocolate cake will do. Maybe that should read in this girl's life. Once a month there is an all consuming desire to destroy any semblance of weight control and eat as much chocolate as I can to keep the demons at bay.
Chocolate acts as a pacifier and eases the mind and temper. Just the mere waving of a bar of the good stuff can bring a smile to the face and an inner calmness when there had been a dormant volcano about to explode.
I admit too that I am a chocolate snob. I was raised in England and grew up being weaned onto Cadbury's- the original and not this made by Hershey's imitation. I can discern Swiss and Belgian chocolate and have scant regard for American chocolate as it is too gritty ,has a poor cocoa content and lacks richness. Trader Joe's milk and dark pound plus are delightful and have been used in fudge, cakes and to enjoyably pass an evening stuffing my face.
See's candies -I shiver as I type- is an abomination and should only be given when the recipient is not much loved; I doubt there are any who could not conjure up but a few deserving names.
I needed chocolate cake yesterday and this leads leads me to yesterday's baking efforts. I came to baking quite late. My brother bought me Nigella Lawson's "How To Be A Domestic Goddess" as a joke. He could not, at the time, think of anyone less suited for such gift. This book is a bible; as elegant as it is eloquent and as classy as it is chocolate-inspired.
I was scared at first to try and master even the basics- having had sunken sponges which were filled with butter cream to hide the indentation- but I soon took a perverse pleasure in making cakes, madelines, truffles and even meringues (yes I have made chocolate ones). I have enjoyed the praise that has been heaped upon me but I have a suspicion that home-baked goods are still a sure way to win affection. Baking seems to have fallen from favour in these butter-fearing times but the arts have always had to suffer.
Unlike Old Mother Hubbard the cupboard was not completely bare but enough to make vanilla cupcakes with a simply divine chocolate fudge icing. It was a sensory overload and just about satisified the chocolate need.
Maybe the chocolate and baking are the release that I need each month. Don't get any ideas of this pursuit being naked or any other such prepoterous notions. There is something undeniably sensual about eating one's chocolate cake;there is no euphemism here. The creation of a sinful past-time (over-eating) just makes it naughtier.
At that juncture I bid you good night and I will hunt for more chocolate.
There are times in a girl's life when only chocolate, chocolate fudge or chocolate cake will do. Maybe that should read in this girl's life. Once a month there is an all consuming desire to destroy any semblance of weight control and eat as much chocolate as I can to keep the demons at bay.
Chocolate acts as a pacifier and eases the mind and temper. Just the mere waving of a bar of the good stuff can bring a smile to the face and an inner calmness when there had been a dormant volcano about to explode.
I admit too that I am a chocolate snob. I was raised in England and grew up being weaned onto Cadbury's- the original and not this made by Hershey's imitation. I can discern Swiss and Belgian chocolate and have scant regard for American chocolate as it is too gritty ,has a poor cocoa content and lacks richness. Trader Joe's milk and dark pound plus are delightful and have been used in fudge, cakes and to enjoyably pass an evening stuffing my face.
See's candies -I shiver as I type- is an abomination and should only be given when the recipient is not much loved; I doubt there are any who could not conjure up but a few deserving names.
I needed chocolate cake yesterday and this leads leads me to yesterday's baking efforts. I came to baking quite late. My brother bought me Nigella Lawson's "How To Be A Domestic Goddess" as a joke. He could not, at the time, think of anyone less suited for such gift. This book is a bible; as elegant as it is eloquent and as classy as it is chocolate-inspired.
I was scared at first to try and master even the basics- having had sunken sponges which were filled with butter cream to hide the indentation- but I soon took a perverse pleasure in making cakes, madelines, truffles and even meringues (yes I have made chocolate ones). I have enjoyed the praise that has been heaped upon me but I have a suspicion that home-baked goods are still a sure way to win affection. Baking seems to have fallen from favour in these butter-fearing times but the arts have always had to suffer.
Unlike Old Mother Hubbard the cupboard was not completely bare but enough to make vanilla cupcakes with a simply divine chocolate fudge icing. It was a sensory overload and just about satisified the chocolate need.
Maybe the chocolate and baking are the release that I need each month. Don't get any ideas of this pursuit being naked or any other such prepoterous notions. There is something undeniably sensual about eating one's chocolate cake;there is no euphemism here. The creation of a sinful past-time (over-eating) just makes it naughtier.
