Pressure and Perspective at Christmas

This morning I heard a woman being interviewed on the radio, claiming that she was not sure how she’d cope if her delayed Ocado delivery did not arrive. Oh please, I thought, is this what we've come to. Could she not lift herself from her despair and go to a shop? And is it really THAT important, will it change her life? Have we gone mad as a society, have we completely lost perspective?

I felt saddened by this woman’s whining and it encouraged me to finally post something I’ve been thinking about for a while...

On Sunday I had a strop. I seemed to be in the kitchen clearing up all day and felt more like a skivvy than a mother. The next morning I chatted with a friend who said she’d had a similar day. With my hands in the sink I’d started to think about all the mums feeling the same. I don’t want to seem bitter, a martyr of my role “oh poor me with all the washing up to do”. I’m not getting into the male-female-shared housework debate here; my husband contributes (when he’s at home). I am very aware that men and women are different animals who see and do things differently and this creates pressures when living together. That’s not what I’m thinking about here. The point for this post is; what is it about Christmas that does this to us, why was I feeling stroppy and hard-done by at the supposedly happiest time of the year?

Is it just the sheer weight of celebrating – there are more meals, more parties, more people so more mess and clearing up? Is it because it’s the middle of winter when living is harder, it takes longer to do simple things in the cold and dark? Or is it because emotions are more intense – we so want everything to be perfect for our families on that one day that we put more pressure on ourselves?

I’m sure some would dismiss me as a miserable old bag but there are aspects of Christmas I find difficult. I like it to be a family time when we can enjoy being together without the pressure of deadlines. Last year M and I eventually stopped rushing around and got down on the floor and played their new board games with the children and it was great, for all of us. But this can be a difficult moment to get to.

I refuse to get stressed about Christmas – it is, after all, supposed to be simply about celebrating the birth of Jesus. One wise person told me to separate the two Christmases, to accept that there is one religious festival and one occasion of consumerism and feasting. That goes some way to helping justify the contradictions between the two. Although this week, with the Copenhagen summit in the news, I feel uncomfortable about the excesses of Christmas. As individuals I believe we all have to do our bit to help preserve the Earth’s limited resources. Obviously we do not have the power of world leaders, who have prevaricated then flown home in their private jets. But we all have to take responsibility, in whatever way we can. So much is wasted at Christmas, so much packaging sent to landfill. This is not a way of life I feel comfortable with.

“But it’s Christmas,” people say, “lighten up!” Okay, so if this is supposed to be the most joyous time of the year, why does it make so many people unhappy in different ways? I’ve seen mums distressed about Nativity plays – because they couldn’t get there or because their child didn’t perform as expected. Should we be creating this pressure on everyone? Children line up for school ghostly pale, exhausted by the hysteria – do they want to sing these songs and perform these plays for their expectant parents or would they be happier in the classroom? People ask “are you ready”, in expectant tones, creating the intensity of a crucial deadline. Is it really that important what we have for pudding on Christmas Day? And I’ve not touched on the major issues of people spending money they don’t have or domestic violence increasing. When did this become “celebrating”?

My point is, if Christmas is supposed to be a special family time, why have we created a plethora of fuss around it so that mums, with their hands in the sink, just feel stressed and unable to enjoy their families? I understand that celebrating Christmas is about traditions – everyone has their routines they like (or have) to go through, without which it doesn’t feel like “Christmas”. But surely there is a way of preserving these traditions without making it such a contradictory Event? Certainly, I often find my “Christmas moment” in the most unlikely of places. Maybe it’s since I had a baby at Christmas, but I can’t help feeling emotional about how it all began; Mary, raw in her motherhood, and her precious new baby, wondering how their life together was going to turn out.

If we could take a step back, reduce the obsessive consumerism, just give a few gifts and enjoy a few simple family meals together, would it not mean that everyone could properly enjoy the occasion rather than feeling harassed about the next job that has to be done in the seemingly endless quest to create the perfect, fabled, but elusive Christmas?

Loose Tooth

My six year old has his first loose tooth. He is delighted. Losing teeth is the most popular subject in his class at school (after football cards). He said one boy spent the “whole morning” in the toilet waggling his teeth! T is completely envious of peers who have already lost a tooth but I have discovered how much I am dreading this stage.

I had forgotten those years of losing teeth, of waggling them with your tongue until they are hanging by a thin strand of flesh; of tying bits cotton then slamming doors to pull recalcitrant teeth out. I don’t remember the pain of new ones coming through. I do remember the excitement of placing a little tooth under my pillow and waking to see what was there in the morning.

My children have beautiful teeth and I am dreading them dropping out to be replaced by unsightly gummy gaps and huge crooked slabs, teeth seemingly too big for tiny mouths. Maybe part of my dread is that this is another stage of them growing up, and children growing up can be hard for parents. Much as we can enjoy the new experiences (and sometimes freedoms) that growing up brings, there is also, for me certainly, a little pang of loss at what is now passed for ever.

Mostly however, the excitement over losing teeth has made me feel quite queasy. I didn’t really want to wobble my son’s proffered tooth and I’m hoping my husband is back from Bangladesh before it needs any intervention!

And what’s the going rate for the Tooth Fairy these days? I’ve heard that in some playgrounds it’s become competitive - before long I’m sure we will be expected to put a Nintendo Wii under the pillow as payment for each tooth. Fortunately I am blessed with a level-headed group of mums, but I’m sure some are more generous than others.

