The Birds and The Blokes

Tomorrow I will be borrowing a book from my parents that I remember very well.  It's called 'I Wonder, I Wonder' and it's the first of three books that my sister and I read with our parents over a few years, which took us through the basic 'need to know' of the facts of life. The books varied in how they presented the info and how much they really presented at all, according to the age of the intended audience. So the first book was mostly about how boys and girls are different and how families change when new babies arrive. As I remember it, the family in the story had twins, conveniently a boy and a girl who turned out to look very different at nappy changing time. There was some talk of seeds and eggs, but nice and vague at this point. The second book is called 'How You Got To Be You' and was a bit more biological - I remember a lot about ducklings for some reason and then some stuff about puberty and how bodies change. The final book was really for ten year olds or older and talked much more about sex as such - placing it in the context of relationships as well as explaining the basics. I can't remember the title of this one - clearly I have been traumatised by memories of reading it with my parents and wishing I could be anywhere else.

Actually, it wasn't that bad! I am happy that I found out about sex from my parents, in a safe environment, where I was able to ask questions.  That way, when it was becoming more of a topic at school, I wasn't uninformed and gullible.  I certainly learned a lot more from school mates, as one does, but felt pretty clear that I wasn't in any rush to experience something I had come to see as part of marriage rather than part of being a teenager.

This is all very well, but the boot is on the other foot now, and we are gearing up to sit down with Matthew and start looking at the first book together.  Hopefully the books will do a lot of the work for us!  Matthew is only six, so we are not going to be talking about sex as such, but I guess laying the ground work for future conversations. It has become increasingly evident that both boys are thoroughly entertained by bums, willies and anything remotely toilet related. Sigh.  I guess that's as good a place to start as any, and if we get through a few good chats and Matthew comes out of them knowing how to be appropriately private and safe, then that is good enough for now.

One thing I am very clear on is that I don't want to lie to him.  It is hard to balance 'telling the truth' with not giving a young child more information than they can handle.  I have seen both scenarios in action with different friends.  One friend's boy was curious about how puppies had come out of a dog he knew. In a bit of a panic, and not wanting to be too graphic, his Mum ended up telling him they came out of the dog's belly button.  This seems a bit bonkers to me!  What harm could come from telling him the truth? On the other hand, a different friend was pregnant and determined to be very open with her older son and to answer any questions he had.  He ended up being almost obsessed with some aspects of the baby, in particular with breastfeeding.  I don't think a 3 year old needs to know what an areola is...

Parents will know their own kids and be able to judge what they can handle. It would seem sensible to me to get to your kids early with the correct info before they end up with some garbled account. Some people say that early sex ed leads to earlier sexualisation and being sexually active.  That was certainly not true in my case and I would rather be open and honest with my boys than have them find out from their friends - especially if they ask the kid who thinks babies come out of belly buttons!

Lies, Damn Lies, a Fairy and a Bishop

Isn't it peculiar that we teach our children that honesty is vital, when we actually promote and foster several complete fabrications throughout their early years? Lying is the worst thing, and we teach our kids that they must always tell us the truth, even if it's to confess something they have done that will make us angry - we will be more angry if we find out they have lied than about the actual crime, whatever it may be.  I remember as a young child, the word 'lying' conjured up a real sense of evil and seemed like the worst thing anyone could do!

Yet we are all complicit in several huge scams in which children are utterly deceived!  Yes, I am about to reveal that the Tooth Fairy and Santa are not in fact true... If I have just burst your bubble, I do apologise.  (A bit.)  (Not really...)

Ok, let's not get carried away.  We are of course not really lying or deceiving anyone. (Technically though....) Of course: the Tooth Fairy helps kids see a possibly traumatic and bloody tooth loss as magical and beneficial - it's a lovely idea in many ways! And I understand how Santa came to be the fat bloke from the Coke ads and Hollywood, derived all the way from a Turkish bishop. 

Matthew lost his first tooth yesterday and was thrilled when he woke this morning to find a shiny coin under his pillow. By the time he came home from school, a classmate had told him that she thought the Tooth Fairy didn't leave the coin, but parents did. Notice she didn't say there was no such thing as the Tooth Fairy! Matthew kind of told me this without asking me directly, which meant I didn't have to lie.  By this evening he was chatting away again about the Tooth Fairy and giving his remaining teeth a good old wiggle to hasten the arrival of more under-the-pillow riches. Perhaps he decided to hedge his bets in case lack of belief meant lack of money!

If he had asked me straight out if I had left the coin, I would have said yes. This would have been followed quickly by the instruction to keep this quiet and not to spoil this for his classmates. By six I think a child should be able to do this. In fact, I know they can, because I was that child: I didn't tell my classmates that there was no such thing as Santa. Or indeed Sinterklaas.

How did I find out by six that there was no Santa? Well, call it another Third Culture Kid situation.  As we were growing up in Holland my parents had to decide how to handle the whole clash of Sinterklaas and Santa. Here's a quick introduction to Sinterklaas for the uninitiated: he is absolutely also derived from St Nicholas of Smyrna. In fact, he is still dressed as a bishop, with a mitre and everything.  But he lives in Spain, not the North Pole. And he travels by boat to Holland and then around the roofs by horse on December 5th, not 25th. He doesn't nip down the chimneys himself, but has Black Peter, his servant, who leaves presents in the shoes that are left out. Naughty children run the risk of being put in a bag and being taken away to Spain by Black Peter.  There are many other features; families get together and give each other very complicated gifts, with poems. ( I really am not making this up.) There is a big tradition of chocolate and marzipan letters and sweets. And of course Sinterklaas' arrival in Holland is broadcast live and is cause for huge excitement as his helpers throw special sweets called Pepernoten to people.  It is a big big deal.

So how do you explain to your little girls what this is all about when all their cousins in Ireland and England are talking about Santa? My parents decided to cut their losses and as far as I can remember, I always knew that neither Santa or Sinterklaas were real.  The most important thing, however,  that my sister and I were told in no uncertain terms, was that we were absolutely not permitted to burst anyone else's bubble... If you can believe it, we never did. I remember many conversations where we played along with our excited classmates in anticipating the gifts Sinterklaas would bring, despite knowing full well it was all a load of rubbish.