At that juncture I bid you good night and I will hunt for more chocolate.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Let the coundown begin
If you had spoken to me at the beginning of the summer I would have been tearing my hair out calculating how many weeks were left until my eldest went to Kindergarten. How am I to entertain the monsters? How many times can kids watch a film? What vices can I have as I don't drink or smoke?
This has all changed. I am now seriously worried as there are but 2 weeks until my little lady leaves the fold and is thrown to the lions in the arena of public education.
For over the last 5 years I have been nurturing my child. This has not been easy and I have sworn, lost my temper and done everything the books advise against but I have cuddled, laughed, soothed, played and danced with and generally enjoyed having this precious lady around.
I suppose that I have been avoiding external influences and the thought of her being exposed to all manner of things beyond my control is rather scary. That may sound as if I have been censoring her every move but a parent must have a degree of control. I have kept my eldest away from that purple abomination that is Barney and programs that dumb-down their content believing that children need to be patronised. If you expect little this is all you will get.
Maybe my child will be considered a freak because she watches programs from my childhood, Bagpuss and Trumpton e.g, but it is to be hoped that she will be strong enough to accept and embrace difference.
Different parenting styles will come into play as I will be reminded that certain children are allowed to do whatever with little regard and supervision but a swift reminder that is not how we do things should suffice. I will have to bite my tongue which will be incredibly hard.
I can't control everything now but then I too must embrace change and be more aware and accepting of what I neither know nor understand. I have to let my little lady grow up and embark upon the voyage of discovery that is education. I will support, nurture and learn myself. We will learn together.
As an addendum the little one is driving me to distraction and so I can now begin counting the days until she goes to nursery!
This has all changed. I am now seriously worried as there are but 2 weeks until my little lady leaves the fold and is thrown to the lions in the arena of public education.
For over the last 5 years I have been nurturing my child. This has not been easy and I have sworn, lost my temper and done everything the books advise against but I have cuddled, laughed, soothed, played and danced with and generally enjoyed having this precious lady around.
I suppose that I have been avoiding external influences and the thought of her being exposed to all manner of things beyond my control is rather scary. That may sound as if I have been censoring her every move but a parent must have a degree of control. I have kept my eldest away from that purple abomination that is Barney and programs that dumb-down their content believing that children need to be patronised. If you expect little this is all you will get.
Maybe my child will be considered a freak because she watches programs from my childhood, Bagpuss and Trumpton e.g, but it is to be hoped that she will be strong enough to accept and embrace difference.
Different parenting styles will come into play as I will be reminded that certain children are allowed to do whatever with little regard and supervision but a swift reminder that is not how we do things should suffice. I will have to bite my tongue which will be incredibly hard.
I can't control everything now but then I too must embrace change and be more aware and accepting of what I neither know nor understand. I have to let my little lady grow up and embark upon the voyage of discovery that is education. I will support, nurture and learn myself. We will learn together.
As an addendum the little one is driving me to distraction and so I can now begin counting the days until she goes to nursery!
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Addendum to Loss
My last posting had been about making a profit from a blog when the one before had been about the loss of a child. It almost felt as if I were trivialising such a tragic event but nothing can be further from the truth.
I have spent so much time thinking about the loss of this child and have had to just get on with things as I do not want my own girls to know what I am thinking. I believe I should shield them from the harsher sides of life.
This made me think of how the parents, my friends, are dealing. Do they just put on a brave face when they don't feel like going on? Are they shielding their daughter, naturally, and finding explanations of a sibling's absence unbelievably painful?
How are they coping with reactions from others? Have they been supported or have they wanted to punch someone who suggested that heaven had a new angel? I know I would have violent thoughts at a well-intentioned yet badly placed remark.
What hit me hardest was the milestones that had been anticipated: first smile, first Christmas, first steps, etc. but would never materialise. This year is going to be so tough as there is so much that should have happened but won't, constant reminders of what should have been. Christmas will be very strange this year for the family and I just don't know how they get through the days.
I am at a loss myself to begin to comprehend their pain.
I have spent so much time thinking about the loss of this child and have had to just get on with things as I do not want my own girls to know what I am thinking. I believe I should shield them from the harsher sides of life.
This made me think of how the parents, my friends, are dealing. Do they just put on a brave face when they don't feel like going on? Are they shielding their daughter, naturally, and finding explanations of a sibling's absence unbelievably painful?
How are they coping with reactions from others? Have they been supported or have they wanted to punch someone who suggested that heaven had a new angel? I know I would have violent thoughts at a well-intentioned yet badly placed remark.