Pocket money has more meaning for T now – he has things he wants to buy. He’s being sucked into the playground football card obsession and me, being Harsh Mummy, has dictated that if he wants the cards, he has to use his pocket money (which he earns by helping in the garden, one friend asked me if this was child labour!) It might sound hard but I think it helps for them to learn the “value” of money, to appreciate the having of it and that it doesn’t just appear by magic. The boys certainly are wonderfully excited when they are given coins to drop in their money boxes.

I also do not feel inclined to start the endless quest to fill the very expensive football card book which will soon be discarded for the next craze. So I’m resisting, and to give T credit he is excited enough about joining in with the couple of packs he has bought. A pack of six cards costs 50p, so maybe that’s where the Tooth Fairy should start.

Babies Laughing

I'm not really into You Tube but I saw this on someone else's blog and it did make me smile.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hooid1LJ9Kc&feature=player_embedded

There's something special about the fat chuckles of babies. But I couldn't help wondering what it was like when all four cried at once!

Troubleshooting the Dynamics between Siblings

Having three children can be chaotic but, interestingly, I feel a third child has brought balance and almost calm to our family because of the relationships it has created. One of my favourite things about mothering is the dynamic between the children.

Although boys T (5 – but 6 this month!) and B (3) fight constantly, they are incredibly close. Sometimes I wonder if they are too close. They share a room – this is not ideal, but unavoidable. They do everything together. B follows T around and copies everything he does and I sometimes worry if this is restraining for B. He was desperate to start at nursery, because T was there. But it upset him when T went into the school room to do different activities and unsettled him when T left to start school. I feel B is really only now establishing himself at nursery. Will the same happen at school, will he just shadow T around the playground rather than being his own person?

I also worry that this adoration and dependency is having a negative effect on behaviour. B used to be such an obedient little boy, devastated if told off. Recently he has become increasingly naughty and defiant, worryingly immune to discipline – he just responds with a cheeky grin. It has taken me too long to realise that this is just his way of seeking attention from me – and T – and that what is needed is not just discipline but positive parenting. Too much of what I do is aimed at T, with B tagging along, expected to keep up because he does.

So, I resolved to treat him more as an individual with his own needs, to make sure, for example, I also read stories for his age group – and to give him some special mummy time. Today in the car I told him about this and said he would have “special mummy time” when he came home from nursery. He could choose what we did. He said he wanted to do puzzles – and added that sister J (17 months) could join in too. I felt touched by his consideration. He’d been promised special mummy time and his first thought was to share it with his little sister.

We did the puzzles. We all enjoyed it. B is adept at puzzles and I love watching him work out where everything goes. I suggested J pass him pieces, which she did, smiling, clapping and excited when we said thank you.

Walking up to school to collect T, B said “I love you mummy”. He often says this, he is wonderfully affectionate. Then he said “I’m going to be a good boy at home now”. It was as if, with a child’s pure intuition, he knew exactly what the special mummy time had been about. I stopped walking to give him a cuddle, which he was very pleased about.

It’s not all perfect. This evening there have been the usual fights, over a Spiderman colouring book and who was washing their hands first at the basin. But I feel more confident about them because I believe I’m coping in a positive way. There will always be issues between siblings but I hope that my new strategy will help, B especially, feel more confident about his place within the family.

Role Model

There is no doubt that parents are role models for their children. One of the saddest thing I've heard recently involves pupils in a school in a deprived area of Kent. A friend of mine teaches there and he told me that if you ask children in his class what they want to be when they grow up, they tell you they want to be on benefits. They can aspire to nothing else if every adult they see makes claiming benefits their entire vocation.

Many feminists accuse stay at home mums of being bad role models for their daughters - will daughters aspire to anything other than homemaking if they don't see their mothers working? This argument may have its roots in the guilt of working mothers; a convenient excuse for their absence. The relationship between feminism and what it means to be a modern woman and mother are complex; issues I’ve written about before and will keep coming back to. I write about this today because at tea time my sons gave me a strong illustration of the power of role models and gender stereotypes.

I was bustling around in my usual way, fetching drinks and mopping up when T, the five year old, commented "it's hard being a mummy, that's why I'm glad I'm a boy". "We will go to work when we're daddies won't we" B, the three year old added. Baby J smiled at me from her chair. Although I was amused by their simplification of life - mummy mops up spilt milk, daddy goes to work, I hope, for my daughter's sake, they will learn that these roles can cross gender boundaries. A positive aspect of our complicated modern society is that women are no longer forced into roles by etiquette and expectation. As my children understand more about my life I hope they will appreciate that I have enjoyed a variety of vocations and have chosen to be a housewife. An important example I wish to teach them is that a worthy goal to work towards is the luxury of choice.

Learning Independence in a Field

Following on from my frustrations about my eldest son not playing independently, I tried a little experiment. The idea was to encourage him to push the physical rather than verbal boundaries. I sent him, B and a friend off into the field next to our house; the challenge, to pick blackberries. I was not completely irresponsible. I took a magazine and sat outside where I could see them, Baby J bottom shuffling at my feet. Off they went round the perimeter, diving into the hedgerows, lifting up brambles. T called out that he was not getting scratched. I didn’t reply. They moved away out of earshot; after a long, noisy summer holiday, the silence was therapeutic.