One of the reasons my Mum was happy enough to tell us the truth early on, was that she has never forgotten the crushing and humiliating disappointment of discovering that her whole family already knew that Santa wasn't real and she was the last to know, as the youngest of six. That was the year she got a bike and her Dad had even put soot on the saddle! This just added to the sense that they were all playing a big trick on her, and she was pretty devastated. 

When it came to my kids, I would have been quite happy to go the same route and do without the whole Santa thing. In discussing this with friends when Matthew was much younger, some of them looked at me like I had suggested cutting off his legs. Seriously, I wonder how many of them considered calling social services...  In general Andrew and I were quite taken aback by how much Irish people went on about 'Santy' and asked us if we were taking Matthew to see him at his very first Christmas. He was 4 months old! 

Andrew wasn't impressed by the idea of not letting the kids believe in Santa and felt it was taking away the magic of Christmas. Having never believed in him and always absolutely loved Christmas and felt it was quite magical enough, it was hard for me to understand this.  In the end, I was outflanked as both boys learned about Santa at such a young age from their play schools and were so convinced and excited that it would have been absolutely awful of me to take some kind of stand on this. So, in our house, Santa brings the contents of their stockings and the rest of the presents are from family and friends.  This limits the gift lists as well as Mum and Dad's wallets are not as bottomless as Santa's!

In the end, I don't like the idea that I am not being honest with my children, even if my motive is to give them a bit of magic in the middle of their childhood. I will never lie if they ask me straight out if Santa or the Tooth Fairy are real. For now, these questions haven't even begun to occur to them, so the myth remains intact. We will see what happens when they do find out and I guess my one concern is that they may begin to question the truth of all kinds of things and I would hate for them to throw out the baby with the bathwater, by which I mean baby Jesus when it comes to Christmas at least! On the other hand, I can see the value of them questioning this as it may lead to some good chats. We shall see.  

I wonder when the myth will be exploded! Apparently Paris Hilton believed in Santa till she was 17. I started out talking about lies, and this may be a whopper, or at least an urban myth.  But as a matter of fact I have no problem believing that she was that stupid and sheltered. I expect she probably still does believe in the Tooth Fairy.

Less of a Person

It's been a while since I have blogged!  Life has been pootling along in a nice rhythm of school runs, football, swimming and housework... Nothing has really been exercising me or getting me riled up enough to blog. And I am not blogging today because I am riled up, but because I am inspired...

 I just got back from a Slimming World meeting in Stillorgan.  The usual stuff was going on: women queuing happily to pay for the week and handing fruit into the basket to be given to the slimmer of the week. 

Then everyone joins the queue for being weighed.  This queue is noticably less chatty and relaxed.  People start stripping off as much as they can get away with before they have to get on the scales, so the side of the queue looks like a jumble sale: boots, scarves, jumpers...  I have seen women take jewellry off.  If your jewellry is going to make a difference to your weigh in, it might be time to de-bling somewhat... Just a thought!

Sighs of relief or grimaces of disappointment follow the weigh in and people find a seat and congratulate or commiserate with each other. Then the awards go out: people get a round of applause and a certificate for reaching certain milestones, like a half stone loss, or 10% of their body weight. This evening Rachael, the group consultant, called forward a lady and told us she had reached her target weight.

A very slim, very nervous lady came to the front.  She looked really slender and pretty and I immediately assumed she had probably lost a couple of stone and used to be a bit plumper.  But no, she had lost over 8 stone. I think it was 8 stone 2.  EIGHT STONE TWO!!!  That is 114 pounds, about 57 kilos. That is just phenomenal! At first I thought she was telling us her current weight, but thought she was a bit tall for that to be her final target.  I was very shocked to realise that was her total loss - amazing!

Yet she had no loose skin or anything like that as she had exercised once she lost enough weight to do so. She told the group that she had gone from a size 22/24 to size 10 and can get both her legs into one of the legs of her old jeans!  She spoke about how different her life was now and how much healthier she has become since she started this in May 2011.

It was really inspirational to see her and there was a palpable sense of awe in the room at her tremendous achievement. It was especially encouraging when she talked about the weeks she had gained weight or the month when she plateaued and was stuck at the same weight. Yet she stuck with it...

So, I am feeling motivated and am continuing to enjoy the Slimming World journey!  I have my own jeans story too: Andrew bought me jeans in America last March, which was brave!  I could barely get them over my knees, never mind do up the button.  Last week I tried them on again and they fit! I was very very pleased! Maybe he should buy me the next size down for continued motivation? Maybe not...

Nationality-ism

A friend told me recently that she had mentioned me to 2 other ladies I also know, but not very well.  This led to a very confused conversation as they all thought I was from a different country. 'Oh, yes, the English Mum.' 'English? She sounded Irish to me!' 'Hang on, she told me she was Dutch...' So my friend wanted me to settle the matter.

The question 'Where are you from?' always makes me feel a bit self-conscious. Over the years I have developed a fairly short reply, but it tends to lead to further questions and inevitably: 'So, what nationality are you?'

The short answer to the first question is: 'I was brought up in Holland by Irish parents.' My answer to the inevitable question that follows is a bit noncommittal - I am of the opinion that you don't really have to choose a nationality if you don't feel that it fits you. If pushed, I would say I am European.

Many people absolutely can't cope with this reply at all and settle in for a chat about it; tending to approach it like a maths problem. 'So, where were you born?' or 'Where are your parents from?' or 'What passport do you carry?' Holland, Ireland and Irish respectively as it happens, which leads to the inevitable: 'Well, then you must be Dutch/Irish!' 

I must? Do people think I am too stupid to have worked that out for myself if they have managed to do so in 30 seconds using their own personal criteria? It's not as simple as that!

If you were born in the country your parents are also from and you grow up there and all your relatives live there as well then I don't know that you can understand not having a nationality and you may not realise how much a part of your identity it is, as it has perhaps never been questioned or analysed. The thought of someone not having a nationality, or not needing one, is perhaps slightly confronting. 

But it is about identity, not about passports or places of birth.  If I am filling in a form, I have to fill in Irish, as that's what my passport is, but that is just box-ticking and doesn't inform who I am. Growing up, I did identify myself as Irish. It is natural, particularly for teenagers, to identify yourself as 'the other'. It made sense to me that I must be really Irish as I was definitely foreign in my Dutch school. It was only when I moved to England that it became clear that a huge amount of my assumptions, experiences and habits were, naturally enough, very very Dutch. This was confusing and it was during the summer when I was 19 that I concluded that I wasn't Irish. And I wasn't Dutch. I just let go of the idea that I needed to 'feel' or 'be' any particular nationality - it's just not part of my identity. Obviously aspects of Dutch, Irish and English culture have become part of me; but I felt strongly that I didn't need to attach to one more than the other and was fine with no nationality at all. I was quite happy with that conclusion - it made and still makes complete sense to me.