What hit me hardest was the milestones that had been anticipated: first smile, first Christmas, first steps, etc. but would never materialise. This year is going to be so tough as there is so much that should have happened but won't, constant reminders of what should have been. Christmas will be very strange this year for the family and I just don't know how they get through the days.
I am at a loss myself to begin to comprehend their pain.
Blogging it Mummy Style
I was reading an article in the SF Chronicle- a poor example of journalism at best- and there was an article about Mothers blogging. It will hardly come as a surprise that mothers are more likely than other demographics to blog as they wish to vent having spent time with the little darlings (I use the term advisedly). What surprised me was how much money was to be made from this venture.
OK I can be naive and rather dense at times but had thought that the blog was an arena to just communicate not profit. There I go sounding all bohemian. Other mothers' blogs have been entertaining but I just saw them as a a reflection rather than product. There were ladies who were raking it in and living comfortably off the income from their blog. As one lady wrote you get little respect when you don't earn any money. Try being a musician and writer !
Once again I thought a blog was something you wrote when you had a few moments as you wanted to just have time to gather your thoughts and put them out there in the hope that someone would read them and not a professional venture. Looks like I missed the point then.
I have not regaled the world with tales of breastfeeding partly because I gave up over a year ago and wondered who would find it interesting. There have been days when the girls have driven me to distraction and I have wanted to take up smoking or at least sit in a darkened room and tally the number of years until the little angels went to college.
How would I put this blog into a product? T-shirts- slogans- Mummy knows best? Memoirs- the trying years? Oh dear what next?
I just like rambling and have no head for business as is obvious but I love the idea that there is solidarity amongst stay-at-home mothers in whatever form. We need to support each other through good and bad times and raise a glass to something no matter how trivial.
Talking of trivial it is time to cook dinner, unsaddle and feed the high horse and keep the superhero cape hidden until it is really needed.
OK I can be naive and rather dense at times but had thought that the blog was an arena to just communicate not profit. There I go sounding all bohemian. Other mothers' blogs have been entertaining but I just saw them as a a reflection rather than product. There were ladies who were raking it in and living comfortably off the income from their blog. As one lady wrote you get little respect when you don't earn any money. Try being a musician and writer !
Once again I thought a blog was something you wrote when you had a few moments as you wanted to just have time to gather your thoughts and put them out there in the hope that someone would read them and not a professional venture. Looks like I missed the point then.
I have not regaled the world with tales of breastfeeding partly because I gave up over a year ago and wondered who would find it interesting. There have been days when the girls have driven me to distraction and I have wanted to take up smoking or at least sit in a darkened room and tally the number of years until the little angels went to college.
How would I put this blog into a product? T-shirts- slogans- Mummy knows best? Memoirs- the trying years? Oh dear what next?
I just like rambling and have no head for business as is obvious but I love the idea that there is solidarity amongst stay-at-home mothers in whatever form. We need to support each other through good and bad times and raise a glass to something no matter how trivial.
Talking of trivial it is time to cook dinner, unsaddle and feed the high horse and keep the superhero cape hidden until it is really needed.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Loss
I had a great email from an old and dear friend of mine. I love getting his emails as they are so funny and adventurous. He is a helicopter instructor in the Navy so his life is slightly different from mine and I love the way he spins a yarn. We've been friends for almost 20 years and I am god-mother to his daughter, a delightful little thing.
As I read with amusement about his most recent trip overseas his email took a sharp and unexpected turn.
He informed me that they were mourning the loss of their second daughter. I was unaware that his wife was pregnant but to hear news of this nature shook and still does and I am not the emotional type.
The little lady was born 13 weeks premature with complications and lived for an hour; 60 minutes of life. All the hopes of being a sibling, a laughing little bundle of mischief and the possibility of being a responsible adult who could change the world were shattered and with it I expect the lives of the parents. How do you put on a brave face for your other daughter when inside you feel like you have been ripped apart?
I don't know what to say to my friend and his wife and that is all I can say. I just wish I could do something. I am a mother myself so this kind of loss is unfathomable. I don't know the pain they are suffering or how they can pick themselves up and face life knowing that they are missing one family member.
Is life fair? No. Do we realise what we have? No. Do we ever really love like it is our last day? No.
My heart goes out to them and to everyone who has lost someone.
As I read with amusement about his most recent trip overseas his email took a sharp and unexpected turn.