I read a short article then looked up. I could not see them. I quashed my panic thinking “be rational”. There they were, camouflaged in a ditch. I watched three little bodies marching up the hill, B waving from the top. Then they disappeared from my view into a corner. I was relaxed; the worst that could happen would be a scratch from a barb. Before my reading and epiphany in the garden centre I would have called out to check they were still there, but I made myself give them some freedom.

They stayed behind that corner a long time. It started raining on my washing. It rained harder. I saw them racing across the top of the field in what looked like gleeful abandon rather than whining back home. I left my washing. They sheltered under the hedge; it was great. I think we all felt liberated.

They trudged home, deep in conversation, B trailing slightly, slowed up by tall thistles against his shorter legs. Baby J and I welcomed the adventurers home at the gate – I had to open it for B who can’t climb it. “We were working as a team” T called to me across the last of the field. They showed me what they’d picked – blackberries and some “blueberries”, which were actually sloes. T said B had eaten one so I had to deliver a lecture about not eating berries if you didn’t know exactly what they were – which in retrospect maybe I should have given before they departed. Was I irresponsible to have sent a 3 year old off into a field without an adult to pick in hedgerows?

But they all seemed invigorated by their run in the wind, talking about wanting to do it again when more berries were ripe. They had black stains around their mouths from eating blackberries; a clichéd sign of a wholesome childhood and I felt proud, like we’d all achieved. They mentioned that they’d wanted to go into the next field but didn’t as I wouldn’t have known where they’d be. I was impressed, this showed good common sense and a pleasing appreciation that it was important that I did know where they were. I said that next time, if they told me where they were going, they could go into other fields. They found this an exciting possibility. In conclusion, it seems to have been a good learning experiment for us all.

Stay Where I Can See You

A recurring theme in my thoughts is why my eldest child is not good at playing by himself – it’s something I’ve written about before in The Shame of a Modern Parent.

“My Bob used to be out in the garden all day at his age, I had to call him in for his dinner” someone said to me recently, and I wondered why my children do not do this.

I came up with two theories, both involving it being my fault.

Theory One – Nurture: T, the first born, had two years of fuss and attention and so still demands it whereas B, the second born, was fed, changed and put into his pram and so is placid and able to play quietly and absorbed by himself. J, the baby, is also content to bottom shuffle around playing with what she finds.

But is this due to Nature or Nurture? Were my children born with these temperaments or were they created by the different situations of their early years? Although my parenting principles were the same, the practicalities of having one, two or three children meant I did things differently. I’ve decided that all first children should come with siblings. Nothing distracts your attention more than another child and I do think it’s healthy that a mother does not always come running to a child’s demands – but it’s very hard not to when it’s just you and them.

Theory Two – T is reluctant to play by himself because I encourage him to stay near me. Last week we were out at a small rural garden centre in the play area. T disappeared into a maze of paths between some small box hedges and my automatic reaction was to call “stay where I can see you!”

I later thought to myself, if I don’t encourage my son to go exploring between box hedges in a place like that, is it surprising that he doesn’t feel inclined to go off and play away from me?

In modern times we panic if we don’t know where our children are at every moment. Are there more dangers or are we more paranoid? This is something discussed in a chapter of Liz Fraser’s A Spoonful of Sugar: Old Fashioned Wisdom for Modern Day Mothers, in which Liz’s Granny shares advice on parenting from her day.

There is a lot of good advice in the book, a return to the basics rather than fussing and paranoia. But Granny does say “times have changed and you mustn’t feel too bad about being more cautious.” There is a difference, Liz writes, between real risks, like more traffic and perceived risks, like there being more child snatchers. Traffic is now more dangerous but we perceive there to be more snatchers because we hear more about them. “Hearing more stores on the news about muggings does not mean there are more muggings”.

I feel sad for T, he’s a confident child but not confident to leave a certain radius of me – because I won’t let him. Liz’s advice is to “try to give our children more space to be by themselves in order to learn what’s safe, in such relatively safe environments”. Here I’m wondering if I’m confusing the issues of playing independently and playing away from me, but I do think there is link. He is still young to be going off on his own, but the incident at the garden centre has made me consider that I might be giving him mixed messages about independence.

If we keep our children too close to us in fear, will they ever have the courage to explore? Tonight we were talking about the story of The Secret Garden and I wondered, would the modern child follow the robin through that door or has our anxiety numbed any sense of curiosity?

Slummy Mummy and the Feminists: Why do we Categorise Mothers?

In my review of “mummy lit” I have yet to read The Secret Life of a Slummy Mummy by Fiona Neill – but it is on my shelf.

However, I have been doing some Internet research and came across some interesting comments on the book by Katie Roiphe on Slate. She writes “What is being celebrated here is the mindlessness of a certain type of child-rearing, a mindlessness we as a culture are currently infatuated with.”

That resonates with me because I’m wondering why mothers and housewives have become stereotyped in modern literature as being demented or desperate, proud to be exhaustingly scatty and never in control, self-obsessed with their own neuroses. In the “mummy book” I’m writing I hope to create a heroine who more reasoned mothers can relate to. With three children she will of course have stresses and periods of chaos in her life but her story will share the humour found in simply raising children and the issues you encounter without creating a whirlwind of disasters.

I googled “Katie Roiphe” and got sucked into more interesting but time consuming reading. She is a writer, professor and feminist. I thought she had some pertinent points. In an interview in The Sunday Times she said “We think we can create the perfect child by giving them the right music lessons or choosing the right pushchair...When I was a child, children played, and I don’t remember expecting my mother to give me her attention no matter what she was doing...There is a danger in the way we focus on raising our children...”