One important caveat however is football.  I will always support Holland at football - Hup Holland Hup! My Dad assumed I would support Ireland and was very taken aback when he realised I did no such thing.  He is not in much of a position to be cross though - who gave me this cross cultural upbringing after all?

The story continues in my house now as my boys have their English Daddy (who has never never questioned his nationality and loves to wind me up about mine.... 'You're Irish really!') and therefore have 3 teams to be excited about in any sport.  I thought they might explode at times during the European cup last summer!  It did mean there were lots and lots of matches to be excited about. Equally, for the Olympics, it meant we had someone to cheer for in nearly every event. We haven't yet had a big sporting event where 2 of the 3 countries have clashed. That will be where we start to see with which nationality the boys are beginning to identify themselves. Although it's quite possible that this will be based more on the likelihood of sporting success rather than deep emotional connection!

My Brother's Keeper. And Minder. And Boss.

As an older sibling, I am being afforded a new perspective! It is generally very easy for me to relate to my older son, partly as we are very alike in many of our responses and attitudes.  Not to mention habits: it took him 35 minutes to change out of his school uniform today '...cause I found some books I hadn't read for ages.' Yes, I can hear my Mum laughing from here and I now understand how mad I drove her!

Seeing things from Adam's perspective hasn't always been as straightforward for me, partly as he really does march to the beat of his own drum - he's a quirky fella!  But as his Mum, not his sibling, it is now my job to see his side of the story in any given situation or unfolding drama.

We appear to be in a phase of the boys getting on each other's nerves quite a lot. Aged 6, the older guy is often quite happy to read, do puzzles or build lego on his own, whereas the 4 year old is still all about running around and being very very active. There is also a bit of a mania for 'wrestling'.  This tends to start out as fun horseplay and descend very quickly into slapping and tears.  

The older guy has been asserting his superior knowledge of, well, everything, alot recently and I have recognised how he feels as he does this.  Once he has mastered a particular skill or game, it drives him wild to see someone do it 'WRONG'. He is a child who likes things ordered and clear. For example, when asked what he likes in his new class, he replied that he likes that there are weekly captains of each table who hand out the books and other items during the day, instead of the teacher just calling up whoever catches her eye that day. This suits his sense of order.  When he sees his younger brother doing things in a way that he feels is wrong, he is therefore compelled to admonish, correct or lose his mind completely! He can't see that Adam is simply younger and may therefore be less skilled at some particular games or activities.  He certainly can't understand that Adam has a completely different personality and is very likely to want to do things his own way even when he is perfectly able to do things the 'right' way.

This is bringing back many memories of me exerting my superior knowledge and extra 2 years and 4 months of life over my younger sister. What in the pain in the neck I must have been - I would like to take this opportunity to apologise Rebecca!  But, in my defense, as I observe my 2, it is clear that Matthew is not trying to be bossy so much as concerned that Adam doesn't know how to do things 'the right way' and wants to help.  Bless him, he entirely lacks subtlety or the gift of encouragement in expressing this, but I do believe he means well!

Of course Adam doesn't care about the motivation - and I don't blame him.  He just wants to be allowed to do his thing without incessant interference.  So I have to act as referee, while showing Matthew I understand and giving Adam the freedom play his way. Frankly, I think a job at the UN would require less diplomacy and negotiation skills.  

A recent parenting course we did spoke about sibling relationships and how parents should be involved or sometimes step back.  One interesting point the course material made was that their relationship is their own and sometimes parents do need to bow out of the normal bickering and  jostling that goes with being a brother or a sister: it's their relationship and they need to find their own way of getting along together.  Constant parental intervention won't allow them to find their own 'language' and games, as well as stopping them being equipped to resolve their own disagreements and reach compromises.  You can see how these skills will be useful in later life! 

So I don't want to interfere and not allow them the space to be brothers, along with all the expected squabbles and rivalries.  But neither do I want to leave them alone to the point where Matthew bosses Adam incessantly and Adam feels unable to do anything in his own way.  For all that they will have their own relationship, we will have one insufferable child and one stifled one.  So we are back to refereeing, negotiation and diplomacy. 
The one relief is that this will even out over time, as Adam catches up in skills and as they each develop their own distinct and separate interests. For now though, I am thinking of investing in a whistle.

Carrot Sticks. I mean Carrot or Stick.

Bribery as a parenting technique can be very useful and effective.  It may not be in many parenting manuals as the best way to get your kids to cooperate, but it definitely helps when out and about with grumpy kids: 'If you behave well in the supermarket, we'll see about buying a treat on the way to the checkout.'  Then you can curb imminent naughtiness in the supermarket on the way round by threatening to withhold the treat. Genius.

Until Adam that is. 

Here is a child who will not be bribed. 'If you don't finish your dinner, you won't get any ice-cream.' 'I don't want any ice cream.' Many kids would back down from this position when they saw their older brother tucking into a bowl of chocolate ice cream with sprinkles.  Not Adam. He will quite happily not finish his dinner, not have any ice cream and leave the table and go off and play.

My conclusion with him is that he would rather have the power than the bribe - he wants to be in charge of the situation.  He has a very strong personality! 

There is definitely a positive side to having a strong willed child - rather than a pushover.  Is it wildly optimistic of me to hope that this could have some positive repercussions? In his teenage years, I would like to imagine he would be less easily led and able to stand up for what he believes in rather than go along like a sheep. However, that doesn't necessarily help me now!

The latest scenario in which I had to battle Adam's strong will was that of swimming lessons.  He is in the so-called confidence class; where they just get the kids to splash about in the water in order to feel at ease with getting water in their faces etc. After a summer holiday in which both boys more or less lived in the swimming pool, we thought it was the perfect time for lessons, and indeed Matthew is flying along in his class.  Adam was fine for the first class and I was therefore completely unprepared for the hysterical crying that suddenly erupted as we walked to the learner pool for the second class.  He was really very very upset and very unwilling to even try.  He spent a bit of time in the pool, but I had to wait by the side for most of it, which I wasn't really supposed to do.  