He informed me that they were mourning the loss of their second daughter. I was unaware that his wife was pregnant but to hear news of this nature shook and still does and I am not the emotional type.
The little lady was born 13 weeks premature with complications and lived for an hour; 60 minutes of life. All the hopes of being a sibling, a laughing little bundle of mischief and the possibility of being a responsible adult who could change the world were shattered and with it I expect the lives of the parents. How do you put on a brave face for your other daughter when inside you feel like you have been ripped apart?
I don't know what to say to my friend and his wife and that is all I can say. I just wish I could do something. I am a mother myself so this kind of loss is unfathomable. I don't know the pain they are suffering or how they can pick themselves up and face life knowing that they are missing one family member.
Is life fair? No. Do we realise what we have? No. Do we ever really love like it is our last day? No.
My heart goes out to them and to everyone who has lost someone.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Nothing much to report
It would seem that when you stay at home bugger all happens and hence there is a lack of anything of interest to report. I hope this will not be an epitaph- nothing much to report. I much prefer, "Here lies Edmund Blackadder, and he's bloody annoyed". There being a sense of not completed what you set out to do. Boy do I know that feeling. But by damn I will make my professional mark and the world will take note.
I can't believe that women in previous generations slapped on a happy cheery made-up face in this situation then smiled and grinned and bore- maybe emancipation did create its own issues. Can you have a career and kids? I don't think so- luckily nothing can be hurled at me but insults and these shoulders are broad. As for burning bras- too many women shouldn't have done that for the sole reason that the damaged their knees and backs! I am trying to get rid of that image and I have just eaten.
But in amongst all this there is a sense of freedom and exploration gained from writing a blog- the world opens up and the mind just frees itself. I have even got my Dad to write one which is a glorious thing to behold. He, like me, loves politics and social commentary. He writes acerbically and observes cynically but at least he is rising above apathy. Well done Dad.
Regarding politics everyone has a view on Senator Clinton's withdrawal from the Democratic race and Senator Obama's historic nomination for president. I hope he makes it purely for change but is America ready? It is not my country so does it matter what I think when I can't vote?
So, thinking back there is something to report- we are all alive in one way or another and just have to remember that. I need to stop wallowing in self-pity and pick myself up and bloody well get on with it and make sure that my girls become strong women with a cynical nature-it will help them later.
Cookies and a movie beckon- now that is news!
I can't believe that women in previous generations slapped on a happy cheery made-up face in this situation then smiled and grinned and bore- maybe emancipation did create its own issues. Can you have a career and kids? I don't think so- luckily nothing can be hurled at me but insults and these shoulders are broad. As for burning bras- too many women shouldn't have done that for the sole reason that the damaged their knees and backs! I am trying to get rid of that image and I have just eaten.
But in amongst all this there is a sense of freedom and exploration gained from writing a blog- the world opens up and the mind just frees itself. I have even got my Dad to write one which is a glorious thing to behold. He, like me, loves politics and social commentary. He writes acerbically and observes cynically but at least he is rising above apathy. Well done Dad.
Regarding politics everyone has a view on Senator Clinton's withdrawal from the Democratic race and Senator Obama's historic nomination for president. I hope he makes it purely for change but is America ready? It is not my country so does it matter what I think when I can't vote?
So, thinking back there is something to report- we are all alive in one way or another and just have to remember that. I need to stop wallowing in self-pity and pick myself up and bloody well get on with it and make sure that my girls become strong women with a cynical nature-it will help them later.
Cookies and a movie beckon- now that is news!
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Things I simply have to do:
1. Learn how to use nipple tassels to dazzling effect. As my boobs are dwindling -this is not through surgery- I better hurry up. I think it would be such a great party piece and could liven any dull meeting.
2. Become a writer of note though this is not a fine example of my literary capabilities- so I better improve my style, grammar, etc. I have perfected my Oscar acceptance speech for best adapted screenplay for my novel- a work with my dear friend Julian. I suppose I better tell him.I am not telling you the title yet either! Erotica appeals as I find it hysterical.
3. Have more patience with the kids. Practice, practice, practice.......
4. Improve my whistle technique and that can be taken as seen fit! Need a few more rolls and a greater sense of the music. Would love to play in a pub in the Gaeltacht surrounded by appreciative drunks- you know the emotional types.
5.Get my motorbike licence. Is there anything cooler than arriving to a job on a bike? No helmets do not fit the way they do in the commercials and the hair does not flow more like stick to the head. If it rains it is a bugger though and I hear the drowned rat look is not 'in' this season.