These are issues I find myself thinking about a lot as I ponder what it is to be a modern woman and mother and I was starting to respect Katie Roiphe’s opinion. But many people don’t it seems. On an American blog I found vitriol over her suggestion that using a child’s photo on your Facebook profile indicates a loss of your identity to your children. The comments went beyond the Facebook issue, and I agreed with many. “Maybe I am wrong...” wrote Laundry and Children “...but I always thought that feminism was about affording women choices...why is it that the “feminists” seem to think that the only choice that is acceptable is to be a working women?”

I am touching on a huge discussion, one which creates much diversity of opinion. But so, it seems, do mothers. “There is something weird about the way mothers are ranged against each other, like football teams; the yummy ones against the slummy ones, the at-home ones against the working ones; the traditional ones against the modern ones...” writes Zoe Williams in The Guardian, interviewing Liz Fraser whose A Spoonful of Sugar I am currently reading.

These are subjects which I hope to come back to with more thoughts. But as I tidied up the house this morning I was wondering, maybe naively, why we have to categorise mothers in such a seemingly negative way. Can’t we just all be Mothers?

Song Lyrics

My five year old is into words – he never stops talking and has an answer for everything. I should be proud, he gets it from me. I’ve realised that he’s me with a willy, which means at times our relationship is probably more tempestuous than it should be. So, he loves words, nonsense words and rhyming words. This has the potential for trouble as he walks around chanting “lucker-chucker-fucker” completely unaware of his social disgrace.

Tonight he was singing a lovely song as he cut out the pictures of Mr Men we’ve been drawing. He’s into song lyrics at the moment, been listening closely to James Morrison in the car, picking up on what he says, asking me about it and why he doesn’t say the words properly – no D on your “hard” James Morrison! B, the three year old, said that when he couldn’t hear the words he was just going to sing “nothing nothing”. Baby J, 15 months, smiles and bounces her legs, although she prefers High School Musical.

I love the way children take everything so literally. But when they’re analysing lyrics this doesn’t always work. I have to turn off Leona Lewis “Bleeding in Love” whenever it’s played on the radio as T pesters me about how can she be bleeding in love, if she’s bleeding is she hurt and why is that happening if she’s in love? When he heard Madonna sing “get off my street” he asked, did that mean she was going to walk on the pavement?

Tonight the lovely song was in rhyme, very impressive: “isn’t life great...mums are hard to tolerate,” which made me feel like such a failure.

The Complexities of going to the Park

Last night I was reading a section in Steve Biddulph’s “Raising Boys” titled “Why boys scuffle and fight”. The answer is testosterone. “There’s no doubt it causes energetic and boisterous behaviour...Boys feel insecure and in danger if there isn’t enough structure in a situation...they begin jostling with each other to establish the pecking order.”

This is interesting, but difficult to know how to deal with in practise. Today was a good example.

My two boys were playing in the park with three children they don’t see that regularly so don’t know that well. They were just settling down, playing around each other while they got used to each other again, when two other boys about the same age arrived. The youngest, probably three but a big three, was being a dinosaur, approaching our children with hands out and growling. Ours didn’t like this, my three year old shied away, said he was scared. They all became aggressive with each other, prowling around the equipment, running off saying “he’s going to get me”, but not in a way that was fun, interactive play.

As a mother I was concerned whether my boys started the aggression or were just responding to those boys. The atmosphere did change when they arrived but that may just have been because there were two groups, unknown to each other. Following what Steve Biddulph says the two new boys felt intimidated so responded with aggression and ours were galvanised into working together and forming a united front against the “interlopers”. On a positive note our children were suddenly having a wonderful game making dens and running about, even if it was to “get away” from these other boys.

Steve Biddulph writes that aggression is a reaction to no structure; he goes on to talk about why boys get into dangerous gangs. But should we provide structure in the park or is it important to let them experiment with relationships and behaviour? Is it too easy to say “they’re just being boys” when we should be dealing with their aggression? Were they victims to their testosterone or simply being badly behaved!

As mothers do we sit back and let them find their own way or should we interrupt and encourage them to “play nicely”. I only intervened when the frustrations became physical and then I insisted they said sorry and told them all off, equally, as one group. I’m not someone who’s afraid of talking to other people’s children and maybe the other parents didn’t approve, but they were sitting eating Pringles on a bench while their son was grabbing at mine!

It is so difficult to know how to respond to two active and vocal boys. The more I discipline the more they react but I can’t use that as an excuse to let them do and say whatever they want. Steve Biddulph may have some interesting theories but, in the moment, when confronted with noisy reality, it’s always difficult to know how best to practically apply those theories.

Me Time: Selfish or Altruistic?

In my current trawl through Mummy Lit (researching the market for the book I hope to write) I have just come across a section charmingly titled “Who The Fuck Am I?”

I sometimes wonder in this modern age if we spend too much time thinking about ourselves – what I want, me time, who am I? Is it good to be aware of yourself, does it make you a happier person, or has it been overdone with the result of creating a selfish society of people ultimately out for themselves?

Modern women/mothers can be very “me” centric; we are told to be by books, magazines and television, told to find “me” time amongst the chaos. I wondered if this was the result of feminism awakening us to ourselves or the selfish slant of modern society? But then reading Can Any Mother Help Me? I realised that women of history were interested in what they wanted too, but, being less empowered, were less able to get it and therefore often discontented.

