A Wise Man Once Said....

Yesterday was International Women's Day. As usual, I was late to the party (today, I rang my dad to ask him a banking question..... then rang him five minutes later and very ashamedly wished him a happy birthday.)

There have been some beautiful posts by different very talented bloggers on the subject of International Women's Day. You can check a couple of them out here, here and here.

I thought I mark the occasion with a little tribute to the role of a woman, which I have paraphrased from the writings of a very wise man. In doing this, I in no way mean to dismiss or trivialise the suffering and inequality that many, many women across the globe experience. I simply aim to celebrate the strength, diversity and value of womanhood.

An honourable woman is a find and a half, better for you fellas than all the money in the world, if you know what's good for you.
Her hubby is grateful that she's got it covered, he's ok, everything is alright.
She is the good in his life and doesn't get him down.
She knows how to shop... only the best! She goes all over town looking for bargains.
She's first up in the morning, making breaky and lunches for the kids.
She buys the things the family needs, saving money here and there to make ends meet.
She works out... sometimes by lifting the washing basket or hoisting a baby around as she does all the housework.She sits on Ebay and Freecycle, trying to make sure that what money goes out, comes back in (or at least, close enough). This may mean she doesn't get to bed before midnight.
She learns how to sew, so she can do the mending... or at least, knows someone who can.
She donates to charity and volunteers around the place.
When its cold, she dresses the kids in red.... its supposed to cheer them up, even if they are still freezing.
She pulls the doonas up when the kids have gone to school and sometimes even makes it out of her pyjamas.
Her husband is pretty well known down the pub, and has to sit through a few 'shouts' before he can come home. (She feeds, washes and puts the kids to bed)
She figures out how to sew, then flogs her products down at the markets.
She often looks more glamorous than she feels (she removes her uggboots before she goes out) and knows that, geez, if you don't laugh, you'll cry, and what's the point in that?
She talks as though she knows what she's going on about, and likes to tell people what to do (the kids, most of all.)
She keeps a close eye on everyone in the fam (and reminds them to take their library bags to school) and keeps the carbs to a minimum. And doesn't believe that an hour of Dr Phil is in any way lazy.
Her kids, if they thought about it, would reckon she was alright, and her hubby says "Good onya, Darl, you're the pick of the bunch" every now and then, too.
Actions speak louder than words, and beauty is only skin deep (thank god) but the spirit and heart of a good woman deserves a good reputation around town.
Give her what's owing her and don't forget to tell her she's beaut when you see her down the shops.


Now that was one wise fella.

The Things Our Children Teach Us

There are some things that words are never enough for. Being a mother, I find, falls into this category.

I can never find words big enough, or eloquent enough, or raw enough to adequately describe the kaleidoscope of emotions we daily feel as parents... the awareness of the tension we walk between being our children's everything and being their downfall... the terrible burden of knowing that the decisions we make on the fly, everyday, have such far-reaching impact on the people our children are and will become... the intense joy, delight and awe they inspire, as well as the pain, stress and exhaustion they seem to create.

Yesterday, in our house, was a big day. Miya went to three year old kindy for the first time. She has ached for this moment for many, many months, and despite my concern that the day's eventual and much built-up arrival would overwhelm her and send her back into her shell, she handled it with great poise and excitement. (so did I - no tears!)

This is the point in the story that I come unstuck. I'm not sure how to write about our afternoon without painting a picture of my daughter that I know is not true of her nature 99% of the time. We had tears, we had tantrums and it was incredibly difficult to find a way through them. Miya was so overwhelmed by her tiredness, her emotions and all the new things she had taken in during the day, she became almost volcanic. Reason flew out the window, and calm did not prevail.

Tantrums are not a new thing in our house. I wince when I look back on my childless self, observing children throwing tantrums, and remember all the sentences starting with "When I have children..." that I naively preened myself with. Tantrums are a normal part of development for many, many children and a rite of passage for their parents.

Yesterday, though, tested me.... and I failed. For so long, Nathan and I have disciplined in a kind of 'colour by numbers' way... we had our formula and we stuck to it. It involves a hierarchy of 'consequences' and we thought it worked for us. Friends were impressed by our consistency, members of older generations approved of the strictness of our methods. But if it truly worked, why were the same behaviours reappearing, sometimes many times a day? Why did I feel as though I was letting my children, and myself, down? Why did disciplining our children feel like constantly engaging in battle?

Miya is three. Just three. I expect so much from her, as my eldest, and forgot about the things she needs from me. I am her mother, a safe place for her, a nurturing presence in her life. When I 'engage in battle', however,  I am none of these things. When she is challenging, it is because she is challenged - by learning something new, feeling things that overwhelm or confuse her, by boundaries that are just made for testing, by learning where she fits in. It is my place to help her navigate these things, learn alternative ways of dealing with things, seek sanctuary when she needs it. I am doing her no service by reinforcing unhealthy ways of relating or expressing herself (by smacking in response to violence, by yelling in response to rudeness, by isolation in response to testing limitations.)

As a teacher, I would have felt that I was doing a poor job if my 'time out space' was in constant use, or if a particular child was always 'in trouble'. It is my job to diffuse, to gently correct, to support, to teach. Why is this different now that I am a parent? Somewhere along the line I have fallen into the trap of believing that 'negative' behaviours must be punished, rather than investing time into showing my children different ways of coping with their experiences and expressing their needs and wants.