During the week that followed, we took him swimming as a family where he had a great time splashing about with no fear or concern.  We also talked a lot about the lessons and tried to get to the bottom of what he didn't like.  But his responses were a bit inconsistent and bewildering.  So, I went for the bribery option: Moshi Monsters. (No, no idea either...) I also set up a playdate with a boy in the class whose Mum I recognised as a friend of a friend. (I more or less accosted her by text and she was gracious enough to invite us round to play with her son, which was really very nice of her.)

The day of the third class dawns and the first words out of Adam's mouth as he wakes are: 'I don't want to do swimming.' Sigh.  I was really dreading it!  I told him about the Moshi Monsters he would get: 'I don't want them!' And there was a huge amount of crying at the pool and he eventually got into the pool for the second half of the lesson, but refused to take part in the activities. So I gave him one of the Moshis in the pack as he had only been in for half the lesson...

In case I am sounding like a heartless Mum for insisting he got in the pool if he didn't want to: I knew he really wasn't afraid of the water, he said he liked his teacher and I was there the whole time.  And we have already paid for the term...  And I don't want to have a kid who learns that throwing a wobbler gets him out of things he doesn't want to do.  But if I really thought he was genuinely traumatised I would of course have changed my approach.

Ok, defense of me over.

Week 4. New bribe in bag: football cards, which are already being collected by both boys. 'I don't want them!' The crying started and the new development was the fighting - he wouldn't even stand up to walk to the pool and was really wrestling me.  This is all, of course, happening under the interested gaze of many other parents, presumably all thinking :'Thanks God that's not me!'

I decided a new approach was needed and I got down on his eye level and said, firmly: 'We are not going home until you have got in the pool.' I am not sure how my tone communicated this, but he absolutely knew that I meant it, and that I was finished pleading, bribing and cajoling. He got up, walked to the pool and got in and stayed in for the whole class.  

It was a real light bulb moment for me! I never used to understand why people talked about getting to know your baby or your child. Surely you decide what kind of a parent you are gong to be and they have to fit in with that?  Well, to a point... But it's also about understanding what makes them tick - what each individual child responds to.  My older boy will respond to the promise of treats or the withholding of same. It is clear that Adam will not and that he needs to be shown, unequivocally, who holds the power in a situation.  I don't mean that I have to learn how to bully him.  Just that I have to communicate to him that he is not in charge and I am and that he must do as I say, for no other reason than that I am the parent.  I am glad I figured this out when he was 4 and not 14 and I hope I am able to find that authoritative (not authoritarian) tone again - next time I need to.  We'll see how week 5 goes!

Third Culture Adult

The phrase 'third culture kid' is one I have heard flung about for years, without ever really understanding what it meant. It was never very clear to me what the third culture was; evidently not the culture one lived in, or the culture of one's parents.  This quote finally illuminates for me what was meant and defines something I definitely already knew and absolutely experienced.  So now it comes together and makes sense!

My relationship with this quote is as follows: my parents' culture is Irish - they were both born and bred here and lived here till they were in their mid twenties.  The culture in which my sister and I grew up was Dutch, but included a very strong international element.  We attended an international school until I was 11 and my sister was 8 and there were always kids from all over the world around.  Not sure how that element would be part of the definition, but that was my experience! 

The concept of not having ownership over any culture is absolutely true and I remember in my late teens feeling that I would never feel fully at home in any country.  This actually made me quite angry and I went through a bit of a phase of expressing how much I felt like an outsider in interesting hairstyles and clothes. Of course all teens feel like an outsider and maybe I was quite fortunate in having such a clear focus for the usual angst and insecurities.

When we lived in  Holland, I assumed I was quite Irish. This was simply a conclusion I drew because I didn't really feel Dutch.  When I ended up in England at university, it became clear that I was in fact quite a bit more Dutch than I had ever realised: I turned up on time for everything and was told I was very blunt and direct!

For all that I was born in Holland, I didn't grow up in a Dutch family and I could have lived in Holland for a hundred years and never ever fully understood or learned all the social niceties or linguistic quirks. Things that were completely self evident to my classmates were utterly baffling to me, on a daily basis! I never got the hang of the correct 'the' for each nouns: 'het' or 'de' and was always being corrected. 

Equally, now living in Ireland, but not having been here for my childhood, there are always things that I need to have explained - particularly when it comes to kids tv, with which the Irish, and more particularly the English, are utterly obsessed once you get them talking about it. (There isn't room in this blog, or even the whole internet to talk about how out of step I felt with the English culture when I first lived there!)

The quote rings absolutely true when it comes to the third culture: the sense of belonging comes from links with people in the same situation. Of course all siblings share a unique bond; but I do feel my sister and I have a particularly unique bond. She and I are the only ones that know what is was like to be of Irish parents, living in that part of Holland, in such an international setting. My third culture was shared with her, until I moved to England, and it is a culture of fun, imagination, music and creativity. 

I guess my boys will have their own third culture in amongst a mix of an Irish education, an English Daddy, a throughly confused Mummy, Dutch cousins and learning a smattering of Dutch themselves. If theirs is half as unique and meaningful as Rebecca's and mine, they are going to have a wonderful bond.

How To Ask Mothers if They Work

I have a new friend - at least we are becoming friends! Her son is new to Matthew's class and her younger son is the same age as Adam. So we have got together a couple of times to chat while the boys play. And while she looks after her twin 6 month old boys. That's right, 4 boys, 2 of which are 6 months old.

It occurred to me after the other day when we had spent the afternoon together, that I don't know what she used to do when she worked, or if she has worked since having any of the kids. That got me thinking about some awkward conversations I have had where I have ended up over-PC-ing. Example:

'Do you work?' 'No, I am at home with the kids' .Gosh, well then you do work! Ha ha' 'Yes, just not for any pay! Ha ha.' 'I meant outside the home, sorry, not that you did nothing!' 'No, I know what you mean...!' You end up feeling like you have asked someone what they used to do, back when they were a person and not a Mum. I end up throwing 'outside the home' into the initial question to show my complete understanding for the fact that they do in fact work very hard. But should I do that? Is that not more patronising in itself?