Is our obsession with Me Time because, as mothers, we can’t just take it? If my husband wants to get a haircut he goes to the barbers. If I want a haircut I have to try and find someone to look after at least one child and get an appointment which fits in with picking up the others. Which is why I rarely go to the hairdresser!

I don’t really mind. I am immersed in my role as a mother, enjoying it, most of the time, and learning that the more you put in to it the more you really do get out of it. However, I am human and I do have my wobbles. Would they be fewer if I had more Me Time?

All modern parenting books talk about “me” time as if it were a right. But what I’m wondering about is whether this makes us selfish and therefore no longer capable of devoting ourselves entirely to family life? Is this a problem or does it create a healthier balance for all, ie, parents who are more fulfilled and therefore happier and children who can appreciate that not every minute of every day should revolve around them?

My Me Time is when the children are asleep – I guard it very jealously, this is why I get very crabby at five past seven, five minutes into “my” time, if they are chafing against my requests to clean teeth or being silly, fighting, whining they can’t get to sleep, coming out into the kitchen to ask for a drink. (As I write this the three year old is whining that his older brother is keeping him awake, I am ignoring him, in a minute I will tell him very sharply to go back to bed!)

I’ve learnt that I need some silence in my evenings to keep me sane. At the moment I’m having lots of silent evenings as my husband is working in Bangladesh for a month and a half. This has left me with three children in an unreasonably wet summer holiday (I’ve risen to the challenge and we are enjoying it – no deadlines and time to do lots of things we can’t do within the restrictions of a school schedule), but the bonus is lots of silence in the evenings for reading, writing and thinking projects – I apologise if this is making me too introspective.

I’ve just read a novel (yes, another benefit of being on my own is a lot of reading) about a group of mothers who were entirely “me” centric, dragging their babies between bars and beauticians or leaving them with nannies. At first I was scathing but became more tolerant when I remembered how debilitating having a first baby can be. Looking through my journal from when I had T they are full of my anxieties about doing things right and the overwhelming realisation that this is my responsibility, forever. This can be very isolating. I was lucky; I had a great family and community around me for support. If your pre-baby life has been consumed with a dynamic job, fashionable clothes, weight-loss, heeled shoes and socialising it must be a huge shock to have to put someone else’s priorities first. Many women struggle with this, hence the media call for Me Time.

So, Me Time, is it a good or bad obsession? We are all human, even mothers who are supposed to give selflessly to their children. I read a great quote in Steve Biddulph’s Raising Boys “A mother needs others to support her, so that she can relax and do this important work. She needs to be cared for, so that she can care for her baby.” My question is, does the modern drive for Me Time make us unreasonably selfish or produce people more in touch with what makes them happier, ultimately benefiting us all?

NB, the charmingly titled section is in The Yummy Mummy’s Survival Guide by Liz Fraser and is actually quite helpful with lots of useful advice on why having children will completely change you and your life and how to cope with this. Hearing that other mums struggle with the same things as me and how they cope is always my greatest therapy.

Happy Housewives

Do we moan too much? Darla Shine, author of Happy Housewives, says yes. The basic premise of her book is that housewives spend too much time moaning about how hard their lives are when really we should count our blessings and get on with it. “When did it become fashionable to be an out-of-control mother on the edge?”

Darla chats at you from her kitchen island about how great it is to be a housewife. She shares her journey of how she came to terms with giving up her career in television to raise her “babies” and learnt to love her new role.

It’s not for everyone. Darla argues that every mum should stay at home with their children, leaving behind careers like she did. I’m sure many women would love to do this but don’t have the choice, they have to earn money. Darla is rich and spoilt and fairly disengaged from reality - one important criterion for her new house was that it had to have a swimming pool and she was annoyed to discover there was no built-in barbecue. She’s American and does things stuffy English girls like me don’t approve of, like waking up her seven year old son just to tell him he can stay home from school to watch movies with her.

But I loved the book. It was great to have such a chirpy endorsement of what I do, especially when some people do put you down, albeit unintentionally – one friend referred in passing to my “dropping out”, the implication being it was negative to leave law for housewifery.

This week I could hear Darla’s voice echoing around my house, spurring me on; one morning I’d already damp-dusted every room and finished the ironing by 8.30. “Happy housewife?” I thought, rinsing out a pooey terry-towelling nappy. Yes. It’s smelly but fulfilling when you really go for it and think you’re doing a good job and can see you’ve achieved. There’s nothing more satisfying than watching your children scoff down something you’ve cooked. The converse is of course that there’s nothing more demoralising than having them refuse to eat something you’ve spent time and effort on, but Darla has an answer for that – “It’s okay to admit that some days really do suck”.

A lot of what Darla says is just common sense to me – but obviously not to other people! A lot of what she says is shallow and something I can’t relate to. A lot of what she says made me think – after a hard day, “would you want to come home to you?” A lot of what she says is hysterical - “I read a report that only 30 percent of married women were having orgasms on a regular basis...No wonder the women at the PTA are a bunch of crazy bitches”.

But the central message is sound. It’s all about celebrating, being proud of being a stay at home mum whilst recognising the realities – “Some days I look at my children when they’re out of control and I wonder why they’re misbehaving, what I’m doing wrong.” - and how to cope with them.

Happy Housewives is very much aimed at a certain market of women with choice and Darla has been criticised for her simplistic attitude of what’s right and wrong for women and their children. But the success of the book, website and now radio show demonstrates how many women relate to what she says – for all her faults she has touched a nerve, found a gap in the market that women want to be filled.