Once again, I read back on this and feel that words have not been enough. I can't describe the pain I have felt since yesterday - pain at every punch my beautiful baby landed on my throat, chest and arms; pain at every thud as she threw herself at the closed door of her bedroom; pain at the sound of her hoarse little voice, her throat sore from endless screaming; pain as I unloaded my feelings on Facebook (I know, I know, how silly and selfish of me) and realised that all I had done is misinform people that my child is a monster; pain as I recall the look my child gave me when I reacted in anger, as if I was a stranger that she was wary of; pain as I realised that she is seeking something from me that I have not been giving her, and that after all the fighting, after all that, she still just wanted to curl up in my lap and be held. Why had I not done that from the beginning?

Gentle, slow, simple. This is how I live my life. This, now, is how I intend to parent.


 

The Two Things That Make My Heart Sing.

 I cleared my iphone of all my photos today (yes, the digital SLR is still a dream....) and found some nice ones of the girls. Given that being a stay at home mum is what I'm about these days I thought I would share some of them with you. This post is all about my two little angels, my gypsy child and my wild child, 

Miya Bethlehem and Eden Susannah.

Miya and Eden dancing at our "Tiny Tunes" music group

Classic Miya photo is her full "Fairy Princess Ballerina" get-up. Did someone say 'girls'??

Miya refuses to wear shorts. On the one day she was told to, we had to skype her grandad in Taiwan (who is, apparently, the authority on all things ballerina) to ask if she would still be a ballerina if she was made to wear shorts. Grandad, after recovering from a sudden coughing fit, assured her she would be.

Miya and Eden making Christmas crafts at their friends' house.

Cheeky monkey Eden

My girls helping me with the washing up. They love this job, even if Eden sometimes forgets that the teatowel is more effective when it is dry.

I love my girls.

A Woman's Work Is Never Done.

I don't, for one second, wish to imply that a man's work is ever done, or that women work harder. I have the utmost respect for the role of men in society, employment and family today and the tension they strike between these areas of their lives.

I have, however, been reflecting on the cyclical nature of housekeeping. I apologise for the gender assumptions I make here, but in our house, since I left paid employment, the logistical running of the house falls to me, and Nath continues in paid employment and upkeeps the gardens. It works, for now.
At least daily, I find myself muttering (or wailing, depending on the day) some variation of the phrase "all I ever do is clean." So much so, that Miya, one housecleaning day, turned it into a song as she helped me in my daily tasks. Since then I have attempted to instill in her a sense of value in the little tasks she does around the house, as well as the tasks she sees me complete.

For a long time, I have seen housework as a task that needs completing. I can't relax in my home unless I have ticked off the cleaning and housekeeping items on the list in my head for that day. Of course, once the list is complete, no sooner do I sit down and put my feet up than there is something more to clean. That is the nature of running a house, particularly one so lived in by small children.

Yesterday I had a headache. It was severe enough for me to put Playschool on for the girls, ring Nath and ask him to come home early and close my eyes to the world. Before doing so, I surveyed my house and felt the familiar anxiety that arises from having so much to do, but knew that I would be silly to push myself to do it. My body needed rest, and was telling me in no uncertain terms to give in to it. When I woke up this morning, the work was still there, more or less. Nath and the girls had tidied some things, but in place of the tasks completed were more chores vying for my attention.

But, imagine if we cleaned the house and it stayed clean? Imagine if we washed the clothes and there was no need to ever wash them again? Or if we cooked a meal that sustained our families for eternity? Would there be any value in that? Through our roles as women, we teach our daughters to nurture. We teach our sons to appreciate. We remind our husbands to respect. I have been trying so hard to teach Miya the value of a woman's work, and yet have forgotten to remind myself that what I do is important... not only for what it gives others, but for what it gives me.

I want to embrace the rhythm of housekeeping, the way it cycles around, daily, weekly, annually. The way it keeps my hands busy, my mind active, my children clean and clothed and fed. The joy of a task well completed, the challenge of a task not yet begun. I can't promise that the next time my children run sand across my freshly swept floor I won't raise my eyes to the ceiling and sing out, "Why do I bother?!" but I will endeavour to learn to relax amidst the piles of washing, the sink of dishes and the scattered toys, knowing that it will still be there tomorrow, and tomorrow is not far away.

Time For Me

I am passionate about feeding my family nutritious, whole, natural foods.... and yet I struggle with my own weight, and often make poor food choices.
I am intentional about planning time where the girls are outdoors, being active and engaging with nature.... and yet I rarely prioritise my own exercise.
I engage the children in creative, soul-feeding activities, such as reading, singing, dancing, drawing and making... and yet I push my own creative needs to the bottom of the list.
I make sure that Miya and Eden interact and socialise with children their own age... and yet it feels so difficult to take 'time off' to be with my own friends.
I diligently protect my children's rest time, making sure they have enough sleep to fuel their bodies for their active days... and yet I seldom feel justified in pausing in my own tasks.
I actively seek opportunities for Miya and Eden to experience learning, and make the most of the incidental chances for learning to occur naturally... and yet I feel guilt over the time I spend reading, researching and pondering.
To be a mother is to be so many things.... the most important of which is to be one's self.
I pledge to take the time to be selfish, to be reflective, to feed my soul, to nourish my body, to grow my mind, to be me.