At school there was a government initiative that got all the girls to think about jobs in science. It had laudable aims and was intended to challenge the perception that science was for boys and jobs linked to scientific third level education were somehow off limits to women. I remember sitting in this random van that was going round all the schools and the woman going round the group asking us all what we wanted to be. I mumbled something along with the rest of them, possibly teacher, but I remember very clearly thinking: 'Mostly, I want to have a family and be a wife and mum and I am not that bothered about having a career.'  The van was definitely not the right place to express this; this was obvious to me even at 14!

And I am more than happy to have got a degree and to have had a brief teaching career followed by 5 completely different jobs. Jobs as opposed to a career. That distinction is quite clear in my mind and I am happy enough with it. When I didn't know if I was ever going to be able to become a Mum, I remember feeling quite frantic about what on earth I was going to do for the next 40 years. Although I have enjoyed most of my jobs, I really did want to have a family - but this wasn't an ambition I felt I could really share with many people, if it could even be considered an amibition and not just opting out. Out of a career, out of feminism maybe, out of everything that has been fought for on women's behalf for a long time.

Cherie Blair recently made a speech that was widely reported in which she was very critical of so-called 'Yummy Mummies' who are betraying all that feminists have fought for by settling for marriage and looking after their kids instead of pursuing a career.

Or am I in fact doing exactly what was fought for: choosing? Just because my choice resembles what most women ended up doing by default in previous generations, when there wasn't a choice, doesn't mean it isn't just that: a choice, MY choice.  And, bigger than that, a choice Andrew and I have made together. Equality is surely about having the choice, not about being forced into doing something you don't want to do, whether that is 'holding the baby' or doing the 9 to 5 thing.
I am now on the receiving end of those questions: 'do you work?', when , according to the tax authorities at least, I don't. I don't want to appear defensive and retort: 'yes, but not for pay and the hours are terrible!' I do have time to myself every day and I am thoroughly enjoying the absence of that endless pressure to succeed at work while having a clean house and food on the table, so I don't want to paint myself as a martyr. But I don't endlessly swan around boutiques and coffee shops either, and I work bloody hard as a Mum and housewife and in supporting Andrew in his career.

Perhaps the best reply is: 'Yes, I am a feminist housewife!' It's all about choice baby!

Birthday Boys

When I tell people that my 2 boys have the same birthday, despite being 2 years apart in age, I get some very different responses.  

The one I never quite know how to answer is: 'Oh, no, that's awful for them!' It is?  Gosh, how terrible of me to have inflicted this on them...  Oh wait, there was nothing I could actually do about it!  What exactly do people who think this is such a bad thing expect me to do about it?  And why would it be such a bad thing?

No worse surely than having a Christmas birthday, which has always struck me as kind of hard for people.  But I don't think I would point this out to them! Again, it's not like they had any say in the matter and they just have to make the best of it! For example, a friend whose son has a late December birthday, always holds his party in November, just to make sure it's separate.  

A lot of people respond more positively and think it's a huge novelty!  We are sometime asked how we managed this.  Well, just count back nine months from September 9th, it's not a huge mystery really!  No, we didn't intend to have 2 babies with the same birthday, but, here we are! In fact, we had assumed there was a large chance of us having further miscarriages before having a second baby; we had 3 before Matthew was born. Thankfully, this wasn't the case, but we had assumed there might be a bigger age gap.

For the boys, I don't think it makes any difference.  They are now old enough to know that this is not typical and to explain, as Adam puts it: 'we are brothers but we are not twins.' Because the age gap is 2 years, Matthew genuinely doesn't know any different and doesn't remember Adam not being around or having a solo birthday.  For obvious reasons, we weren't even with him on his second birthday, but we had a party for him in August (I was the size of a whale at this stage...) and he had a grand day with his grandparents while his brother was being born.

For the last 3 years we have held joint parties as we were able to keep things quite low key.  But of course once they are at school, kids get invited to loads of parties and are exposed to all kinds of things that they want on their birthday!  And last year's joint effort was tricky, as 3 year olds and 5 year olds don't necessarily respond well to the same activities.  Example: the 3 year olds held on to the parcel at Pass the Parcel and were quite bemused by the concept of giving away this great present someone had just handed them. At this point most of the 5 year olds were freaking out: 'Pass it ONNNNNNN! PASS IT ONNNNNNN!" It was fine, but a bit stressful...!

So, 7 kids tomorrow at home for Adam's 4th Birthday Party: Pass the Parcel, Musical Statues, decorating cupcakes and eating chicken nuggets and chips.  Sorted.  10 kids on Thursday at Kidzone, the local soft play centre: manic running and climbing, followed by more chicken nuggets and chips and cake.  And, the big present for me on Thursday: go home to an empty, clean house and have no clean up to do!

They each got very different presents as they are very different boys and they will have completely separate parties, which will hopefully assuage the people who somehow think we are mean for having them on the same day...

GHD - but not the hair straighteners...

I can't remember when I first knew I was smaller than other kids my age. I certainly don't have any memories  of when I was first diagnosed with Growth Hormone Deficiency and started receiving treatment. This used to be injections twice a week, given by a nurse.  Eventually, as the dosage and medication changed, the injections were daily and my parents had to learn how to administer them.  They used to practise on teddies and oranges. Although they only used water, they used to joke about coming down in the morning to giant bears and fruit! When I was 13 I went on a dance tour for 3 weeks so I had to learn how to give myself the injections; something I really never learned to do more then tolerate.

We would travel for a check up every 3 months. (My sister also has GHD, so it was a family day out!)  We got to miss a day of school and always had chips on the way home.  That was the good bit.  We also frequently had blood tests, x rays and a doctor who always got a slightly higher number then our actual height out of the check up by stretching us up by our chin - painful!

Growth Hormone Deficiency is a hereditary, well, disorder, I guess, rather than illness.  In my family it comes from my Mum's side.  She had 2 uncles who were small, but neither had kids.  She is one of 6 kids; 3 of whom grew normally and 3 of whom also had GHD. My mu had 2 daughters and my sister and I both have GHD.  My sister has since found out that we had a 50% chance with each our kids of them also having GHD.  This has proven to be a very accurate statistical prediction as we each have 2 kids and in both families 1 of them has grown well and 1 of them has turned out to need treatment for their growth.