Darla is trying to start a revolution “Let’s fight this stupid image these desperate housewives are giving us”. Her message is simple but effective, stop moaning and work at things and you will enjoy yourself and feel more fulfilled. You can’t have it all, she says. “I think something will suffer, either your marriage, your kids or your sanity”. She’s old fashioned in her approach; many reviewers don’t like the slant she takes on husbands – “They want only three things in life: attention, appreciation, and sex”. But I’m sure husbands would approve of her recommendations – don’t nag him to death and don’t use motherhood as an excuse for not having sex! Relationships aside she’s encouraging some really important things for society like trying to bring families together for meal times, home cooking and talking to your children, basics which are lost in today’s world to the detriment of everyone.

She takes on feminists – “I’m annoyed that they’ve dropped the ball for women at home”. I would argue that feminism means having choice and that women like me choosing to stay in the home is liberating. We are empowered because giving up our careers to take on this domestic role is not imposed on us, as it was in the 1920’s with the marriage bar as described in a book I reviewed recently, Jenna Bailey’s “Can Any Mother Help Me?” Those mothers felt resentment as they were forced to give up jobs. We can now decide that being at home is better for our families and chose to do so and therefore feel more fulfilled. Fashion is changing I think, it’s not unusual for thinking women to elect be in the home and not the office. I’ve seen the other side and am grateful for the life I can now have. Darla would agree entirely – “Let him freeze his ass off on the train while I sleep...”

Happy Housewives is a fun book with a message. There are practical tips; when it comes to housework, “if you think it, do it” recipes and web links. I think I’m naturally a housewife, I like wearing my apron, so I didn’t need much encouragement from Darla. But it’s refreshing to have someone so excited about what you do.

At least someone's happy about the rain...

I love the logic of children, it can throw such interesting perspective on what we say and how we behave.

Today was a good example. After listening to a radio news item about the Met Office changing their summer forecast from "barbecue" to "rain" my five year old said "yeah, I'll get more television and time for artwork rather than you saying it's a lovely sunny day go and play outside."

There's lots to interpret from this, I'm still pondering it. But with the rain STILL hammering down outside the window and me frazzled after a day of being cooped up with hyperactive children, I'm desperately hoping for more sun this summer.

Can Any Mother Help Me? by Jenna Bailey

In 1935 a young mother wrote a letter to Nursery World asking “Can any mother help me? I live a very lonely life...can any reader suggest an occupation that will intrigue me and exclude “thinking” and cost nothing!” Through this letter the Cooperative Correspondence Club, CCC, was formed by a group of women who wrote to each other through a private magazine that was circulated between them. Jenna Bailey was researching material for her Master’s thesis and came across the collection of correspondence. Can Any Mother Help Me? is a selection of what she discovered.

The women came from different backgrounds but were united by their roles as housewives and mothers and their isolation within those roles. In the 1920’s “marriage bars” were implemented so that women had to give up some professions, like teaching, when they married. Many resented this and struggled with negative feelings about what they had sacrificed to raise a family. Some were isolated from communities or family and rarely had the opportunity to speak with other adults or mothers. Thus the CCC became a lifeline for them to share emotions and experiences.

When researching for the Suzanne Kamata interview I started thinking about “mummy bloggers” and their networks. Reading this book it occurred to me that the CCC was the original mummy blog network, just through a different medium. What I love about this book is that it demonstrates how the issues of motherhood transcend time; what members of the CCC were writing, I could be saying to my friends today. Mothers always have and still do find great emotional benefit through sharing and communicating, all that has changed is how they communicate, and the immediacy of that communication.

This book offers unique unedited anecdotes about how life was really lived, without the sheen history can give. The women were born at the end of the Victorian era and lived through two world wars so saw enormous change in their lives. Some are still alive today. It is a great book to help me put things in perspective. I felt humbled by their struggles. If I ever start to moan again about how hard my life is I shall think of Accidia who had seven children, “made” her own electricity, had no washing machine or vacuum and very little hot water - it took thirty minutes to boil the kettle!

It also helped to read the snippets of her children’s behaviour and so realise that children of history behaved in exactly the same way as ours do today. So often I chastise myself that my children are riotous compared to the Children Should Be Seen and Not Heard generation but from what Accidia wrote I take comfort that all children are just children “frequently maddening, infuriating, worrying, silly, exasperating...but extraordinarily interesting and delightful beings”.

Reading what these mothers struggled with has made me realise how relatively easy we have it in our modern world and wonder whether we moan too much. With modern conveniences to help us we have time and energy to complain; we are almost encouraged to complain, call our dissatisfactions “syndromes” and seek therapy.

We are also liberated and enlightened in comparison. We have choice, maybe too much choice, about how and when we work, how and where we give birth, what we expect from our husbands and what we expect from ourselves. The women of the CCC could only dream of some of the freedoms we have but these freedoms have just created a different type of pressure and expectations for mothers of our generation.

Ultimately the power of this book for me is that it highlights how important a support network is for mums of any generation or culture. Whether through extended family living together in a compound, a toddler group, blog network, Internet chat room or correspondence club, there is such therapy in sharing experiences. The CCC wrote to each other “in an effort to escape their isolation and make connections with other mothers”. When you realise you are not alone and that the problems you are experiencing are normal, suddenly you don’t feel so bad. There is such danger in isolation.

