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.