2. Become a writer of note though this is not a fine example of my literary capabilities- so I better improve my style, grammar, etc. I have perfected my Oscar acceptance speech for best adapted screenplay for my novel- a work with my dear friend Julian. I suppose I better tell him.I am not telling you the title yet either! Erotica appeals as I find it hysterical.
3. Have more patience with the kids. Practice, practice, practice.......
4. Improve my whistle technique and that can be taken as seen fit! Need a few more rolls and a greater sense of the music. Would love to play in a pub in the Gaeltacht surrounded by appreciative drunks- you know the emotional types.
5.Get my motorbike licence. Is there anything cooler than arriving to a job on a bike? No helmets do not fit the way they do in the commercials and the hair does not flow more like stick to the head. If it rains it is a bugger though and I hear the drowned rat look is not 'in' this season.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Friends
It was great to catch up with an old friend today and watch as our kids played well together. He and I have known each other since before children (BC) and I wonder how life BC and my mummy persona clash. I was the one who said I was never going to have kids and have had many people remind me of the fact.
Anyway back to the point. The older I get the more I keep in touch with friends from various stages in my life: primary school, high school, etc. Am I dwelling on the past too much wondering what might have been? Carpe diem isn't that the way it is supposed to be- I like a mix of old and new.
Some people just touch your lives and you know that you want them to be a part in your life in whatever capacity and for as long as it lasts.
The muse is not upon me tonight so I will leave this. Just wanted to say that my friends mean so much in their own special ways.
Anyway back to the point. The older I get the more I keep in touch with friends from various stages in my life: primary school, high school, etc. Am I dwelling on the past too much wondering what might have been? Carpe diem isn't that the way it is supposed to be- I like a mix of old and new.
Some people just touch your lives and you know that you want them to be a part in your life in whatever capacity and for as long as it lasts.
The muse is not upon me tonight so I will leave this. Just wanted to say that my friends mean so much in their own special ways.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Should I stay [at home] or should I go [to work]?
For some the question of staying at home or going back to work once a child has arrived is easy to answer: financial necessity. The mother has to go back to work but may feel slightly differently about work whilst being away from the little ones. A promising career, solid opportunities to advance professionally, or just a sense of not wanting to lose identity and independence may indeed clinch the deal for not staying at home.
I fall in a different category all together. I honestly believe that I should raise my own daughters but now find it harder to do so as the years have gone by. There are days which are full of reproductive regrets but then most parents feel that way at times. Were I to go back to work soon (it is on the cards) I would be filled with latent Catholic guilt (Dad is lapsed) but this should be balanced with my brother's atheism.
I have been at home for over 5 years and I am really finding it tough to find my place and find an identity that is not linked to small children. Thank heavens for the band and all the fun associated with it. There are days when I consider that I am losing the tenuous grip I have on my sanity. My sense of me seems to have all but diminished and I find myself having to justify my position of raising my girls. Am I justifying it to myself? I was on a site sharing a profile and could not bear to put that I was a Stay-at-home- Mum (SAM) so I used a different profession.
I did have a job and profession before kids (teaching) and I crave it but then know that I would miss out on the girls and their developments. It is also such a short time in the grand scheme of things but it drags. Luckily teaching is a profession that is always looking for people.
When I see the girls and see what they can do and how they have blossomed I know that I have had a huge part in that and soon enough I will not be having the same influence.
OK I could quit the whining and make a decision but I find it so hard think about leaving the girls then knowing that I would love it so much once I did- back to the guilt thing.
I suppose it boils down to finding time for me and making sure that I do not forget who I am. There is no I in mother just me.
I fall in a different category all together. I honestly believe that I should raise my own daughters but now find it harder to do so as the years have gone by. There are days which are full of reproductive regrets but then most parents feel that way at times. Were I to go back to work soon (it is on the cards) I would be filled with latent Catholic guilt (Dad is lapsed) but this should be balanced with my brother's atheism.
I have been at home for over 5 years and I am really finding it tough to find my place and find an identity that is not linked to small children. Thank heavens for the band and all the fun associated with it. There are days when I consider that I am losing the tenuous grip I have on my sanity. My sense of me seems to have all but diminished and I find myself having to justify my position of raising my girls. Am I justifying it to myself? I was on a site sharing a profile and could not bear to put that I was a Stay-at-home- Mum (SAM) so I used a different profession.