I also felt inspired by this book to enjoy my role and domesticity and make the most of my life in its current form. Despite their limitations these women were not “just” mothers; they showed extraordinary resourcefulness in what they did with their lives.

Being an obsessive writer I could really relate to these women, to how they read and wrote and thought and worried and shared these emotions with each other. One noted “I write to CCC to help clarify my thoughts” and I can understand that entirely. In fact, reading Can Any Mother Help Me? has given me lots more to think about while I ponder (probably too much) motherhood; what it means and how I do it. There will, no doubt, be more blog posts to follow on the issues it's raised...

Mother's Day by Kirsty Scott

I’ve just finished reading Mother’s Day by Kirsty Scott. I came to it with scepticism for I am a book snob and derogatory about anything with large, pastel italicised writing on the cover. I only chose it for research – I’m trying to read other “mummy-lit” to learn about the competition for the book I’m planning to write – and had dismissed it as trash before I’d even started.

I was pleasantly surprised. I hate clichés in writing and was expecting many; in mummy-lit we are all neurotic and constantly swigging Chardonnay. I nearly gave up on page 3 when Alison, working mum, starts moaning about being 11 rather than 9 stone. Weight is another obsession of mummy-lit; I’d already discarded one book after the third whine about how terrible it was to be so disgustingly huge at 10 stone 4 – I was ecstatic to get down to 10 stone 4!

However, if you overlook the few clichés, there are some great characters in the book and I became completely absorbed. It was easy to read, a great distraction. I was drawn in, thinking about the book all day – always the greatest compliment to any author. I tried to get into bed early to read. I failed, to get into bed early, so just ended up reading too late into the night to be healthy when at least one of your three young children will think it’s fine to start the day at 6am.

The story follows three mums who meet in the playground of a posh private school. Don’t be put off by the back cover blurb; it’s much better and less clichéd that it sounds. There are some fantastic observations about relationships with children and partners, some sharp dialogue and comic moments all mums can relate to. There’s a slightly contrived happy ending with everything working out for everyone, but it’s not the sort of book that wants to leave the reader feeling disatisfied for a character.

Enthused by this mummy-lit experience I will go back to the 10 stone 4-loathsome selfish character and see if she has any more to offer...

Sports Day

Today was my son’s first school Sports Day, for me a morning of stomach-churning emotion. I hated Sports Day when I was at school. I was one of the chubby girls; embroiled every year in an unspoken battle with my friend Sarah to see which of us would come last. I can still remember the fear of standing at the start, loathing the tension of waiting for the starting gun. I dreaded the indignity of pushing my uncoordinated limbs down the track for the shame of losing in front of the whole school and their parents.

In the build up to Sports Day I have ensured my emotions were hidden from T. I’ve been relieved to see that he has been utterly excited about the whole event, talking animatedly about their practises. My only concern (other than the fear that there would be a mother’s race) was when he told me he won the practice running race and seemed completely confident that he would win on Sports Day. I tried to tell him that this might not happen and prepare him for disappointment but he was having none of it.

It was therefore with a churning stomach that I stood with the other mums and dads on the hot school field. As T arrived with his class I could see that he was finally nervous too; he was pulling funny faces and had his arms crossed awkwardly across his chest. More than ever I worried about his response to not winning.

Rows of children in white shirts and blue shorts took their places in turn at of the top of the track. All my childhood emotions came back as I watched them racing their hardest towards the finish line, many moving awkwardly and looking rather bewildered about what they should be doing. I wanted to cry as I saw the stragglers, caught up in their sacks or skipping ropes, still struggling on while the race was won and finished. Their discomfort was palpable.

T didn’t win his running race. He started well but spent too much effort looking round to see where everyone else was. I watched him wait to be given a number to show he’d come first, second, or third, approaching a teacher with expectation. When he didn’t have one I held my breath for his reaction. He looked at me and shrugged his shoulders as he returned to his place. He was still smiling. He did better in the egg and spoon race, concentrating entirely on keeping the egg on the spoon and walking steadily to a clear win. I was so excited for him and he was so proud.

Some of my demons were leaving me and I started to relax. It was a nicely organised event with groups of children doing obstacle races and different games round the field, the focus not just intensely on the track. Despite my personal dislike of Sports Day I do not believe it should be stopped or made non-competitive. Winning and losing, succeeding and failing are things we have to cope with throughout life and so today has been an important lesson for T. Sports Day at his school is all about winning points for your house and I like this collective element, that the children identify with working together and being responsible for the success of their team not just themselves.

I’m writing this in the quiet hour I get while Baby J is asleep and right now all I want is to see T and give him a big hug to say well done. Well done for winning the egg and spoon race, but also well done for coping so bravely with the disappointment of not winning the running race, which I know he was so desperate to do.

Let's Play Pirates!

We have been lent some garden toys by a friend who’s having an extension done and can’t currently use them in their garden. They arrived at the weekend, a slide and a plastic caterpillar tunnel. B, the three year old, immediately climbed on top of the tunnel and said “it’s a pirate ship” and the boys launched into huge game of being pirates at sea. It was great to see their creativity.

Watching them I wondered where they first learn about pirates. Pirates are not part of everyday life, at least not in our village, so the concept must be introduced to them. Normally make believe games reflect what children see in the world around them, they play “going to the doctor”, “mums and dads”, “shopping at the supermarket”. “Pirates”, I realised, is a game we actively introduce to our children. And I couldn’t help but wonder why.