In my case it is Adam, my younger son (pictured here showing how big he is, but cheating slightly...) who more or less stopped growing when he was about 4 months.  His check ups at the local clinic showed such small amounts of growth for several months that it was pretty clear pretty early on that he was likely to need some help with his growth.  My niece had just been diagnosed, so it was not hard to figure out what was going on  When we went to Crumlin children's hospital for the first time to meet the consultant, I really wasn't sure how seriously we would be taken and how many months they might decide to monitor Adam's growth before starting treatment. So, I took my mother with me!  She was a brilliant illustration of our family history and the consultant was actually delighted to see 3 generations of GHD patients.  We were very pleased that he started Adam on growth hormone medication just 2 months later at only 14 months old.

It is very odd to take your child to their growth check ups every few months as a parent when you have such vivid memories of being taken as a child! The clunk of the measuring bar as it came down sent a shiver down my spine the first time Adam was old enough to be measured standing up.  His latest visit was last Wednesday and he is growing so well!  On our first visit, he didn't register on the growth chat at all for his age he was more or less under the 0% percentile! On Wednesday he registered at the 75% percentile! It is truly astonishing to be told by random strangers at the playground that he seems tall for his age!  That certainly never happened to my sister or me, but the medication has been developed since the '80s and we can expect Adam to achieve a completely normal height compared to his peers, which is just brilliant.

2 final thoughts on this:

I am immensely grateful for the Drug Payment Scheme in Ireland which covers his medication.  Apparently, the full cost would be about 15000 EURO per year. We do hit the full monthly charge every month, but that's much much less than the total should be.  I wrote to Mary Harney while she was still Minister for Health to express my thanks for this as I don't take it for granted!

And lastly, a visit to Cumlin absolutely exhausts me - I come home every time feeling flattened. Then I remember that Adam isn't sick in any way and that there are parents visiting the hospital while I am there to bring their kids to chemo appointments or to have serious and life limiting diagnoses confirmed.  Every time I come away wondering how they cope with the emotional and physical exhaustion this must bring. I hope I never have to find out.

Brookmyre's Bias

Christopher Brookmyre is one of my favourite authors and I have read his books many times. I am currently re-reading them all again and thoroughly enjoying them! He writes with biting wit, creative violence and true humanity. Some of his characters are truly memorable, in particular Angelique de Xavia and Jack Parlabane. He hits many themes and takes no prisoners in his satirical plots: politicians, the Catholic church, the arms trade and many other targets. 

It is clear from many of his characters' utterances that Brookmyre has a catholic background but has since rejected the teachings of the church and come to be very anti-religion. There is quite a theme of this running through his books, in particular Not The End of The World and Attack of The Unsinkable Rubber Ducks. 

My views on Christianity are very different to Brookmyre's. Or indeed to many authors and I am certainly not one of those christians who only reads christian books or listens to christian music.  However, I do find some of Brookmyre's descriptions of christians oddly misinformed.

When his plots include what might be termed Bible-believing christians, he tends to have them behave and speak in a way more suited to someone from the Westboro Baptist Church than any of the christians I know... Extremely hateful about gay people, judgmental of everyone who doesn't share their views and not really able to participate in normal society. Louis Theroux did a couple of documentaries about this group - I call myself a christian but would no more relate to anyone from the Westboro Baptist Church than I would to a Nazi.

In Unsinkable Rubber Ducks he really gets it wrong and links being pro christianity to also being well disposed to the occult - to communicating with the dead and 'woo' generally. It's truly bizarre to think of Bible-believing christians (a clunky term, but I can't think of a better one...) engaging with anything of that kind. There are of course people who believe in God who do also believe in angels communicating with them, communications from beyond the grave and who would visit fortune tellers.  But I would call them people who are interested in spirituality as opposed to people who follow Jesus as christians and believe that the Bible is God's word. It is very clear in the Bible that anything in the area of magic, witchcraft and divination is absolutely not of God and on no account is a christian to get mixed up with any of these things.  I certainly don't know any christians who would be into any of this stuff. 

So I found it a very odd connection that Brookmyre made.
He is also very anti homeopathy so my best guess is that Brookmyre simply lumps christianity, homeopathy and spiritualism together as unscientific and therefore more or less the same thing. (NB: I have no particular opinion on homeopathy.) I admire him for grappling with some of these issues and will continue to read and enjoy his books as they are original, funny and gripping, every time.  But he really does have a blind spot on this and I have considered writing to him.  But I am not sure what I would say! To give him credit, I am not suggesting that he is ignorant, merely that his own experiences have left their marks and he has come to his own conclusions about the merits of christianity without, I would suggest, an encounter with the truth of the gospel. 

Why Book Clubs are Brilliant

To date I have been a member of 3 book clubs and have absolutely loved it! Currently, I am in 2, each of which meet once a month and one of which I started 2 and a half years ago. It is still going strong, although all of the original members except myself are no longer in it! (It wasn't anything I said....!)

My first book club was started by a friend in Dun Laoghaire and I went for about 6 months before starting my own slightly nearer to home. The experience of being in a group of people who like books and have opinions and questions to ask was great - I loved it.  It was helpful to see how group was run as well, to get an idea of what works and what doesn't as I started my own.

Personally, I don't think it works very well to have it in people's homes.  It puts a lot of pressure on the person hosting, especially if a group culture develops in which there is an expectation of home baked treats or wine and nibbles.  And what is the other half supposed to do while a horde of book clutching women invades the living room?  If the kids are unsettled, this can be very disruptive as well.  One memorable occasion that really sealed the deal for me on this one was when the rest of us had to wait an hour, an HOUR, for the hostess to get her kids to sleep before we could start to discuss the book.  Her husband was also at home, but apparently she had to be in the room until they were asleep.  Call me insensitive, but I was NOT impressed!

So, we meet in a hotel bar - much more relaxed!  We have a few other rules too: we try to keep to books of 400 pages or less so that you have about 100 pages per week.  The intention is to prevent it feeling like homework, as you plough through a tome a month with an eye on the calendar.  Book Club is meant to be a social, fun part of life - not another item on your to do list.  Another rule: you can't suggest a book on hearsay - you have to have actually read it. And if your book suggestion is on that month, you are asked to have at least one question to get a discussion started.  This last rule is more of a suggestion than a rule and isn't really followed!