I did have a job and profession before kids (teaching) and I crave it but then know that I would miss out on the girls and their developments. It is also such a short time in the grand scheme of things but it drags. Luckily teaching is a profession that is always looking for people.
When I see the girls and see what they can do and how they have blossomed I know that I have had a huge part in that and soon enough I will not be having the same influence.
OK I could quit the whining and make a decision but I find it so hard think about leaving the girls then knowing that I would love it so much once I did- back to the guilt thing.
I suppose it boils down to finding time for me and making sure that I do not forget who I am. There is no I in mother just me.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Roadtrip!!!! Vegas Baby Yeah!
The initial enthusiasm for a road trip is somewhat contagious- the thrill of exploring new places, to boldly go (is that copyrighted yet?), planning a route, setting off and watching the scenery go by. The clocking up of miles just makes the destination so much closer that you can almost taste it.
This is quite a normal reaction unless you happen to be in a car with small children when it feels slightly different:"Are we there yet?" seems to be the favourite battle cry which only angers parents as they answer through gritted teeth that it is not that much further. At this juncture a little white lie is a good thing and a salvation in many a tricky situation.
OK so maybe it is unfair to drive 500 miles in one day and expect it to go swimmingly. Children do not want to sit still nor do they understand that the journey is part of the whole adventure. We had games, snacks, toys, songs- thank you Tom Paxton- and jokes but still it was a long trip.
Having reached the destination it is not always easy to just relax as new surroundings means new things on which to climb which can offer all manner of adventures, she says ironically.
First we stayed with friends, luckily who had children so could understand but then we ventured to coastal Oregon to a yurt. ($27 a night in tranquil surroundings- can't beat it) The younger daughter is by nature a climber, adventurer and explorer so we had our work cut out for us. The great outdoors held her interest and showed us how easily she can scale bunk beds, hide, and run away from us.
The elder daughter decided to show that she was away from home and therefore could behave badly; tantrums are not fun at any age and I completely understand why parents drink and smoke.
It wasn't all that bad at the end of the day. Our eldest daughter showed how she could fly a kite and the youngest's speech improved dramatically plus we got to see just how skilled she is as a mountaineer without there being one in sight. Both girls loved the outdoors and were so full of enthusiasm for the beach and all adventures it could possibly hold. Daddy proved to be a fine bucking bronco and the echoing strains of their laughter made it all so magical.
I have just one caveat- should you travel with small children make sure you have a holiday afterwards to recover.
This is quite a normal reaction unless you happen to be in a car with small children when it feels slightly different:"Are we there yet?" seems to be the favourite battle cry which only angers parents as they answer through gritted teeth that it is not that much further. At this juncture a little white lie is a good thing and a salvation in many a tricky situation.
OK so maybe it is unfair to drive 500 miles in one day and expect it to go swimmingly. Children do not want to sit still nor do they understand that the journey is part of the whole adventure. We had games, snacks, toys, songs- thank you Tom Paxton- and jokes but still it was a long trip.
Having reached the destination it is not always easy to just relax as new surroundings means new things on which to climb which can offer all manner of adventures, she says ironically.
First we stayed with friends, luckily who had children so could understand but then we ventured to coastal Oregon to a yurt. ($27 a night in tranquil surroundings- can't beat it) The younger daughter is by nature a climber, adventurer and explorer so we had our work cut out for us. The great outdoors held her interest and showed us how easily she can scale bunk beds, hide, and run away from us.
The elder daughter decided to show that she was away from home and therefore could behave badly; tantrums are not fun at any age and I completely understand why parents drink and smoke.
It wasn't all that bad at the end of the day. Our eldest daughter showed how she could fly a kite and the youngest's speech improved dramatically plus we got to see just how skilled she is as a mountaineer without there being one in sight. Both girls loved the outdoors and were so full of enthusiasm for the beach and all adventures it could possibly hold. Daddy proved to be a fine bucking bronco and the echoing strains of their laughter made it all so magical.
I have just one caveat- should you travel with small children make sure you have a holiday afterwards to recover.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
A Voice In The Wilderness
Can anyone hear me? Am I alone? Does it matter if I speak? Should I have an opinion? Why do I think I have anything to say that is worth reading?
OK, as one of the least diligent bloggers I do wonder why I set this up. I had such grandiose plans of typing a quick entry each night after the kids had been put to bed but that didn't happen. This was not supposed to be a magnum opus but ramblings of a stay-at-home mother who figured this to be an online diary.