Pirates are violent criminals. I’m not just thinking about those off the coast of Somalia, even cartoon pirates carry cutlasses, walk the plank, fly a flag with a skull on it and go through life with the intention of stealing someone else’s treasure, or at least beating someone else to the treasure. But, despite these criminal undertones, “pirates” has been identified as a theme appealing to little boys – along with dinosaurs, farmers, and builders – and incorporated into children’s culture. There are books and television programmes about pirates, people theme birthday parties around pirates, toy manufacturers produce toys and dressing up outfits and you can buy games, cards and clothes with pirates on. Pirates are deemed socially acceptable.

It occurred to me it’s an odd thing to encourage boys to play. Do children even really know what pirates do? They know what they are taught, the parody of cartoon pirates, so wear handkerchiefs on their heads and say “ah-ha me hearties”. But I wondered what my boys would answer if I asked them what pirates do. They know what farmers do, they know what builders do. “Pirates” are just good fun, oddly dressed men who sail around on ships all day.

Watching my boys today I thought how refreshingly different this was in our modern society obsessed with what’s politically correct and “nice”. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not disapproving of playing pirates, just sharing a thought process. I was told today about a little girl who came home from pre-school singing “baa baa rainbow sheep”. In our paranoid society where sheep are not even allowed to be black any more, pirates have slipped through the “niceness” net. I wonder how long it will be before an anxious official realises this and decides pirates should come off the list of approved games so our children can no longer play pirates without taboo.

Mommy Bloggers

This week, doing research for an interview, I found myself drawn into a network of “mommy bloggers”. I enjoyed reading their blogs. As one wrote “there is something powerful in the shared experience of motherhood, regardless of the situation or circumstances.” I find it very therapeutic to discover mothers who think about the same questions and express sentiments I am feeling, something I hope other mothers can gain from my writing. Therefore I would like to introduce some of the mommy bloggers here:

Gaijinmama – this is Suzanne Kamata, editor of Call Me Okaasan, the anthology I am featured in. She has a fascinating range of subjects on her site and writes about mothering bicultural twins in Japan.

Twinutero – Katherine Barrett is another writer who contributed to Call Me Okaasan. I am a fan as she eloquently expresses many sentiments I often feel. My favourite quote being “I love my kids; I love being a mother. But at times I feel oppressed by a job that tolerates no days off and no off days.”

Motherlogue – I was drawn in by her phrase “Motherlogue is a place to capture my words, thoughts and emotions along this journey”. I can relate to that.

black and A(broad) – I read a review of Call Me Okaasan on this blog and loved the quote “oftentimes mothers fall prey to self-sabotaging thoughts that promote isolation”.

While doing this research I've been thinking about how important it is to have a network. I am very lucky to live within a fantastic village community where I know many wonderful mothers who give me vital support through their friendship. The Internet, I've realised, has created the possibility for a parallel network of cyber-mums across the world. I'm now looking forward to reading about these global mothers and learning from their alternative perspectives.

Report on the School Trip

T came out of school and collapsed theatrically at my feet because he was sooooo tired. Said the best part of the day was having lunch. Wasn't sick on the coach. Success!

First School Trip

My five year old is out on his first school trip. He is very excited. Last week he came home with a note and specific instructions: he had to have a lunchbox with a handle and no unhealthy food in it. Since then I have been duly making preparations as directed.

They are going to a farm. I think T is more excited about the logistics – the packed lunch and going on the coach. He’s been asking me to have packed lunches for ages but I have told him no – I can’t be bothered to think what to put together every morning and think that a school lunch will be much better for him. He was unmoved by my reasoning, but did listen when I said that I never had packed lunch at school. “Never?” he asked, amazed. He was triumphant when he realised he’d need a packed lunch for the trip. “You can’t say no on that day” he pointed out with irritating logic during our most recent discussion.

When your child starts school you begin a long process of letting go. The first school trip is another milestone I’ve realised. I’ve become used to dropping him off at school and knowing where he is all day. On trip day I will have no idea where he is.

He is very excited about the coach, something I don’t share. He will be leaving the sanctuary of the school premises and going out on the roads. I remember all too well news footage of those lumbering vehicles overturned on tight country bends, their passengers broken and bent inside. I appreciate that this is obsessive maternal worrying but I can’t help it sometimes - my worst fears always surface into my relaxing mind just as I’m dozing off at night.

On a practical note, T is car sick, a trait we first discovered winding into the mountains of Kyrgyzstan. I have taken precautions; a travel sick pill, a plastic bag in his pocket, a request to his teacher that he sits at the front. But I’ll also be hoping all day that he feels well and the excitement of his first trip is not marred by the discomfort and embarrassment of throwing up in front of his class.

I was glad to see many other mothers in the playground flapping as much as me: have you got waterproof trousers? Have you done sun cream? Do they need shoes as well as wellies? It was a new experience for all of us, used to being out with our children and deciding when they should eat, wee, change shoes or put on sun cream. The trip has introduced a new level of independence for mother and child. Next time we’ll all be much more relaxed; I watched with envy as one mother with older children casually put her son’s backpack in the line then wandered off to chat while the rest of us fussed.

T walked proudly up to school with his lunchbox, showing it off to friends we met. He was much more calm than I. In the car I’d started fretting about whether he might wet himself on the coach journey. I’d mentioned spare pants and he’d thought silently then said “I’m a big boy now”. He is. And I must learn to let go.