We have read some great books and some that I have hated.  Ok, that's a bit strong, but really not enjoyed anyway. Here are a few we have read:

Our absolute number unanimous favourite was: (deep breath) The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Schaffer and Annie Barrows. It starts slowly, but blossoms into a beautiful, moving and quirky story. It is set in World War 2 and explores the story of Guernsey under German Occupation.  This was an aspect of WW2 of which I was only hazily aware and it was really fascinating with some truly great characters. 

Our second favourite was The Help by Kathryn Stockett.  What a book!  It has so many ingredients: a social commentary, a misfit finding her place, danger and drama, political turmoil, women in different spheres of society and one of the bitchiest characters ever to get her comeuppance in a truly memorable way! We all really enjoyed reading this and I remember it being a great discussion.

The book we least enjoyed was Letters to Sebastian.  I don't remember the author and haven't kept the book, which tells its own story. The premise was good - a Dad who receives a terminal cancer diagnosis writes to loads of famous, clever and interesting people, mostly in Ireland, and asks them to write a letter to his son with advice for his life. The letters ranged from dull and pointless to totally trite and cliched, with the most random being a huge essay on fishing. It just didn't really work, but could have been great if the initial letter asking for input had had clearer parameters.

Another we didn't like much was The Slap by Christos Tsolkias.  It has a promising plot: at a suburban barbecue, a man slap a child that isn't his own.  The books charts the repercussions of this within the social group.  I picked this book and thought it was an interesting idea, especially in a group where so many of us have young kids. What became apparent however was that the characters were just horribly narcissistic and mostly drugged up or drunk for a lot of the time. I couldn't relate to any of them and there was no one who was sympathetic, which made for an annoying read in the end.

If you are not in a book club, but thinking about finding one -go for it!  But try and figure out if your group is about serious literature only, or a mix of different genres. Are the other members big readers or are most of them only reading this one book a month? It makes a difference and it's helpful to think about how much of a reader you are before you commit to it.  That's why some of the original members left; I think they liked the idea of being in a book club, but found it hard to prioritise the actual reading as it really wasn't something they would have been doing anyway.

For me, one of the best things has been discovering authors I would never have been drawn to, but have really enjoyed. Sometimes my expectations have been completely confounded and I have loved a book I expected to hate - this was true for The Corrections by Jonathan Franzen. Other times, the opposite was true - like The Slap. Andrew reckons we chat about the book for all of five minutes before just chatting and gossiping...  This is not the case!  We do of course have great chats about life in general and I have made some good friends through the club. But we absolutely discuss the books and it's a great way to find out what people think about things that might not come up in every day conversation.

The next book club meeting is a week tomorrow and we are looking at The Glass Castle by Jeanette Walls - a fantastic book. But I already know that one member didn't like it at all. That will make for a good evening's discussion and I am already looking forward to it!

Downton Abbey

The trailers for Downtown Abbey season 3 are out - so exciting!  I wonder what it is about the series that makes it so fantastic: the cast, the view into a world that is gone, the love story, the 'upstairs/downstairs' dimension - it has it all!
We have started watching season 1 again in anticipation. It's 100 years ago since the time in which the story takes place - the year the Titanic went down. Maybe there are still people who live like the Grantham family, with servants at their beck and call and in such sumptuous surroundings. But even the changes within the house and family over the 2 series show that it is a world gone forever. The changes in transport, communication, technology, fashion and so many other things have moved on so greatly that it's hard to be sure we are even watching a true representation of the early 20th century. How would we know? When the Duke says he can't see the point of installing electricity in the kitchen, modern viewers are just going to be baffled to the point of hilarity! It becomes more apparent why so many servants are needed in such a big house - more than are actually represented in the series.  For the sake of limiting the list of characters, Daisy actually would have been about 3 girls doing different menial tasks. 
Andrew's great grandmother went into service when she was about 14. She was in fact 14 in 1912 and went on to become 96 years old. Her daughter went on to marry a man who worked for Ford. Her grandchildren became an accountant, a nurse and a vicar and all 5 of her great grandchildren went on to gain degrees and in some cases postgraduate education. Just one family's little history which is a small example of the changes in people's expectations in their lifestyle and education.
It's amazing to see it all brought to life in Downton and I am looking forward to season 3.

Blogtastic

It's easy to forget that anyone could read this!  I have tended to forget that I don't control who has access to this, like you can on Facebook.  You can see how many people have read each blog post but not who they are.  It's annoying that people can't leave comments without having a google account - it limits the responses you get, which in turn makes it easy to forget that people are reading this!

A recent entry made me think hard about this. It's one thing to be honest and open about myself, but it's different when I am talking about people I know; things they have said to me, opinions they hold... Caution and sensitivity are required, but if I am over-conscious of other people as I type, then I won't be able to say what I really want to, which undermines the whole point of the blog. It's a pickle and a tightrope I will continue to walk as a novice blogger.

I met a friend in Tesco today and we had a brief chat. As we parted she told me to keep up the blog and that it was good.  How encouraging was that! And how unexpected - I didn't know she had been reading it! Another friend told me that she had been reading it as well - I didn't think she even knew I had been dabbling in blogging. But a mutual friend told her and mailed her the link and she was also supportive.

It's an odd thing really - to fire words into the internet, with no particular theme or visible audience. It becomes a kind of diary or stream of consciousness. So it's good to be reminded that at least 2 people are reading it!

Participation Medals

In the second last week of term, Matthew's Sports Day took place.  Unfortunately, I wasn't able to go so he went with a friend and her son.  Andrew and I had prepared the classic 'it's not the winning...' speech and were completely unprepared for Matthew to romp home with 2 first place medals and 2 second place medals! 

One of the reasons that he did so well was that the boy who won most of the practice races appeared to develop stage fright on the day.  It never occurred to me that a child would suddenly get stressed on the day and choose not to take part at all!  Apparently Sports Day is very overwhelming for some kids, at least according to one of the mums I spoke to.  Her little boy also felt unable to take part when he was in Junior Infants. It was a new experience and he just found it too daunting.  Initially I wondered if I had been a very callous parent, blithely shipping off my child to this big new experience without parental support or without even asking him if he was nervous!  Evidence suggested, however, that he had thoroughly enjoyed himself and risen to the occasion. So much so that after falling over during the sack race he still went on to win it!

Ok, enough boasting about my son's sporting talents...