Penmanship is a lost art these days- now I sound old and yes policemen do look young to me- and it is easier to type or text rather than sit down with pen and paper. Enter blogging- everyone is doing it ! Traditional barriers have been broken as language use has changed and there is no longer a feeling that only the educated can express an opinion. The internet is for hoi polloi.
As technology has been more obvious and prevalent it seems like communities have become defined by the online world. Families have become fractured for one reason or another, members moving away, and people are trying to connect on a different level. The internet is becoming our family through forums, chat sites, etc. as we are further away from our own whether this be a physical or emotional distance.
We are seeking identity and the ability to communicate on a wider scale hoping that somewhere in the wilderness we will find others who will be able to laugh with us, advise and sympathise.
A perfect example of this is the way we raise children. (N.B. 'nowadays' was missing but boy did I want to put it there). In days of yore, even a generation ago, the primary contact for all things relating to children was MUM. She knew, had experienced and more importantly had survived the trials and tribulations of child-rearing. Who do we go to now? The internet, of course. A faceless entity that strangely seems familiar and welcoming. It is not judgmental but does not have chocolate biscuits, a glass of wine and a tissue should we need it.
Is this better than before? I doubt it. We are all insecure in our own ways but the fact that people are ready to bear their soul to strangers somehow helps and gives comfort. I am conflicted about internet advice but that is my problem. I speak to my mother every day and ask all manner of questions and then seek out other answers from this other world. Guess what- Mum is usually right.
This is all a round about way of apologising for being bad at something. I had hoped to write more. That, alas, sounds more like an epitaph ...." hoped for more" but is not meant to be. I just wanted to ramble and hope that I was not alone in the way I felt or dealt with things.
Having an opinion is a good thing- share it and it doesn't matter if it took a while to type it.
OK, as one of the least diligent bloggers I do wonder why I set this up. I had such grandiose plans of typing a quick entry each night after the kids had been put to bed but that didn't happen. This was not supposed to be a magnum opus but ramblings of a stay-at-home mother who figured this to be an online diary.
Penmanship is a lost art these days- now I sound old and yes policemen do look young to me- and it is easier to type or text rather than sit down with pen and paper. Enter blogging- everyone is doing it ! Traditional barriers have been broken as language use has changed and there is no longer a feeling that only the educated can express an opinion. The internet is for hoi polloi.
As technology has been more obvious and prevalent it seems like communities have become defined by the online world. Families have become fractured for one reason or another, members moving away, and people are trying to connect on a different level. The internet is becoming our family through forums, chat sites, etc. as we are further away from our own whether this be a physical or emotional distance.
We are seeking identity and the ability to communicate on a wider scale hoping that somewhere in the wilderness we will find others who will be able to laugh with us, advise and sympathise.
A perfect example of this is the way we raise children. (N.B. 'nowadays' was missing but boy did I want to put it there). In days of yore, even a generation ago, the primary contact for all things relating to children was MUM. She knew, had experienced and more importantly had survived the trials and tribulations of child-rearing. Who do we go to now? The internet, of course. A faceless entity that strangely seems familiar and welcoming. It is not judgmental but does not have chocolate biscuits, a glass of wine and a tissue should we need it.
Is this better than before? I doubt it. We are all insecure in our own ways but the fact that people are ready to bear their soul to strangers somehow helps and gives comfort. I am conflicted about internet advice but that is my problem. I speak to my mother every day and ask all manner of questions and then seek out other answers from this other world. Guess what- Mum is usually right.
This is all a round about way of apologising for being bad at something. I had hoped to write more. That, alas, sounds more like an epitaph ...." hoped for more" but is not meant to be. I just wanted to ramble and hope that I was not alone in the way I felt or dealt with things.
Having an opinion is a good thing- share it and it doesn't matter if it took a while to type it.
Monday, March 17, 2008
The Milk of Human Kindness
The milk of human kindness has not gone sour in my books.
As well as looking after two small children I play in a band and yesterday we had a gig. My husband was taking the girls to a birthday party so I made sure that there was a present, card, drinks, spare outfits and other sundries before getting my things together. I kissed the family and headed out.
It was only after we, the band, had set up and were about ready to play that I discovered that I had forgotten one small but vital part of being a clarinetist- the clarinet itself. I am blonde so this is excusable but felt utterly stupid as I normally remember so much each day. I quickly asked in the pub where we playing if anyone knew of anyone who had a clarinet that we could borrow.