The conversation with this lady then continued and the subject of the 'participation medals' came up.  The youngest class gets participation medals for their very first Sports Day, which is kind of nice.  On her son's race day, just before the last race, the school principal approached this Mum and her son and said that if he didn't at least line up for the last race, he wouldn't get a participation medal.  That seemed fair enough to me, but the lady to whom I was talking was quite outraged by this and felt it was unfair to her son. At this point I should say that I have a lot of time for this lady and we would have a certain amount of views and opinions in common. But I absolutely can't understand where she is coming from on this! You allow your son not to participate and then get cross when he doesn't get a participation medal? Please tell me I am not alone in finding this bonkers!

The ecards picture above does have a good point - how is a child with this experience going to cope with life in 20 years from now, for example when starting a new job? They are being given permission to opt out of things that  are new or unfamiliar, which are of course going to continue to be part of life.

A recent parenting course I did made me realise what a long term game parenting is.  It's so easy to get caught up with the daily whirl of lunchoxes, doctors visits and laundry that you can lose sight of the big picture - ultimately we are aiming for our kids to become healthy adults who will, amongst other things,  succeed in job interviews, have good relationships and be equipped to face the issues that life will throw at them. Equipping them needs to start now!  I can understand the maternal instinct to protect a sensitive child, but ultimately allowing the child to opt out is surely doing them a disservice in the long run. 'Run' being that all that the kids really had to do to begin with to get that medal...

Attachment Parenting

I heard a radio piece about so-called Attachment Parenting the other day. Some key tenets of this increasingly popular style of parenting seem to be: co-sleeping, breast-feeding on demand (often up to a much higher age than the average), choosing not to follow a routine and often opting for home birth to kick the whole thing off. There's also a big thing about 'baby-wearing'. There are even baby-wearing coaches who will help you choose the right sling and avoid using a buggy at all.

One word that keeps coming up in reading further articles on this is: instinct.  The idea is that you use your instincts to work out what your child wants or needs, rather than using 'controlled crying', 'sleep routines' or even potty training. I guess it's a reaction to the Supernanny school of thought: the parent takes charge of behaviours by applying routines and clear boundaries. Endless programmes of out of control children changed seemingly overnight by charts and naughty steps - all very organised.

If I had to choose which style I use as a mother, it would be closer to the latter, I guess.  My natural tendency is to routine and lists for my own life, so it made sense to apply that to my parenting. What I object to  is the idea that Attachment Parenting is about instinct; implying that other parenting is not.  This is just untrue and to imply that one style has a monopoly on parental instinct is really quite outrageous.

I remember very clearly when my maternal instinct first kicked in.  Or, to be more accurate, when I first recognised it for what it was, and began to trust it. Matthew was about 3 months old and I was struggling to get him to settle for naps. He would cry and cry and I would cuddle him to try and console him, and eventually he would settle, but the whole thing was exhausting.. One day this just went on for ages and nothing I did would settle him. I suddenly knew, just KNEW with certainty, that he didn't want to be cuddled  that he wanted to be left alone, but needed something he could cuddle himself.  So I got him a small bear he had been given at birth and he settled immediately. It was like magic! (He is nearly six now and still sleeps with that bear every night.) 

From that day on I trusted my instinct. I knew with certainty when either boy was genuinely sick or just teething; or when they were ready for solid food; or when they were upset but not telling me. This still applies even outside of the baby phase. But this was alongside a routine of quite strict naptimes and mealtimes. I didn't follow round after the boys with a potty as some proponents of AP do.Nor did I breastfeed for very long at all.This does NOT mean I was not parenting instinctively and I object to the idea that I was somehow detached from my maternal instinct because I favour routine over some kind of organic, supposedly natural approach.

I personally can't think of much worse than co-sleeping or breastfeeding a 6 year old.  But if that's what you want to do, knock yourself out...  But don't even think about claiming superior maternal instincts! 

Bag Packing

This morning I spent 2 hours packing bags in SuperValu.  What fun.

Actually, it wasn't that bad.  A bit dull at times. Some people were really grateful for the offer of help, others were nearly offended to be asked! There were no hilarious or scandalous things purchased on my watch, mostly just normal food for the weekend.  And a lot of Irish York Cabbage.  No idea.

The most interesting thing that happened was when a woman handed me her bag to pack her shopping into and it already contained a vegetable package that she had clearly forgotten to put through the till with the rest of her groceries.  What is the bag packer etiquette at this point?  Abet a shoplifter in the hope that she will pop a few coins in the collection box or cry 'thief!' at the top of your lungs and cause a scene? Or just waggle your eyebrows at the girl on the till?  I decided to do: nothing! I think the lady made a genuine error and I decided to just let it go!
So that was the most interesting thing that happened: woman accidentally steals vegetables. 

We were there to collect money for the new classrooms being built for Matthew's school.  The government funding and approval has come in for these, but I guess doesn't cover the full cost. I could turn this into a tirade about the lack of proper funding to education and the falsely named 'free education'. But in the current economic climate I just don't see the point - the money simply isn't there.

What I can have a mini rant about is that so few parents turned up. I have it on good authority that six non PTA parents helped out over 3 days. Six! From a school of 240 kids!  I guess you are choosing from the parents of 180 kids if you knock off the class just left and the one not yet started. And of course many people are away for various weeks over the summer.  Still - six? 
At least when I whine and moan about the lack of facilities over the next year, I will be fully entitled to do so...

Gold

Katie Taylor got gold today at the Olympics!  If you had told me I would get excited about boxing one day, I would not have believed you!  But in this case, I was really excited...
I taught Katie for 6 months in my first job in Ireland - as her French teacher in St Killian's school in Bray. I was told there was a boxer in my class, who also played football for Ireland.  I certainly didn't expect the quiet and hard working girl at the side of the room to be that girl!  The dedication needed to get to the top and stay there for 4 consecutive world championships was already evident in her approach to her school work - she was always at the top of the class.  This was partly ability, but certainly also pure hard work. 

I don't necessarily like seeing 2 women punching each other, but it's exciting to see someone with whom you have had a connection go on to achieve an Olympic gold medal. It's great to see such an inspiring young woman with such a strong faith be the best at what she can be and choose to give God the glory at every step.

I hope she can cling to this with the offers that will come pouring in and the media attention.  She seems to be so well grounded that I feel she is well equipped to stand up for what she believes in and stay true to herself. Time will tell - for now: gold for Katie and the whole country is so proud and exhilarated!