Calls were frantically made to people all over town. People were entering the pub asking if a clarinet had been found and were most concerned that one hadn't and had I tried this person and that. By now I was recognised as not just as the clarinetist with the imaginary instrument but a person in the community who needed help and after a few red herrings an instrument was found three songs into the first set.
I hugged the gentleman who had procured such a venerable instrument and walked into the hall with the liquorice stick raised over my head. I think the instrument's appearance garnered its own applause! Alas the reeds were beyond salvation but that was not the point; we had worked together and a complete stranger had been embraced into the fold of the community.
So often society is criticised for not taking care of its members but I often wonder how many incidents like the one recounted above happen but are ignored as they do not have the sensationalism of negativity. This act of kindness has made me think again about the nature of community and family. We all need each other and have so much to offer and give.
I look forward to going back and playing to say thanks and to see if I can help someone else out or at least spread the word that this community will take care of you.
As well as looking after two small children I play in a band and yesterday we had a gig. My husband was taking the girls to a birthday party so I made sure that there was a present, card, drinks, spare outfits and other sundries before getting my things together. I kissed the family and headed out.
It was only after we, the band, had set up and were about ready to play that I discovered that I had forgotten one small but vital part of being a clarinetist- the clarinet itself. I am blonde so this is excusable but felt utterly stupid as I normally remember so much each day. I quickly asked in the pub where we playing if anyone knew of anyone who had a clarinet that we could borrow.
Calls were frantically made to people all over town. People were entering the pub asking if a clarinet had been found and were most concerned that one hadn't and had I tried this person and that. By now I was recognised as not just as the clarinetist with the imaginary instrument but a person in the community who needed help and after a few red herrings an instrument was found three songs into the first set.
I hugged the gentleman who had procured such a venerable instrument and walked into the hall with the liquorice stick raised over my head. I think the instrument's appearance garnered its own applause! Alas the reeds were beyond salvation but that was not the point; we had worked together and a complete stranger had been embraced into the fold of the community.
So often society is criticised for not taking care of its members but I often wonder how many incidents like the one recounted above happen but are ignored as they do not have the sensationalism of negativity. This act of kindness has made me think again about the nature of community and family. We all need each other and have so much to offer and give.
I look forward to going back and playing to say thanks and to see if I can help someone else out or at least spread the word that this community will take care of you.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
All a matter of perspective.
It has been an odd couple of weeks. A very dear friend's father died suddenly having been diagnosed with an incurable brain tumour; he lasted a mere 3 weeks. There was a funeral for a 17-year old at the neighbouring church where my eldest daughter has ballet lessons. Two lives snatched away and I was fretting over an excessive 5 pounds! My God I really need to start focussing on what is important rather than being swayed by media images of what is or is not acceptable. Get a grip!
As I get older and am faced with more death I find myself somewhat hardened. Naturally I grieve in my own way but rarely do I shed tears. When my own grandmother died 2 years ago, I did not cry. I had accepted that the little old lady she had become was not the strong matriarch she once was and I wanted to remember as somewhere between Atilla the Hun's mother and Miss Marple. I had said my farewells when last I saw her a year previously, living 5,000 miles away from family makes family visits less frequent, and accepted that she had gone long before I got the phone call to tell me of her passing.
I suppose that I can rationalise when people go. It is sad to think of them never being around again but I feel lucky to have met them and known them in whatever capacity. My heart goes out to all those who grieve at present.
There is so much for which to be thankful: beautiful days, the sound of the ocean, the hugs of the family and the promise of dreams, I just have to remember what really is important.
As I get older and am faced with more death I find myself somewhat hardened. Naturally I grieve in my own way but rarely do I shed tears. When my own grandmother died 2 years ago, I did not cry. I had accepted that the little old lady she had become was not the strong matriarch she once was and I wanted to remember as somewhere between Atilla the Hun's mother and Miss Marple. I had said my farewells when last I saw her a year previously, living 5,000 miles away from family makes family visits less frequent, and accepted that she had gone long before I got the phone call to tell me of her passing.
I suppose that I can rationalise when people go. It is sad to think of them never being around again but I feel lucky to have met them and known them in whatever capacity. My heart goes out to all those who grieve at present.
There is so much for which to be thankful: beautiful days, the sound of the ocean, the hugs of the family and the promise of dreams, I just have to remember what really is important.
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